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Yevaud [img]graemlins/elf.gif[/img]
The battle was fierce, the danger real, the elf was alive now because of a catlike desire to toy with him combined with reflexes honed by decades of practice. Fatigue was a presence, tangible, pushing at his senses, as adrenaline pushed it back. A triple-thrust from the demoness that would have skewered him, and a shift in the ground as Yevaud danced with a grace few on this plane could match. With blinding speed he struck at the exposed ribs of a suddenly off balanced fiend, it's retaliatory strike lost in the unexpected attack of another, a light of purity battling with an embodiment of corruption. Yevaud took advantage of the distraction to strike at the creatures torso again as he danced away to higher, drier ground.
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