[Hubert's senses come back to him around the time Leslie's shield breaks. He aches horribly even after mitigating most of the fall with his teleport, a deep feeling in his bones like they'd tried to rattle out of his body. The side of his face particularly throbs alongside the ringing in his head and Hubert thought he could faintly taste blood in his mouth.]
[His body doesn't move when he bids it to; he watches the exchange between Leslie and abomination while the impact-borne numbness lingers in his limbs. Had this moment not been the precipice of life or death, Hubert would've been inordinately impressed by Leslie's ingenuity and initiative—as it was, he could only reach out to his conjuration mentally while clumsy feeling reemerged beyond the pain in his body.]
[So as the Nuckelavee tries to stand again, it's trampled with a vengeance by one particularly bloodthirsty otherworldly warhorse, even if its movements were jerky and uncoordinated. The blow the abomination had dealt to its leg would have killed or fatally lamed a real horse, but the conjuration felt no pesky things like pain or survival instinct. Its onslaught didn't even slow for how the Nuckelavee tried to hack at it.]
[Hubert staggers to his feet in the meantime. He couldn't keep up the level of spellcasting he'd been doing—as useful as conjurations were, the act of bringing the material into the world from the immaterial was a costly act. The bear had minimal investment and hadn't lasted long; his horse, on the other hand, Hubert had poured a considerable investment in to ensure it lasted at least an hour and would take considerable effort to tear its corporeal form apart. The spikes of iron were a considerable drain, as well. Hubert's choice of evocation and offensive conjuration would only serve to stall the beast. The Nuckelavee were both wondrous and horrifying in that fashion, in that no wound no matter how grievous would truly put them down save for beheading.]
[Hubert could pin this one with iron as well... but the blood cost he'd need to pay to supplement his waning magic would render him nigh useless, should it fail or a third danger await them between here and the wall. And that's assuming he could even manage that level of complexity around the pounding in his head. Botching such a spell would pose as much danger (or more) to them as the Nuckelavee.]
[An emergency reserve, then. At least until his head cleared. Hubert extends his hand to the side, forming one of the simplest conjurations—a simple retrieval to an object he had anchored to his magic with enchantment, and called the Arrow of Indra into his grasp.]
Run, [he commands once more, not even sure if Leslie could. He hadn't taken his eyes off their hunter to watch her fall. Still, if she could... the wall couldn't be more than half a mile away. At least Hubert could be sure he'd have the beast's ire, with the enchanted ink on his arm.] It will focus on me.
[The screaming of horse and abominable-horse comes to a halt. His conjuration took an impressive beating before it fell to the rider's sword and clawing, finally felled by the horse-head reaching up and tearing sizable shadows out of the conjuration's neck. The Nuckelavee stands, seething and screeching—and limping somewhat horribly. The shadow-horse's trampling had torn at the exposed muscle and ligament, and seemingly even broken a number of bones, including the rider's sword-arm. Hubert takes his stance, lance at the ready, projecting far more confidence than he felt in his silent challenge. Even as wounded as it was, the abomination was hardly any less deadly.]
no subject
[His body doesn't move when he bids it to; he watches the exchange between Leslie and abomination while the impact-borne numbness lingers in his limbs. Had this moment not been the precipice of life or death, Hubert would've been inordinately impressed by Leslie's ingenuity and initiative—as it was, he could only reach out to his conjuration mentally while clumsy feeling reemerged beyond the pain in his body.]
[So as the Nuckelavee tries to stand again, it's trampled with a vengeance by one particularly bloodthirsty otherworldly warhorse, even if its movements were jerky and uncoordinated. The blow the abomination had dealt to its leg would have killed or fatally lamed a real horse, but the conjuration felt no pesky things like pain or survival instinct. Its onslaught didn't even slow for how the Nuckelavee tried to hack at it.]
[Hubert staggers to his feet in the meantime. He couldn't keep up the level of spellcasting he'd been doing—as useful as conjurations were, the act of bringing the material into the world from the immaterial was a costly act. The bear had minimal investment and hadn't lasted long; his horse, on the other hand, Hubert had poured a considerable investment in to ensure it lasted at least an hour and would take considerable effort to tear its corporeal form apart. The spikes of iron were a considerable drain, as well. Hubert's choice of evocation and offensive conjuration would only serve to stall the beast. The Nuckelavee were both wondrous and horrifying in that fashion, in that no wound no matter how grievous would truly put them down save for beheading.]
[Hubert could pin this one with iron as well... but the blood cost he'd need to pay to supplement his waning magic would render him nigh useless, should it fail or a third danger await them between here and the wall. And that's assuming he could even manage that level of complexity around the pounding in his head. Botching such a spell would pose as much danger (or more) to them as the Nuckelavee.]
[An emergency reserve, then. At least until his head cleared. Hubert extends his hand to the side, forming one of the simplest conjurations—a simple retrieval to an object he had anchored to his magic with enchantment, and called the Arrow of Indra into his grasp.]
Run, [he commands once more, not even sure if Leslie could. He hadn't taken his eyes off their hunter to watch her fall. Still, if she could... the wall couldn't be more than half a mile away. At least Hubert could be sure he'd have the beast's ire, with the enchanted ink on his arm.] It will focus on me.
[The screaming of horse and abominable-horse comes to a halt. His conjuration took an impressive beating before it fell to the rider's sword and clawing, finally felled by the horse-head reaching up and tearing sizable shadows out of the conjuration's neck. The Nuckelavee stands, seething and screeching—and limping somewhat horribly. The shadow-horse's trampling had torn at the exposed muscle and ligament, and seemingly even broken a number of bones, including the rider's sword-arm. Hubert takes his stance, lance at the ready, projecting far more confidence than he felt in his silent challenge. Even as wounded as it was, the abomination was hardly any less deadly.]