ringulreith
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Ranlae's shoulder continued to weep copious amounts of blood, turning Rowan's shirt completely red. The bandage, though rough and impromptu, was actually quite secure. He probably had a lot of practice with hasty battlefield patching, from the look of him. The godawful heat wasn't helping much either, and was adding onto the whoozyness she was feeling from all the blood loss. She nearly tripped over a leg as she scrabbled along the gazebo ledge, but managed to stay upright through some painful straining. Closer examination revealed the limb to belong to the water troll she had allied with. He was dead, from all appearances. Perhaps she would had felt some grief over the loss, if she was under better conditions. Ranlae just made note of his other leg, and past in silence.
There was a thud off to the side, as Rowan's form came hurtling back from the gazebo melee. They seemed to have continued fighting without paying any notice to the two combatants who had disappeared. More's the pity for them, Ranlae thought. She might have been delt a solid blow, but she wasn't down. Fire was burning through her lungs, so she stopped and collapsed against the cool marble. Taking a moment to gather her whits and sooth her battered body, Ranlae began to survey the fountain platform. Rapier was now pairing off with Orange Streak, if the latter hurtling through the air at the former was anything to go by. Good, he was occupied, and more importantly, not paying any attention to her.
This wasn't the first time Ranlae had to fight with a disabled arm. Her last cutlass and a pistol were gone, most likely dropped earlier while she was paralised with pain. This left her only two weapons; it wasn't an optimal situation, but Ranlae could work with it. If worse came to worse, she was a dab hand at dishing out some very personal and physical justice. With her working hand, she drew her other pistol, and held it barrel-up between clutched knees. The pouch at her belt was opened, and a small paper cartridge was withdrawn from it and then wripped open with teeth. Some of the powder in the cartridge was used to fill the flashpan half with powder, before the frizzen was closed. Then Ranlae poured the rest of the powder down the muzzle, pulled out the ramrod from under the barrel of the gun, and pressed the rest of the cartridge, lead-shot and all, down the muzzle, before putting the rod back. The movements were driven by years of instinct, and Ranlae sent her mind outward while her body acted on its own. Now that she was outside the gazebo, such an enclosed environment was a prime combat target. Invisible fingers spread out and skimmed over the surrounding water, searching and manipulating to achieve the Ranlae's desired effects. The wounds had taken a toll both on her mind and body, however, and she was very sluggish and slow. The steam that hid her from sight gave her the reprieve needed to gather her faculties for a proper counterattack.
With a soft click, the now loaded pistol was cocked and raised in Ranlae's good hand. She had isolated a thin layer of water at the boundary between the rest of the arena and the gazebo, and significantly amplified its refraction and magnification effects. The contestants on the marble platform would now be fighting inside a sort of lens. The sweltering midday sunlight hit the transition barrier, became focused and split, and stabbed into the gazebo with shifting rainbow fingers of scorching heat. Meanwhile, Ranlae had taken advantage of the fact that small amounts of fog were forming on the gazebo floor, as warm air from the arena passed over much colder marble. She hastened the unnoticible wisps into thick banks that would roll about and decrease visibility. The steam around her had dissipated, as the concentration needed to maintain it had been directed elsewhere. Drawing in a painful breath, Ranlae aimed her gun through the gap below the railing, lining the barrel up with Rapier's back. Before she drew the trigger, Ranlae sent out one last command. Water was an excellent transmitter of noise, and now the inside of the gazebo would be so a hundredfold.
Her brow glistened with the sweat of so much concentration, but she was running on the adrenaline of combat and the determination to win, above all else. The constant complaint of her shoulder gave her thoughts a strange, pain-crazed clarity. Then she squeezed the trigger, and the bullet was off like a thunderclap. The pistol was hastily dropped, being of no use in the little time Ranlae had left. She could get new weapons, if she survived. With a supreme effort and an audible grunt, she pulled her body upright and towards the steps. The side of her stomach screamed in protest, and her lungs filled with fire once more. She grit her teeth, and ascended the steps, whimpering.
It was time for her to rejoin the fray, for the last time. Lifting her trousers, Ranlae fumbled for the dagger she had strapped there. What she usually used to cut food, tear rope and chop hair would now be her emergency weapon. With a primal shriek, she shuffled into the gazebo.
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