[IRP] Smugglers, Saints, and Spears

[Gazetteer]

Oh good, more help was here. As her attacker's attention was drawn to closer targets, Gwen had Freyja gain some altitude and come to a hover, surveying the battlefield for a moment. One hand went to a saddle bag hanging to her left, and fished out a small bottle of clear liquid. Removing the stopper with her teeth, she gulped it down.

Protection from magic! the merchant had crowed. He had better not have been lying. Gwen let the now empty bottle drop through the air, and narrowed in on one of the spearmen shooting magic, and gave Freyja the signal to swoop down toward him. The wyvern angled her wings, and dropped down into a dive. It wasn't so fast that they couldn't control the descent, but the air was screaming in Gwen's ears and against her face, and the mountain road below was rushing up toward her at an alarming rate.

They came down almost directly behind their man, and Gwen managed to drive a hard spear thrust into his shoulder blades. The armour kept it from being fatal, but he definitely felt it -- he stumbled forward with a startled cry, and it looked like she'd managed to rend the metal at least a little. Normally she might have had Freyja pounce on the man to savage him with her claws or teeth while he was distracted, but not now with so much magic flying around. So the two of them didn't even really stop after the strike -- they just swooped back up into the sky.

Unfortunately, this did not mean they got away entirely unscathed. Gwen felt something hot sear into her side, passing through her armour like it was nothing. She let out a hiss of equal parts pain and annoyance; it was impossible to tell who had shot her, or how badly she was hurt. She wouldn't know if the potion had worked or not until after she'd had a chance to remove her armour and examine the wound.

For the meantime, she just tried to get out of range again before the next one hit her in the head.