[IRP] Return to the Dread Isle

[Alusq]

Wasting no time (though it seemed like an eternity all the same), Renata went for a broad slash to discombobulate her adversary before it could re-gain the composure required to cast another spell.
"This is a message." In the heat of things, Renata had once again made the mistake of assuming that this creature was more human than it was: it did not attempt to parry or dodge, but instead held up its tome, a black sleeve falling to reveal an unprotected hand. Despite the flying fingers and parchment, the morph's undead gaze remained calm and fixed as its remaining hand pulled forth a concealed dagger: compared to the other weapons Renata had seen these things wielding, this one appeared terrifyingly well-preserved. Renata gasped as the morph began a frenzied series of stabs, crying out as one managed to pierce her armour, which apparently wasn't what it used to be. Fighting the instinct to fall back, she leaned forward for a stab of her own, the apparition disintegrating as her blade connected with the base of its neck. On the ground again, she wasted no time wadding as much cloth as possible into the stab wound after removing the dagger, which was unfortunately very real. Perhaps it would come in handy later.

Keep moving. She had to keep moving. Although it would normally be prudent to wait for the bleeding to subside, to rest here would be suicide, besides the fact Renata doubted her makeshift bandage would hold for long. She didn't know if there were any more morphs lying in wait, but if that were the case, she would have likely met her end at their hands anyway. Slowly, painfully, she came back to her feet, cringing as much from the lingering constrictive pain of the dark magic as from her flesh wound, to shamble towards the gates of the dilapidated fortress where Tiras lay.

"Sir Tiras... You mustn't..." Fearing another host of morphs was set to burst from the stonework at any moment, she urged him to stay conscious until she had drawn close enough to see he was down for the count. They had all fought several foes by this point, but she wasn't sure what exactly had done the squire in. He seemed alive, at the very least.