#ofthes

      All he could hear, all he could smell, everything was just terror. For the normal person, it was loud, unwelcome, abrasive. For Sulvan, it was all consuming. Every roar that shook the air, every cry cut through him. Enhanced senses were all well and good, but when it came time to focus up, it could prove the worst distraction. It’s why he almost missed the sounds closest to him as he set about following one of the wounded Manticores. Blade held in one hand, the other already set to carve a Witcher Sign upon the floor if the thing attacked. He knew by the end of this he’d be in trouble. Over use of the signs proved problematic for his kind, but he knew it was necessary in the face of an attack like this.

       And then he heard it. The beast’s roar, the rearing up. Faster than he had been, he was driving forward, vaulting over the remains of a tent to instead place himself between the creature and it’s target, sword piercing the beasts paw as it swung upon the young nobleman.With a wrench, he cleaved through, at least glad the beasts own weight had helped him break through it’s tough hide. Before another paw could be raised, the flask of oil he kept at his waist was thrown in to the gaping maw, and another use of the igni emblazed upon his palm saw the beast’s throat roasted. It was only then he turned to the boy, slipping in to a crouch in front of him.