Lambert never was interested in making anyone's life easy. The trouble with witcher magic is that it's distressingly simple, and he can only cast so many things at a time, meaning every time he can concentrate enough, he's forced to choose between setting off another magic trap underfoot or throwing up a shield as the fight takes them across the room. Their swords crash together with a noise that the ball only barely drowns out, and Lambert alternates trying to belch fire into Sans's face with setting even more of the tables on fire, a beacon that moves slowly across the room as they go.
Too slowly. It quickly becomes evident that something desperately needs to be done about that tail -- it's like sparring with two opponents with one sword. But fae make or not, his sword's not likely to cut through that tail right now. The witcher's putting up a good fight with sword (thank you, Vesemir) but he's already been unlucky enough to catch the tip of the stinger on the side of his stomach and gash with the sword one thigh, enough for him to see skin becoming stone around the edges of the wounds. If he slows down, he isn't going to be able to buy enough time for ...
For what? His memory's still slow to come back to him, every conversation he's had tonight flickering like paper-thin memories in his mind. All he knows is that somehow, this matters, keeping the former Warden occupied, making all the noise he can.
The next time the skeleton lashes out with his stinger, Lambert deliberately catches it with his tail, gritting his teeth as the poison sink into the limb. But it's as prehensile as Sans's is, with surprising strength, and with a roar of fury, he'll use his hold and attempt to yank Sans around and smash him into the dancefloor, disengaging and darting away again, half of his tail slowly freezing into a stone spiral.
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Too slowly. It quickly becomes evident that something desperately needs to be done about that tail -- it's like sparring with two opponents with one sword. But fae make or not, his sword's not likely to cut through that tail right now. The witcher's putting up a good fight with sword (thank you, Vesemir) but he's already been unlucky enough to catch the tip of the stinger on the side of his stomach and gash with the sword one thigh, enough for him to see skin becoming stone around the edges of the wounds. If he slows down, he isn't going to be able to buy enough time for ...
For what? His memory's still slow to come back to him, every conversation he's had tonight flickering like paper-thin memories in his mind. All he knows is that somehow, this matters, keeping the former Warden occupied, making all the noise he can.
The next time the skeleton lashes out with his stinger, Lambert deliberately catches it with his tail, gritting his teeth as the poison sink into the limb. But it's as prehensile as Sans's is, with surprising strength, and with a roar of fury, he'll use his hold and attempt to yank Sans around and smash him into the dancefloor, disengaging and darting away again, half of his tail slowly freezing into a stone spiral.