[IMG]http://i165.photobucket.com/albums/u79/SharpshooterJack/markerJaelnec_zps53b7aa37.png[/IMG]
[h3]The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in southwest[/h3]
“[I]STOP![/I]”
That one word, as ephemeral and simple as it should have been, hit Jaelnec like a hurricane, rooting him to the spot so immediately and effectively that he nearly stumbled and fell face-first to the ground and only remained standing by catching himself with Roct, desperately stabbing the sword into the soil to use it as support... and even then he still nearly fell, making him regret having moved to a more open area.
What was worse was that Thaler’s word persisted... kept him locked in position in this particular arbitrary spot. He had been affected by Thaler’s strange magical words before and been able to undo their effect through sheer force of will, of course, but this time not only did he have the impression that the word was much stronger than any of the ones that had affected him before, but there was also the fact that he was simultaneously being affected by whatever this other thing was. A good chunk of his mental fortitude went to minimizing the sense of confusion and mounting fear that inexplicably dug its claws into him, and even when he tried to ignore that and concentrate on getting rid of the word to allow himself to move freely, he was still too distracted and demoralized to succeed.
Retrieving his sword and wobblily resuming a somewhat upright if somewhat swaying and unsteady stance, the squire winced at the realization that the murderous stranger, whoever she was, was still coming straight at him, seemingly unimpeded by Thaler’s word. He would have to fight her while being unable to move from the spot [I]and[/I] while his sense of balance and his instincts honed for battle were crippled, leaving him with... what? What did he actually have left, being unable to dodge and reliably parry incoming blows without being knocked off balance? Unable to maneuver and with his dexterity diminished, his abilities were basically reduced to what they had been ten years ago, before he had started training as Freagon’s apprentice. The only real advantages he had now compared to then was experience, since his time in Reniam had doubled since then, and his physique. Still, trying to fight purely with brute strength and speed was something that had gotten many would-be warriors killed over the ages.

The woman moving to assault him was luckily not the brawny sort and opted for her first attack to be a powerful but heavily telegraphed vertical chop, probably meant to – and capable of – killing him in one blow. Taking his left hand off Roct’s hilt to grasp the blade near the tip, hoping all the while that he would not accidentally cut himself in doing so, he held up his sword to block the other’s strike, having no choice but to absorb the full force of the blow. He was stronger than the assailant, luckily, and was in a good position to receive the attack, but it still hurt throughout his entire body, especially his arms. He pushed back against her sword, hopefully hard enough to stun her and allow him to grip his sword by the hilt properly with both hands, and to gather his wits enough to think of a way to counterattack that did not leave him completely vulnerable.
[I]“That sword...”[/I] he heard Mother Tigress mutter in his head, an almost hungry tone to her voice. Jaelnec grit his teeth in frustration; he did [I]not[/I] need to have to keep Mother Tigress at bay at the same time as he fought this woman, heavily handicapped as he was. [I]“Incredible...”[/I]
As little as he wanted to admit it he was probably at her mercy. Right now, he seriously doubted that he could muster the focus to push back Mother Tigress if she decided to take over.