Enlist The Ranger!

There's no reason not to take full advantage of your superior numbers for this battle. You draw your eyes away from the feral woman to glance at the archer, now twice dazed from your kicks. One eye clenched against the fresh pain, he stares up at you in annoyance. His coming outburst at your second sneak attack is interrupted when he notices your serious expression as you flick your head in the direction of this new combatant. Following your lead, his eyes go wide when they settle upon the thin form of the Venomoth, the beating of her wings keeping her aloft a mere distance away. The danger finally dawns on him and with a suppressed groan he scrambles up beside you, his gaze never leaving the infected still bobbing in the breeze.

“She’s quick…” You explain, hoping your tone comes off as sincere and not as any of the other ‘less helpful’ emotions running through you. A quiet ‘Yeah…’ is all you get in response from the man, still gawking at the near-silently hovering insect. “I could use a hand dealing with her, maybe find an opening if you keep her off balance with those arrows of yours?” An agreeable sounding grunt follows your proposal, one feathered hand taking hold of the vine-like bowstring hanging from the opposite raised arm, locking it into place for use. Knowing you’ve made your case, you return your focus to the feral.

“Guess I'm the bait…” You mutter to yourself before leaping forward to a slightly lower set branch to meet the moths challenge. She flutters there, hazy eyes flicking back and forth between two potential targets, just out of reach for your melee oriented skills. Knowing she would have to come within range, you are **** to wait on either the mindless creature or the ranger to kick things off. As fate would have it, the bird blinks first.

*TWANG*

The sharp report of the bowstring breaks the temporary peace, stealing a flinch from you and sending a quill overhead toward the hungry lady. Clearly anticipating the shot, she effortlessly dips low to avoid it. A loud TWACK in the distance confirms the missed shot, though it has the added effect of bringing her just a bit closer to you. Not wasting your chance, you hop into action and clear the two branches separating you from your quarry, the final bough just feet from striking distance. Hoping to make full use of the momentum you’ve built, you scarcely pause for a moment on the branch before kicking off hard and driving on toward the low flying target.

Luck is with you this time as her attention is still mostly directed toward the ranged threat and not the light stepping feline bearing down on her with fists clenched. Distracted as she is, it’s difficult to miss a dark furred form rocketing in from your peripheries, and a split second before your punch makes contact, she is able to twist in a **** attempt to avoid it. The last minute maneuver must have been on pure reflex alone, the awkward motion doing little to shield her from the brunt of your attack. While it’s off center due to her hasty retreat, your jab clips her torso with enough **** to expel a ragged gasp from the woman.

Meeting with moderate success, you focus next on finding purchase on the vertical tree trunk behind the coughing Venomoth. Practiced as you are in running through the canopy, the bark welcoming to your Sneasel grasp, you land smoothly against the wood. No time for rest, you know, as you can almost literally feel those furious violet eyes burning holes in your back. A tight cluster of branches extend out a few meters above you, and the possibility to steal the high ground from a flyer is too juicy an opportunity to pass up.

The immediate problem makes itself known relatively quickly, however, as an enraged screech from the infected announces her intent to deal with your affront in a similar manner. Sensitive ears detect the subtle shift in her wings orientation and clue you in to her impending dive. Whilst you aren’t helpless clinging to the tree as you are, the explosion of splinters where your head had been just moments before your quick drop to the left drives home the disadvantage you face with the versatile flyer. A quick inspection of the bark sees it left with a deep slash embedded where the carapace hardened kick demolished the wood instead of its intended target. Hissing under your breath, knowing you must focus on evasion instead of climbing to avoid a skull rattling hit, you crane your neck back to try and predict your attackers next lunge.

This would prove unnecessary, thankfully, as once more the girl is **** to dip low to avoid a shot from your archer ally. The arrow goes wide again, but it does buy you a few seconds of peace which is more than you need to reorient yourself and clamber up most of the way to your perch. When next you see her, the moth is flapping wildly, venomous purple eyes darting back and forth between the two of you. As you clear the last meter or so to mount the branch and procure more stable traction, the woman seems to be at an impasse as to who she should target. You dare to let a satisfied grin crease your lips.

Not such easy pickings, eh bug?

The thought eases some of the tension in the air, seeing that this course of action appears to be confusing her to a degree. Wanting to add to that bafflement, you wait until her attention is focused once more on the ranger as he prepares another quill. With her back to your scheming, it takes only a couple seconds for you to quietly sprinter along the interwoven branches above to position yourself for a cunning drop onto the unsuspecting feral. Hoping to end this with a decisive strike to her cranium, you prepare for the admittedly reckless plunge as she unknowingly hovers ever closer to keep her distance from the bird beneath her…

When at last her beating wings are all that face you, her entire body almost perfectly centered below your position, you know the time has come and you step one leg off your secluded vantage point and take a deep breath for the fall. The focused, meditative intake of air catches in your throat as the moth turns away inflight to reveal a barbed projectile speeding up at you! It is by reflexes and the good grace of the gods that you manage to fall back onto the branch, the pinion smashing into the leaves above you. You didn’t mind the previous missed shots as they at least kept the bug and her hunger at bay. Now, though, the increasingly inaccurate artillery was proving to be more of a burden than boon. After you’ve had a moment to restart your chilled heart, you turn your newfound wrath toward the fool that almost speared you.

“Hey! Watch it with those things!”, you angrily spit out, rage clouding your judgment. “You almost killed me!”

The avian seems to pay you little mind and he busies himself with knocking another arrow before the feral could close in. His blatant dismissal of your near skewering due to his negligence is irritating of course, but as misfortune would have it, there was one who took your complaining to heart. Your shared foe speeds back up to her original position to float just out of reach, her back to you once more. It doesn’t take long for her scheme to come to light as another *TWANG* of the bow is heard, the ranger precisely opposite you as once more the feral dips to avoid the wild shot and allowing it to smash into the branch you stood upon.

You aren’t given enough time to voice your displeasure this time, though, as the weakened bough snaps under the stress of your weight and you find yourself in freefall. Expertise in climbing doesn’t translate well to flying it seems and you tumble through the twigs and leaves, taking scratches and more than a couple bruises before finally crashing hard onto your back against a branch thick enough to tolerate your uninvited bulk. Stars dart in and out of your vision as your limbs sprawl feebly across the wood. Vaguely, you are able to make out an approaching violet tinged shape amongst the black spots plaguing your view.

Blinking desperately against the pain in an attempt to see clearly what is no doubt the Venomoth coming to claim her prize, you are instead surprised to see her hanging there, fluttering those wings to hover above you. The seconds tick by as she quietly stares down at your battered body, hands on her hips and what almost looks like a confidant smirk on her insectoid visage. Through wounded groans, the question of why she hesitates begins to form in your weary mind. The soft tingle of tiny dust particles collecting across your exposed fur is the only answer you get. Alarm bells are running wild in your head; instinct screams at you to right yourself before the spores take hold. But…

The cool numbing they offer in return for your inaction begins to strip away the harsh throbbing of your nastier injuries. The gentle caress of the miniscule particulate dulls the ache in your brain, and after a long soothing inhale, the haziness on the edges of your vision begins to darken. Slowly, the fading corona of the moonlight is overtaken by stillness of pitch black nothingness. You feel your limbs cease their struggle for control and hang uselessly over either side of the branch. The void is closing in now, fast and undeniable. It is with a calm, dust filled yawn, that finally you succumb to the sleeping toxin, a look of serenity on your drooping face…