(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

efore Ravel could kill us all. For the first time I cursed my regenerative
power... muscle and sinew was snapping back into place as fast as I could
cut, and each stab of my dagger could only ever dent the cartilage of my
knee.
"Let us be alone together now, sweetling," she hissed, forming her hands
into a circle and pressing down. Her palms trembled with the force, and a
black ichor of liquid shadowstuff drew towards the heart of the chamber,
forming an orb that hummed with power.
"NO!" I screamed, as the black sphere burst.
In a flash it crystallized, like hardening sap or cracking ice. The stuff creaked
as liquid shadow became solid, and my friends became encased in what
looked like violet glass. Dak'kon, Annah, Morte, Grace, Nordom... frozen stiff
in glassy shadow.
"I will never let you go again, sweetling..." Ravel hissed. She approached me
eagerly, talons clawing at the air, lips hungry and wet from her serpentine
tongue. If I didn’t move out of this bramble, it would all be over…
~~~~~
Mebbeth's hut smelled of dry herbs. "I returned with those herbs you
wanted... now maybe you can get this damned bramble-patch off my wrist."
"Is that so?" Mebbeth glanced at the barbs that surround my wrist. "If so,
think it off, then."
I focused.
Creaking and snapping, the black-barbed branches unraveled themselves
from my wrist and formed into a tangled ball of brush and twigs; it looked
like a nest of dead black snakes.
~~~~~
With that thought the thorns digging into my leg withdrew and the brambles
crumbled away. She was hovering over me, blinking in surprise, when I
hurled one final bolt of force, compressed as thin as my little finger.
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