Kerrigan cannot claim to be a fan of situations that can't be solved by pumping them full of rounds from an anti-materiel rifle, so this entire mess has proved...trying. The smoke creatures especially are making her miss firebats—she bets a flamethrower would take care of those real quick. Unfortunately, she's on her own and her high-tech toys are nonfunctional. Time to...get creative? Ugh. Kerrigan hates getting creative. Getting creative means things have gone so far south any plans you had are now useless.
Stop. Think about the objective. The objective is the only thing that matters.
She doesn't have to beat the smoke-thing. She just has to get the guy with the weird hair out. Force it to drop him, then grab him and run. They can figure out together how to free him from the bonds once they're clear.
Kerrigan's eyes narrow while she stares at something past Raistlin, and she chews her lip in concentration. Might as well lean into being humanity's most powerful psychic, right?
A tug...and then another...and there's a crash as a half-collapsed stall becomes a fully collapsed one. Its cheerful red and white striped awning comes flying and flapping as Kerrigan's telekinesis pulls it free of its moorings. Seemingly of its own volition, it wraps tightly around the smoke monster hauling Raistlin off to his unspecified doom, and she yanks, trying to force it off whatever passes for its feet.
At the same time, she's out of cover and sprinting. Even without her psionic enhancements, Kerrigan's fast.
"You okay? Come on." The latter is an expression of intent rather than a command, because as she says it, Kerrigan's got a handful of his robes and is pulling him into a firefighter's carry across her shoulders, a position he has to share with her rifle. Really, this isn't going to be comfortable for anyone involved.
no subject
Stop. Think about the objective. The objective is the only thing that matters.
She doesn't have to beat the smoke-thing. She just has to get the guy with the weird hair out. Force it to drop him, then grab him and run. They can figure out together how to free him from the bonds once they're clear.
Kerrigan's eyes narrow while she stares at something past Raistlin, and she chews her lip in concentration. Might as well lean into being humanity's most powerful psychic, right?
A tug...and then another...and there's a crash as a half-collapsed stall becomes a fully collapsed one. Its cheerful red and white striped awning comes flying and flapping as Kerrigan's telekinesis pulls it free of its moorings. Seemingly of its own volition, it wraps tightly around the smoke monster hauling Raistlin off to his unspecified doom, and she yanks, trying to force it off whatever passes for its feet.
At the same time, she's out of cover and sprinting. Even without her psionic enhancements, Kerrigan's fast.
"You okay? Come on." The latter is an expression of intent rather than a command, because as she says it, Kerrigan's got a handful of his robes and is pulling him into a firefighter's carry across her shoulders, a position he has to share with her rifle. Really, this isn't going to be comfortable for anyone involved.
OOC: Telepathy permissions!