Between the numerous primal beasts he's had to hunt down and escaped convicts of all backgrounds and races he's had to fight - to say nothing of the battles he's observed as a supporter on the sidelines - he's brushed against any variety of combat techniques and magical talents.

Even so, none of it really prepares him for the sudden speed at which the other man moves, here and then gone in what may as well be the blink of an eye. He barely has time to tilt his head upwards, ears ramrod straight as they strain for any hint of incoming noise or movement, before he catches sight of a blaze of orange-red hurtling towards him. Instinct bails him out, his body curling in on itself as he throws himself into a roll across the ground to avoid the worst of the blast. As he exits, one arm throws itself out, the dagger previously held between his fingers now hurtling out towards the lumbering shape where he calculates the other man should have landed.

Clearly he's not going to have much time to catch his breath during this fight.