[b]Thalion Runescar[/b]


The Demon Lord raised one giant hoof just as Thalion turned to gaze upon it. Like the priestess, he was too close to avoid being hit by it. So instead he went with it completely. As the demons limb struck the ground, Thalion jumped backwards with the blastwave and flew a great distance before unexpectedly colliding with something large and solid. Very solid. Had it not been for the padding on his leather armor, or the metal in the helmet, the rogue might very well have cracked something important. Still, disoriented and dizzy, he could only stare at the others pointing in his direction as the world began to focus a little bit more every time he blinked. 

[color=ed1c24][i]"I'm out of explosive arrows, someone take the tower down by any means nessescary!" [/i][/color]

Thalion glanced behind him at what he'd struck. Realization hit him almost as hard as the tower had.. 

[color=0072bc]"I gotta start looking before I leap..."[/color] He mumbled below his breathe.

Reaching into his pouch of holding on his hip, Thalion pulled out 3 small circular objects with a long fuse attached to each one. The Uncrowned in Dalaran had called them sticky bombs, as they stuck rather well to any surface before making a very loud BANG, usually to the dismay of whatever he attached them to. Shaking away the dizziness he rose to his feet and slapped all 3 of the small but powerful explosives the side of the tower before waving frantically at the group. If even one of them could strike the cluster even slightly, they would all go off and the tower would fall. 
One sword in hand, the other laying close by on the ground, the rogue took a short job away from the bombs he had planted and over to his fallen blade. A peculiar sight caught his eye as he bent down to pick it up though. Her laughter was infectious, if ill timed, but the image of the forsaken monk riding a wounded Felhound brought the ghost of a smile to Thalions normally unexpressive face. Despite the grimness of the battlefield and likely a good chance of untimely death, he again reached into his pouch and threw what he grabbed. 
His aim was spot on as the thin glass vial shattered in the snapping maw of the Felhound who greedily swallowed and chewed even as the shards cut its tongue and throat. The healing drought he made was replenishing its vitality faster than the glass could cause harm. 
The result would be a very angry Felhound and a much, MUCH, angrier ride.