[h3][color=bedded][b][center] Thomas Richard Harrison [/center][/b][/color][/h3]
[center][indent][color=bedded][i]Location:[/i][/color] Barad-dûr (The Tower).
[color=bedded][i]Interacting with:[/i][/color] Voice in the Sky, Armor 4, The Fellowship. [/indent][/center]

[i]
As I did stand my ground upon the room,
I looked toward Kyra, and anon methought:
The armors began to move.
[/i]

Predictable.
Almost disappointing.
Animated armors.

[color=bedded]"I knew I smelled something rotten."[/color] A snide remark made by Thomas' reaction to the taunting. It appeared their enemy had revealed themselves. And despite Thomas' joking assessment earlier, maybe the mage had some skill after all. It was not easy to create such constructs, autonomous armor guardians, requiring a spark of willpower was the trick. In theory it was possible to create an army of sentiient and self-aware servitors, bound by the magical arts as a synthetic life form. And yet there are grave ethics to be considered when playing with the forces of life and death, such abominations perhaps ought to never exist unnatural as they were. And yet was magic natural? Was Thomas, born of cosmic power, not such an abomination? A creature born of magic, self-aware and serving the stars that lure their brother closer? His powers from the tainted blood, an infusion from the far realms as ancient as the evening sky. A faint radiant glow emitted about Thomas's sun-form skin, charging himself with the inner light, twas the call to battle, one mage to another. The armors screeched their metal sounds, the terror of their soiled unoiled hinges squeaking away to the vulgar sounds of Uranus, the Magician. Brash brass clashing crass rambling shambling mass reeled unfeeling steel. The coordination slow and puppet-like, moving but barely, as if the weight of its own charge was far more than the force provided. Maybe they were not so advanced as Thomas once thought.

With a quick glance at their frontlines, Sana, Kyra, and Keystone all seem to have things handled. There was a bear now to his left, and the lack of a certain dwarf certainly didn't sit very well with Thomas. The barber seemed to split, and cut himself away for this rather dire battle. There were six armors, and though only a few had moved, six possible enemies to face, and Satilla needed to live to heal the cuts and injuries the rest of us had. Thus it was time to stand his ground, for to his right the boy raised his right hand as if to halt the armor as it approached, creaking away like a macabre tin solider, Thomas gazed at and then past the metal animus. The whites of golden sunny eyes became touched by darkness, turning black from the rim as the world faded away into naught. And as Thomas' vision turned to darkness, so too did manifest a bend in space, a void grew behind the advancing armor. A tear to be filled that sucked in the gap, a pull inescapable that light was swallowed up just as Thomas's eyes turned to pitch black. Alien as they were, a momentary blindness. With the timing mastered over months of practice, Thomas channeled his power with one final collapse of his fingers, suddenly turning a halt into a fist, the spell complete and the implosion imminent. 

A strong gravity well pulled the armor animus back, a nearly comical appearance if it were not so dangerous. Returned towards the wall from whence it came, armor dented in the void, crunching like a tin can as the crevice sucked away with insatiable greed. A miniaturized localized black hole, that revealed the true nature of these things. armor twisted in a a kink until pop like Keystone's joints did the face plate become ripped off. And there Thomas could see, although strange that his eyes were able to escape the void that he stared into it which usually occurred with the casting of the gravitational void. What lies beneath was no vacant hollow, but rather, a mortified face, a villager perhaps? One twisted in pain from all the crushing gravity it had endured within the tiny event horizon. So they did get the right place... But was it the right time?

[color=bedded]"Armored Undead!"[/color] Thomas shouted at the group.
It seemed his role in combat was largey identifying what exactly they were fighting.
[color=bedded]"The poor wizard's steel sentinel."[/color]