[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] Satilla, Nor. [/indent][/center]

[i]
Vacant now as before,
Or perhaps I never was,
In essence I am nothing,
Do you know what I am?
[/i]

What strange magics flitted here and there. Something was certainly amiss, Thomas could feel it in the air. The boy's spell had pulled his target back, just as he had intended, armor flung back and partially crushed by the sheer force of gravity. And yet something unexpected happen, something of an anomaly that all the armors seemed to be frozen in time. Their advance halted for whatever reason and the sorcerer wondered why. His own spell shouldn't have done that, not given the range he could manage and the stability of the gravity well he could produce. Sure with another decade or two of training the very same spell could destroy entire battlefields, swallowing up everything into the event horizon like extruding noodles from a pipe. There was a potential for greatness, and great destruction. Of course, that said, the Sorcerer had years of experience ahead of him, and this vocational exploration was exactly what was needed to hone his more practical skills.

That said, never look a gift horse in the mouth, or so the farm-boy would know. Whatever held the armors down be it his spell or something else, the rest of the group took it upon them to capitalize on the break in continuity. Behind him the sound of a bear mauling the reverent, Kyra, Keystone and Sana seem to also be managing their foes with their arms. Leaving the magically inclined of the party at arms with an armor that could charge them at any moment. Well not that the zombie could charge, more like shuffle towards in a very slow stumbling motion given the damage to the metal and the ex-ex-man inside. Did Satilla intend to be the point guard? As touched as he was, the party's healer really shouldn't be placed in such a dangerous position, then again he wasn't too keen on getting in a debate of party roles with Satilla right this very instant. Thus Thomas yielded, and stood his ground behind Satilla watching the girl take her defensive stance with a glorified stick as those soulless eyes stared from the helmet'd dead. [color=bedded]"May we should let the fighters handle it Satilla, I mean you're too important to- Us."[/color]

Ask and you shall receive. For like some stout-drinking stout knight, the dwarven metal man interceded himself between the non-fighters. Well it was time to see the man's knife skills in play. All the while Thomas pondered what spell drove the cogs behind the armor. What possible interaction could have been made between his spell and theirs? Searching his mind for any sort of connection that could be drawn from the cosmic nature of the disruption to the nature of magicks most malefic. And alas, nothing. [color=bedded]"Uh, Feel free to go at it, I'll withhold my spells for now and stay out of your hair!"[/color] Oh the irony of telling a barber they can cut without worry of being burned...