[h3][color=bedded][b][center] Thomas Richard Harrison [/center][/b][/color][/h3]
[center][indent][color=bedded][i]Location:[/i][/color] Level 2 (The Tower floor, not character level).
[color=bedded][i]Interacting with:[/i][/color] Scooby Doo Gang (It's the direwolf, not sure about the bear) & A2? [/indent][/center]

[color=bedded]"You and me both Satilla."[/color]

Well despite beginning with utter failure, and a rather nauseating case of vomiting due to malingering malodorous malice, everything thus far had been quite fortunate. They hadn't taken as much as scratch on them from these clunky undead tin cans. Wandering up the stairwell was easy enough with their scouts having lead the vanguard, and Sana taking the sentry. A narrow pass would normally be ill-advised, but seeing how their fighters had covered both points, it was safe enough for the party casters to advance forward. Although Murphy's Law would suggest they were doomed for failure at any point along their trek. Yet it seems the necromancer had given them every suspicion required to believe they were on the right track in investigating this tower of armored undead. But then again a secret trapdoor switch or something could mean they would be have to keep climbing like the nautilus' spiralling chambers.

[color=bedded]"I've got one!"[/color] Not to be caught disappointed, there were awaiting their ascent, two spooked armors ready to start attacking. And yet, given the results of the last round these enemies seemed rather... Lacking? At this point Thomas' excitement could have done more damage to his spellcasting concentration as the young sorcerer was overly eager to contribute to the destruction of the armors. His finger pointed at a spot just above the armor against the wall to his right, with the flair and gusto of rash youth just looking past Sana. Sure the cost of the spell may leave him a bit less than ready for combat, but there were only two armors, and a bunch of adventurers. That and Satilla had Thomas' back and could guide him by should he fail to readily steady himself. Such bravado and faith, foolish to some degree as an unfocused spell could readily backfire and instead rebound, frying the entire group instead or some other catastrophically embarrassing moment like the episode of regurgitation outside. It was never a wise move to go rush into magic, and yet here was Thomas, finger pointed dropping down the hammer on a would be attacker.

A searing radiance of the sun, dropped down from the ceiling in a pillar of pure light. Bathed in the light, the armored zombie must have roasted from the inside. Light disintegrating flesh into ashes, turning the armor into something shy of a oven with the roasting remains still sizzling and smoldering away at the last of the light fading into the sealing zone of sunlight that lingered as a ward. Fortunately for the armored zombie however, the secondary effect of the spells would be unnecessary as it readily slumped down and the metal helmet fell against the second floor (or the British first floor).

[color=bedded]"Did I get'em?"[/color] Thomas managed to comment out before closing his eyes a bit from the rebounding stupor. This was always the worst part of the spell, being unable to react appropriately for a few seconds until the blood flow returned to normal and the magic energy step back down from overloading his mind with visions of bright light. Rather disorienting, but they have at least now seen both the light and dark of Thomas' spells. Maybe they'd get to see a few more, but Thomas really didn't count of using the three greater cyclic spells he had, they had awfully long recovery times to gain the level of cosmic energy required to cast them. Plus they shifted his phases, and next after sun would have been... Bashful Moon.