[center][h3][color=ff9900]Týfurkh[/color][/h3][/center]

Týfurkh, whose armor had been damaged and breathing impaired by the seed, had sought shelter behind what looked like bookshelf long abandoned. An eerily familiar situation behind a barrier that looked even less sturdy then the one he had used in his first encounter with a sightless, but this time with rotten tomes added to the mix! However, the roar of the seed after two more of its ugly hearts had been forced to stop beating caught his attention and so he dared to stop hiding. The giant rose like a phoenix from the ashes -- or in his case rather trash -- and pulled a not so slight cloud of stench behind him. Unfortunatenly though he perfectly knew that things such as 'suffocation' did probably not exist in the seed's wicked existence.

Pain however seemed to do, and it was fairly obvious that right now that was pretty intense factor for the seed to consider. He had not seen how Chres' had thrown some salt, but the way the tentacles now lumbered around rather aim- and helplessly was such a stark contrast to the highly aggressive, vicious demeanor they had shown off previously, that the opportunity was fairly obvious. And then there was Chres' call for help.

Quite a lot more sluggishly than the other pactmakers might have become used to with regard to someone whose sheer size deprived him of a lot of agility even in peak condition, Týfurkh approached the mess of flesh, debris and tendrils in the cellar's center. His breathing was painful, but his arms still worked fine. Týfurkh dug his hands into the skull's mouth and leaned backwards to amplify his pull by means of his weight. [color=ff9900]"Rip that abomination into pieces once you get at it!"[/color] he groaned.