[indent][indent]

[center][img]https://imgur.com/kK8sfuH.png[/img][/center]

The words of zuzu are strangely comforting, more so each time he is healed. With renewed vigor the young lad prepares to keep his promise to the enemy and destroy all who oppose the hellions. All who oppose zuzu must be turned to dust and that dust into sand and that sand to be heated by the sun and turned into glorious glass!

The frazzled spearman shakes those intrusive thoughts from his mind to focus on the task at hand.

Etor moves into the city. Siris boisterously addressing Etor to handle a potential enemy without noticing the ennui emanating off of the youngling. 

[b]Etor:[/b][i] " You got it!" [/i]

The spearman was thankful that Siris gave him the opportunity to pretend to be okay. As he ascended the wooden stairs he steadied himself. Plagued with doubt he thought to himself: "The mysticism can't be wrong and it's rare, that much I knows for sure." Even if Siris' aim was true Etor would take this opportunity to never let himself fall into the abyss again. He sees the enemy archer drenched in their own blood, and invokes the mysticism within himself.

[b]Etor:[/b][i] "... Crush. " [/i]

A black piddle formulates, drops with erratic movement, then slides off the archer. Etor's eyes widen as the bowman draws a breathe.

[center][sub][i]Etor moves 6 tiles to [b]20-24[/b] uses flux but misses. [/i][/sub][/center][/indent][/indent]