[h3][center][color=#00a651][b]Brorin Foul[/b][/color][/center][/h3]

The rumbling of hooves and feet came quickly. The war cries followed soon enough. Too quickly. The war shouldn't be this far advanced yet!

[b][color=00a651]"No, not now. Of all times..."[/color][/b] Brorin rummaged through his satchel, digging past his unrefined ingredients. Some beakers, mortar and pestle, there! Metal bomb-shells! ...empty. Of course they were. You wouldn't send people out on a suicide mission well stocked now, would you? That would be mad! [color=00a651][i]Typical. Damned witch.[/i][/color] What was he going to do now, throw his cane? Or maybe, what about if they were peaceful? Oh, who was he kidding. You should've heard the screams. His mind flashed to the reavers. Barbarian hordes. Horned knights. Drake riders. Blood. What a nightmar-- 

The shriek came out of nowhere. A cry louder than the loudest organ-register, but it came from their own! He [i]saw[/i] the [i]sound[/i], rippling and bellowing out from the small blood-eyed girl, as if even the very air couldn't hold the sheer force of it. And as the shockwave blew past him, he was smashed to the side and straight into the ground. Through the ringing in his ears, he could barely hear the cracks, the shouts, the confusion, the metal helmets imploding in on themselves. Drawing a small 'X' over his heart with his right hand, he noted that his earlier comment appeared to be more prophetic than he meant it. Then, as he drifted off into unconsciousness, Brorin made a mental note to try and not piss these people off [i]too[/i] much.