Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-28358106-20160714040922/@comment-28358106-20160715203215

(Greaves don't work like that bro.  They aren't pants. But fine.)

Praetor's prayer echoes through the ether. He feels its power coursing through the air, reaching, rising to a higher plane...

Then he feels it stop. Almost like it dies, or has its meaning torn, frayed and withered in its own words. It somehow reaches something else. And that something reaches out to him, cold fingers grasping, almost closing around his heart...

He snaps to. He knows something is wrong. He knows this is not the Order.

Hound reaches down through the dust cloud and pulls up a coughing Lizardman. "C'mon, on your feet!" He shouts. "Praetor, get that damn mage before he opens up again!" He charges forward, cutting down archers. "What the..."

"I'm tryin' to tell you," coughs the Lizardman, "There's something wrong with 'em!  They ain't lookin right!"