The Armor’s stance doesn’t waver, as it tosses the cloth before it, and strikes it down into ash with a darkened thunderbolt. . .it’s got quite a few tricks now.
“. . .”
It appears to have nothing to say, its silence spoke volumes. It simply floats there, watching and silently mocking her. .
. . . -{ꍟꃴꍟꈤ꓄!}-
Farosh’s eyes sharpened at the sight of the armor. She felt her blood boil at the sight, but she immediately schooled herself.
“Been busy have you? So have I…”
She held out her hand and summoned her spear. She had tweaked her spear a bit to have an easier time digging in with enough force.
Deafening. .like a padded room.
The heat fades with a momentarily ominous chill, as the Armor floats into view before Farosh, Warsledge in one hand, and a piece of blue, elegant fabric that looked to be half permafrosted over. . .it looks like The Armor was busy while Farosh rested. .
