The gray elf gets the extreme pleasure of seeing the bandit leader's head droop into slumber before it is caved in - Bursting open rather like an overripe melon
, he muses - by Thorus' mighty strike. "I knew that we'd make a good team,"
he murmurs, if only for his own ears to hear, and then feels another pang of guilt (which is an unfamiliar emotion) for having treated his new ally with earlier disrespect. Deciding to make it up to his new friend by proving himself to be a valuable addition to the caravan, Indrys spurs his horse, urging the beast to bring them closer to the enemy. The elf's mind is whirring as he calculates important variables in his head. The spell's maximum range is fifteen feet, expanding outwards from me in a convex cone-shape. If I'm to get as many enemies in its area of effect as possible, I need to position myself... here!
As before, when they were attempting to restrain the thieving child, Indry's slim-fingered hands dart into the interior pockets of his coat and retrieve multiple pinches of differently-colored sands and powders. Thus armed, the magician thrusts his hands forward, towards the enemy, and recites a spell.