Salamandor, with his torn body, stared at the vault in a moment of reflection.
Tilia took the opportunity to slam her shield into his stomach. Aiming to send him into a pile of gold. However he grabbed it without much effort, "Alright. I admit it."
A sickening crunch rang across the vault as Tilia's arm was suddenly bent and broken.
Salamandor shook his one good hand and walked towards the center of the surrounding members of Last Lights.
Dun-dun-dun.
Like lights shutting off row by row their surroundings turned dark. A singular light on Salamandor's position. His condition was terrible. A limb was missing, blood dripped from just standing, his clothes tattered and revealing a number of wounds.
Right now however, he was using a different form of the forced dialogue. This one was forced monologue.
