J'afrock, on one knee, looks over at Caelynn and Ozrik and notices the resignation in their eyes, but knows they will not go quietly. His limbs are heavy with the necrotic sting of the undead, standing over them. His breathing is shallow and irregular; he can no longer summon the words to inspire his companions. But this, this dark place, will not be his tomb. "When I go to the grassy plains and journey to see Agravelenon, I will depart from a field of battle, in the sunlight, where people will witness my sacrifice and it will inspire others to glory of fighting tyranny and evil."|
A wicked smile comes to his face, as his shield hand dips into his tunic while he stands."General, I have had enough amusement today. Permission to slay this poor excuse of a tavern wench." As he twirls, his axe, his shield begins to shed a golden hue.