User blog comment:Guildmaster Grovyle/JLE Role Play, Fall 2015/@comment-7562999-20151026231614

Ironworks will skid to a stop about a fifty yards away from the Horses. Thunder rushes past him; her bowstring is drawn ready to let an arrow fly.

Famine sneers. "Pestilence deal with them."

Pestilence smiles and takes to the sky. The cloud of green fog rushes at Ironworks.

SH: "Fine by you?"