Stormbrand Cleric Occam swept back his raven-black hair. He adjusted the strap on his chest, emboldened by the familiar weight of his trusty warscythe, the Decapitator, on his back. He pounded his gloved fist into his opposite palm, cracking his knuckles.
"Time to shine, ladies," He grinned.
The Archer beside him took another shot, not bothering to change his focus, "Occam, we're supposed to be focusing on the Lake Eels."
"Psh." Occam scoffed, "You can do what you want. I'm better off attacking the enemy rather than sitting on my arse."
"⌈Ravager's STRIKE!!⌋" Tancred cleaved his greataxe into a Lake Eel, severing its lower jaw from its ghostly body.
He turned to Occam, "Tanamar said eels first, man."
The Cleric shrugged, "If I engage with the ghosts, they'll take that much longer to get to us."
"There's a lot of 'em," The Archer yawned, idly firing away. "⌈Triple Shot.⌋ You sure you can handle that much?"
