"I will not ally with a peasant. I will not ally with a raider that has not worked for what he has. Some might admire the speed that comes with talent. I call it luck," Earl Maddon said. "Silence him, Paxton, and silence yourself, Dwire. We will be victorious regardless, and the excess we shall call experience. In the future, we will not be so ill-prepared against a mage."
Paxton reached a gloved hand for Vol's chin, pinning it in place, as he tried to pry open his jaw. Vol fought the motion as if he had the energy to spare. In truth, merely breathing was taking all that he had.
"Assist," Paxton ordered a nearby soldier. The man stepped in after a brief spell of hesitation, and tried his hand at prying open the same jaw that Paxton was struggling so much with. Neither seemed able to manage it.
A club with Vol's fist around Vol's ear was evidence of Paxton's frustrations, but even as his ears rang, Vol's jaw did not loosen.
BOOOM!
