The mage lags just a bit behind the others, the heavy-duty chains that criss-cross his slender chest are anchoring a pair of heavy books that hang low at his like the guns of his compatriots. He draws his staff with one hand, and transfers the reigns to that same hand. His now free hand hovers over a strange holster that has nothing sticking from the end of it. The clank and clatter of the various bombs and vials in his pack and saddlebags get decidedly louder as the shardmind prods the mount into a gallop with his glassy calves. The books resting on each of his hips buck and heave with the new speed the mount lends the wind they ride through.
As he tops the rise, Thayoon was sure there was something he meant to look for, but a wisp of clouds catches his attention.
