[ He really hopes Wrathion can see him glaring at him through the downpour, his fair blond hair plastered against his cheeks. ]
Is now really the time?
[ All efforts to pull free are proving increasingly futile, it seems, but that isn't stopping him from attempting to tear free and away, with all the strength he can muster. He can feel his boots starting to sink into the mud, the flashes of heat against his skin as Wrathion's magic singes and scorches the surrounding foliage.
Anduin's teeth grit as another boom of thunder cracks around them, but he can't deny that the vines do seem to have a plan for the two of them: dragging them closer together, vines wind around one another, thorns hooking against each other and locking into place. ]
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Is now really the time?
[ All efforts to pull free are proving increasingly futile, it seems, but that isn't stopping him from attempting to tear free and away, with all the strength he can muster. He can feel his boots starting to sink into the mud, the flashes of heat against his skin as Wrathion's magic singes and scorches the surrounding foliage.
Anduin's teeth grit as another boom of thunder cracks around them, but he can't deny that the vines do seem to have a plan for the two of them: dragging them closer together, vines wind around one another, thorns hooking against each other and locking into place. ]