Elta indeed notices her armor. Gritting her teeth and watching the events around her unfold. She'd pry her armor off the cold dead body of the priest if it was the last thing she ever accomplished. To cover the marks of her gods was sacrilege , heresy of the highest regard- it angered her so greatly that her entire body shook like a leaf in a windstorm.<span style="color: orange"><b> "Right..."</b></span>she looks around the room and takes a step back, side stepping behind the mass of Gajol.<span style="color: orange"><b>"  Well..at least there are more then two of us this time.. "   </b></span><br/>Elta grumbles and wraps her fingers around her mace, snarling viciously at the priest , as she repeats her incantations.  Her weapon as well as the rest of the party's comes alive with a warm , sun-drenched glow.<br/><br/><br/>(Cast Glorious Weapons)<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>