He swore as his leg gave out, despite reading the situation far better than he figured he had any right to be, but knew if he waited, the necromancer would vanish into the night. So instead, he used the last charge of his boots to appear as close to the necromancer as he could. He kept his voice conversational as he reloaded the revolver, keeping the shield between him and the source of the bolts, but didn't bother trying to hide the underlying tone of controlled anger. "You know, you three have done a good job of starting to annoy me. You threaten the town, attack my charges, and injure my dragon friend."<br/><br/>He brought the revolver up and leveled it at the mage, his mantle letting him see far better in the dark than he would have otherwise guessed. "So, the question left; are you lucky enough to have zombies fast enough to jostle this shot for your head? Well, do you feel lucky, punk?"