191
You speak the words of the Brotherhood Spell Net and level your right hand at the onrushing lancer. Waves of energy ripple down your arm and then a mass of sticky fibres gushes from your open palm. The lancer’s eyes are wide with terror as the sticky strands engulf his head and shoulders. With a muffled scream, he drops his lance and tumbles backwards out of the saddle to crash down heavily upon the cobblestoned passageway.