Gryn hears Gus shouting out and then Torm shout back in answer. He spots the huge cloud of smoke and makes his way toward it figuring that must of been the sound they heard just moments before, some sort of explosion.
"Gus!... Torm!... Where are you! What happened!"
He wastes no time and covers his mouth and nose with the crook of his left arm but suddenly stops near the edge of the large smoke cloud.
Wait! Wait just a minute! They probably can't see inside there and got turned around, maybe they need you to stay out here and help guide them out of the smoke?
"It's me, Gryn, follow my voice!"
(He will repeat some shouts every few seconds to give them a fixed point to move towards and escape the smoke cloud.)
"This way!"
"Over here!"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"A rightful place awaits you in the Realms Above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow."
— The message of Eilistraee to all decent drow.
"Run thy sword across my chains, Silver Lady, that I may join your dance.”
Tuu'Saayn arrives, coughing and covered in ash, his clothing torn and scorched - Torm runs up moments later. Gus can hear Gryn shouting from the West.
Around the perimeter where Tuu'Saayn has yet to venture, the flames continue to spread - more slowly now the middle is mostly burnt-out.
Overhead, The Beast has vanished in smoke and darkness. Even the screams have fallen silent now, just the quiet crackling of flames.
Now he has time to notice such details, Tuu'Saayn feels the faint sense of... Connection... in his mind, the same as before, as if something was listening to him, waiting.
Tuu'Saayn feels again the intrusive presence of the tempter. Channeling his focus, fueled by grief and anger, he throws up a mental wall. He had too much to worry about at present to deal with the bringer of chaos.
"The central blaze has all but burned out," Tuu'Saayn says between coughs and deep breaths of somewhat less smokey air. "But we aren't out of the woods yet. If we can clear more of the tarps and wood out of the way, we may be able to contain it."
His sharp eyes scan the area for the bucket brigade. If he doesn't see anyone on that task his brows furrow slightly in frustration. Calling again on his innate infernal magic he casts thaumaturgy. His voice booms out, "Water to the market center! Grab a bucket and help douse that fire!"
Barring a better idea from the team, he focuses first on finding Gus, and then suggests continuing to clear debris from the path of the flame to keep it contained.
"Maybe we could clear the path for the bucket brigade, I've heard every minute counts in 'floods & fires.'"
Gryn moves the pieces that look the most flammable to a safer distance from the embers of the fireball blast zone.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"A rightful place awaits you in the Realms Above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow."
— The message of Eilistraee to all decent drow.
"Run thy sword across my chains, Silver Lady, that I may join your dance.”
With Gus located, there doesn't seem to be anybody organising any buckets - normally something the Watch would do.
You do remember a Washerwoman and a bucket carrier from earlier - they probably know how to organise water supplies: But someone would have to go find them.
"Gus, do you think you can convince Ivor Buckets to manage the water line? As the official well inspector he should listen to you," he adds with a wink.
He then takes off after Gryn, moving with purpose and speed to continue clearing a fire break around the blast site.
He whips his head toward Tuu, eyes wide as the words sink in.
“Ivor. Buckets. Yes. Water. Of course! The man literally has buckets in his name—how did we not think of this sooner?!”
He spins on his heel, and immediately starts jogging, well, half-skipping with urgency, through the chaos, shouting:
“MAKE WAY! OFFICIAL WELL BUCKETS PROCURROR COMING THROUGH!”
He pushes past two stunned bakers and leaps over a smoldering cabbage cart with far more flair than necessary.
“Ivor!” he shouts, using Minor Illusion to blast his voice three times louder, making at least one goat faint. “Ivor Buckets! In the name of civic responsibility, I COMMAND THEE!”
He stops in the middle of the street, scans the crowd like a hawk.
“Ivor!” he shouts, using Minor Illusion to blast his voice three times louder, making at least one goat faint. “Ivor Buckets! In the name of civic responsibility, I COMMAND THEE!”
He stops in the middle of the street, scans the crowd like a hawk.
Perception Check: 16
2
There, standing a couple of feet away, a sticky bun in his hand, is Ivor Buckets. His buckets by his side, as he stands dumbfounded, starting at this bellowing gnome. Hearing the call to his sense of civic responsibility, he straightens up and sucks in his gut.
Gus barrels toward him and grabs him by the shoulders like a long-lost lover returning from sea.
“Ivor Buckets. We need a line to the well, we need it now, and you—you, you beautiful bastard—are the only one who can do it.”
He turns on his heel and fires off one more Prestidigitation burst, a plume of harmless blue smoke shaped vaguely like a bucket with wings—as a signal.
“TUU! BUCKETS ARE IN MOTION! THE LINE SHALL FLOW LIKE THE SWEET TEARS OF VICTORY!”
He glances skyward looking for the winged entity.
“…Assuming we all live long enough to appreciate proper hydration.”
This is what subtlety looks like holding a bullhorn and lighting the fuse... Tuu'Saayn couldn't help but smile as Gus hit the ground running. The excitable gnome was certainly eccentric, he thought, but you cant argue with results!
He shook his head slightly, chuckling softly as he raced back into the belly of the beast. He kept his eyes open for injured folk, but his focus was to prevent the fire from spreading by continuing to remove tents and stalls by any means necessary.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
With the group tearing firebreaks through the crowded stalls, and Tuu'Saayn dancing through the worst of it as if the flames could not touch him, the eventual arrival of a bucket-chain is enough to bring the blaze under control.
The smoke clears gradually and the grim business of recovering the bodies begins - the only consolation being that those caught in the explosion died almost instantly. Janet Cornwallis continues to organise the treatment of injuries and burns, and the removal of bodies to be stored in the cells of the deserted Watch House.
The entire Night Market seems to be holding its breath - uncertain of the future, and whether this was a terrible accident, or an attack of some kind. The absence of the Watch and the closed gates cause many load complaints.
As the group re-gathers, on the West Road, just by the Well, Gus realises he is the only one who saw the Beast in the smoke.
Torm surveys the charred portion of the market. The stench of burnt flesh and hair combined with the acrid odor of cindered stalls forces him to pull his robe over his face, in an attempt to blunt the stench.
Hearing the gnomes magically enhanced voice fills him with some relief, knowing Gus is . . . still Gus.
He begins to investigate the area of "impact" trying to determine if the fireball was of natural means (catapulted) or of magical origins.
He begins to investigate the area of "impact" trying to determine if the fireball was of natural means (catapulted) or of magical origins.
Torm spends a while pacing the centre of the Market - The blast came from above, he can tell: Roof struts embedded in the ground, only burnt on one side, the pattern of disruption spreading out from a point directly above the shattered table end empty, smashed, chairs.
Without speaking to any witnesses, he learns little of the nature of the blast, or the apparently empty table that was targetted. The forty feet of destruction encompassed perhaps ten percent of the people in the market - fifty to sixty dead, in the tightly packed areas outside the main tent.
[The rest of the group are over by the Well, on the West Road - unless any of you want to be somewhere else?]
When the immediate threat of the fire spreading was under controll, Tuu'Saayn turned his attention to the wounded. "I'm going back to the tavern to check on the wounded. Did anyone see what exactly the hells happened? I felt the dark presence again, and can only think that the council members in that tent were the main course he spoke of."He then runs back to the stand where he found the med kit earlier (assuming it wasn't incinerated in the blast).
***OoC: He buys 2 more healers kits if they have them - if the stand isn't manned he makes a mental note to return and pay for the supplies: but he is grabbing them either way.***
With an armload of healing supplies the battered and scorched tiefling makes haste to the tavern area. He gives the kits to anyone who knows how to use them. If no such person is available he jumps right in and does his best to help, looking for the most severely wounded first.
Medicine: 9
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
The Night Market is disturbed, but not yet shattered - away from the central devastation, stalls are still running, people are gathering to talk and console each other.
Tuu'Saayn has no difficulty buying more healing kits, but finds the makeshift infirmary set up at the Tavern has no need of them.
"A lot of minor burns, trips and falls, a few minor injuries - whatever it was, it was lethal for just about everyone in the area, but the fire didn't spread far, and the injured were mostly hurt trying to get further away. I just hope it's all over now, because we still can't get out."
Unable to determine if the fire was a means of man or magic Torm looks to the people who are gathered and searching for friends and loved ones among the scattered dead. He scans their faces trying to determine who may have seen something, but with his aggressive demeanor nobody will return his scowling gaze.
Realizing the people are as intimidated by him as they are the devastation befallen them, he decides to use a more forceful tact to find a hesitant witness.
Standing in the midst of the ring of death he clangs his sword and shield together to get the people's attention.
He bellows to the crowd, "Who here saw where this flame of destruction came from?"
He pauses for a moment to let them consider his question.
"Speak up now! If we do not find and vanquish the source, you leave yourself exposed to more wanton destruction such as this."
The bronze-skinned Aasmir holds his sword out in front of him, rotating to in a slow circle to highlight the dead scattered around the scene.
"BY THE GOLDEN GUSSET OF GOND, THAT’S a voice I’d follow into the Nine Hells!”
Gus scrambles up, brushing soot off his clothes and adjusting sleeves that are more patch than fabric. He half-runs, half-trips his way into the ring of carnage, raising both arms like a child summoned to supper.
He skids to a halt before Torm, staring up at the towering Aasimar with unabashed awe. “Well, look at you. You’re like a war god got bored and decided to join the city watch. That jaw could be used to split kindling. Is that glow your actual skin or are you always standing in the light of divine reckoning?!”
“Oh, I saw it, friend Trom,”he gasps, blinking wildly as if trying to unsee the memory. “Saw it closer than a goblin sees a misplaced coin purse!”
He paces two steps, then whirls, voice rising. “So there I am, Gus Wobblewand, local eccentric and occasional hero, venturing straight into the maw of chaos. Smoke choking the air, tents alight like festival lanterns, the whole market sounding like a war drum being kicked down a hill—and then, I see it.”
He throws out his hands, casting Minor Illusion: a winged silhouette with glowing eyes that flicker red in the smoke appears in front of him.
“It was bigger than that.....obviously" He pauses, lets the illusion hang for dramatic effect, then waves it away with a flare of his fingers.
“Naturally, I assume: dragon. What else would it be? Fire in the air, bodies in its grip, my entire life flashing before my eyes.”
He holds up a finger, solemn. “But no. It moved wrong. Too smooth. Too silent. No draconic roar, no glorious bellow, just this slithering weight in the air, like a serpent made of shadow and dread.”
He draws closer, almost whispering now. “And then it spoke. Not with its mouth—in my mind. Just a voice, cold as barrow wind: ‘Not yet, mortal.’”
With a flick of Prestidigitation, the air around him grows briefly chill, mist curling from the ground.
“I don’t know what that means. But nothing good’s ever whispered like that. That’s the kind of thing you hear when an ancient evil’s marking you for snacks.”
He shudders, rubbing his arms. “Then it just took off, with four bodies, mind you! Like some cursed scavenger bird heading back to a feast it didn’t even have to hunt for.”
He pauses, then sighs, eyes wide.
“So yes, I saw it. And now, I’d very much like to not see it again, thank you.”
Then, straightening with sudden purpose: “But first, I’m going to find a man named Ivor Buckets, and I am going to make him command that water line like he’s the Captain of a Fire Brigade blessed by Chauntea herself!”
He marches off, cloak flapping, muttering to himself, “Buckets, buckets, buckets… where in the Nine bloody Hells are your buckets, Ivor…”
Torm is shocked as Gus bustles back into the area. Yet, at the same time, it only seems fitting that the enigmatic gnome was at the heart of the chaos. He listens to the sorcerer's eerie recollection of the tale, the illusions aiding in allowing Torm to empathize with how unsettling all of it was.
When Gus finishes and quickly scampers to do something about . . . buckets? . . . Torm uses Gus's frighteningly accurate imagery to try and recollect anything he may remember of his learning from the priests as a youth about demons, devils, fiends, and celestials. Trying to understand what this creature my be.
Religion: 3(1+2) [[feel like Charlie Brown trying to kick a football]]
Frustrated his mind is so clouded with rage at wanting to avenge the dead littered around him, the Paladin storms off toward the west--hoping he finds his recent companions near the well. Perhaps if he relays Gus's account, they may have an idea of what foul creature this is.
Or perhaps the walk will at least help clear his mind and allow him to think.
***OoC: Great reference Torm lol. I think Lucy has been messing with Tuu'Saayn' thieves tools too.***
Tuu'Saayn gives a nod to Janet and sets down one of the healers kits. "Just in case..." he says with a gentle smile.
With the injured well cared for, he heads back out to rejoin his companions. He listens carefully to Gus' recounting of the events in the center of the blast site.
***He tries to remember a matching description to the beast from his studies at the monistary.***
History: 18
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Frustrated his mind is so clouded with rage at wanting to avenge the dead littered around him, the Paladin storms off toward the west--hoping he finds his recent companions near the well. Perhaps if he relays Gus's account, they may have an idea of what foul creature this is.
Or perhaps the walk will at least help clear his mind and allow him to think.
None of the people clearing wreckage and moving bodies would meet his eye - afraid of bringing the terrible vengeance he embodies down on themselves, perhaps.
Perhaps someone with a more...Religious bent might be able to make something of the descriptions?
As Torm scuffs his way Westward, a voice whispers from a nearby stall
"Hisst! Paladin!.
I didn't see nothin' myself, you understand - but I was down by the Tavern, when it happened - there was some big Tiefling, lookin' straight at it as the blast went up - lit up his face like a lantern, it did. Go bother him - he must have seen the whole thing, the red-skinned freak!"
[Usual disclaimers apply]
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Gryn hears Gus shouting out and then Torm shout back in answer. He spots the huge cloud of smoke and makes his way toward it figuring that must of been the sound they heard just moments before, some sort of explosion.
"Gus!... Torm!... Where are you! What happened!"
He wastes no time and covers his mouth and nose with the crook of his left arm but suddenly stops near the edge of the large smoke cloud.
Wait! Wait just a minute! They probably can't see inside there and got turned around, maybe they need you to stay out here and help guide them out of the smoke?
"It's me, Gryn, follow my voice!"
(He will repeat some shouts every few seconds to give them a fixed point to move towards and escape the smoke cloud.)
"This way!"
"Over here!"
Tuu'Saayn arrives, coughing and covered in ash, his clothing torn and scorched - Torm runs up moments later. Gus can hear Gryn shouting from the West.
Around the perimeter where Tuu'Saayn has yet to venture, the flames continue to spread - more slowly now the middle is mostly burnt-out.
Overhead, The Beast has vanished in smoke and darkness. Even the screams have fallen silent now, just the quiet crackling of flames.
Now he has time to notice such details, Tuu'Saayn feels the faint sense of... Connection... in his mind, the same as before, as if something was listening to him, waiting.
Tuu'Saayn feels again the intrusive presence of the tempter. Channeling his focus, fueled by grief and anger, he throws up a mental wall. He had too much to worry about at present to deal with the bringer of chaos.
"The central blaze has all but burned out," Tuu'Saayn says between coughs and deep breaths of somewhat less smokey air. "But we aren't out of the woods yet. If we can clear more of the tarps and wood out of the way, we may be able to contain it."
His sharp eyes scan the area for the bucket brigade. If he doesn't see anyone on that task his brows furrow slightly in frustration. Calling again on his innate infernal magic he casts thaumaturgy. His voice booms out, "Water to the market center! Grab a bucket and help douse that fire!"
Barring a better idea from the team, he focuses first on finding Gus, and then suggests continuing to clear debris from the path of the flame to keep it contained.
Perception: 8
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
"Maybe we could clear the path for the bucket brigade, I've heard every minute counts in 'floods & fires.'"
Gryn moves the pieces that look the most flammable to a safer distance from the embers of the fireball blast zone.
With Gus located, there doesn't seem to be anybody organising any buckets - normally something the Watch would do.
You do remember a Washerwoman and a bucket carrier from earlier - they probably know how to organise water supplies: But someone would have to go find them.
"Gus, do you think you can convince Ivor Buckets to manage the water line? As the official well inspector he should listen to you," he adds with a wink.
He then takes off after Gryn, moving with purpose and speed to continue clearing a fire break around the blast site.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Gus blinks.
Once. Twice. A third time, just to be dramatic.
He whips his head toward Tuu, eyes wide as the words sink in.
“Ivor. Buckets. Yes. Water. Of course! The man literally has buckets in his name—how did we not think of this sooner?!”
He spins on his heel, and immediately starts jogging, well, half-skipping with urgency, through the chaos, shouting:
“MAKE WAY! OFFICIAL WELL BUCKETS PROCURROR COMING THROUGH!”
He pushes past two stunned bakers and leaps over a smoldering cabbage cart with far more flair than necessary.
“Ivor!” he shouts, using Minor Illusion to blast his voice three times louder, making at least one goat faint. “Ivor Buckets! In the name of civic responsibility, I COMMAND THEE!”
He stops in the middle of the street, scans the crowd like a hawk.
Perception Check: 16
2
There, standing a couple of feet away, a sticky bun in his hand, is Ivor Buckets. His buckets by his side, as he stands dumbfounded, starting at this bellowing gnome. Hearing the call to his sense of civic responsibility, he straightens up and sucks in his gut.
"Sir! Yes Sir!"
“There you are, my sweet, water-bearing angel!”
Gus barrels toward him and grabs him by the shoulders like a long-lost lover returning from sea.
“Ivor Buckets. We need a line to the well, we need it now, and you—you, you beautiful bastard—are the only one who can do it.”
He turns on his heel and fires off one more Prestidigitation burst, a plume of harmless blue smoke shaped vaguely like a bucket with wings—as a signal.
“TUU! BUCKETS ARE IN MOTION! THE LINE SHALL FLOW LIKE THE SWEET TEARS OF VICTORY!”
He glances skyward looking for the winged entity.
“…Assuming we all live long enough to appreciate proper hydration.”
This is what subtlety looks like holding a bullhorn and lighting the fuse... Tuu'Saayn couldn't help but smile as Gus hit the ground running. The excitable gnome was certainly eccentric, he thought, but you cant argue with results!
He shook his head slightly, chuckling softly as he raced back into the belly of the beast. He kept his eyes open for injured folk, but his focus was to prevent the fire from spreading by continuing to remove tents and stalls by any means necessary.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
With the group tearing firebreaks through the crowded stalls, and Tuu'Saayn dancing through the worst of it as if the flames could not touch him, the eventual arrival of a bucket-chain is enough to bring the blaze under control.
The smoke clears gradually and the grim business of recovering the bodies begins - the only consolation being that those caught in the explosion died almost instantly. Janet Cornwallis continues to organise the treatment of injuries and burns, and the removal of bodies to be stored in the cells of the deserted Watch House.
The entire Night Market seems to be holding its breath - uncertain of the future, and whether this was a terrible accident, or an attack of some kind. The absence of the Watch and the closed gates cause many load complaints.
As the group re-gathers, on the West Road, just by the Well, Gus realises he is the only one who saw the Beast in the smoke.
Torm surveys the charred portion of the market. The stench of burnt flesh and hair combined with the acrid odor of cindered stalls forces him to pull his robe over his face, in an attempt to blunt the stench.
Hearing the gnomes magically enhanced voice fills him with some relief, knowing Gus is . . . still Gus.
He begins to investigate the area of "impact" trying to determine if the fireball was of natural means (catapulted) or of magical origins.
Investigation: 14
Torm spends a while pacing the centre of the Market - The blast came from above, he can tell: Roof struts embedded in the ground, only burnt on one side, the pattern of disruption spreading out from a point directly above the shattered table end empty, smashed, chairs.
Without speaking to any witnesses, he learns little of the nature of the blast, or the apparently empty table that was targetted. The forty feet of destruction encompassed perhaps ten percent of the people in the market - fifty to sixty dead, in the tightly packed areas outside the main tent.
[The rest of the group are over by the Well, on the West Road - unless any of you want to be somewhere else?]
When the immediate threat of the fire spreading was under controll, Tuu'Saayn turned his attention to the wounded. "I'm going back to the tavern to check on the wounded. Did anyone see what exactly the hells happened? I felt the dark presence again, and can only think that the council members in that tent were the main course he spoke of."He then runs back to the stand where he found the med kit earlier (assuming it wasn't incinerated in the blast).
***OoC: He buys 2 more healers kits if they have them - if the stand isn't manned he makes a mental note to return and pay for the supplies: but he is grabbing them either way.***
With an armload of healing supplies the battered and scorched tiefling makes haste to the tavern area. He gives the kits to anyone who knows how to use them. If no such person is available he jumps right in and does his best to help, looking for the most severely wounded first.
Medicine: 9
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
The Night Market is disturbed, but not yet shattered - away from the central devastation, stalls are still running, people are gathering to talk and console each other.
Tuu'Saayn has no difficulty buying more healing kits, but finds the makeshift infirmary set up at the Tavern has no need of them.
"A lot of minor burns, trips and falls, a few minor injuries - whatever it was, it was lethal for just about everyone in the area, but the fire didn't spread far, and the injured were mostly hurt trying to get further away. I just hope it's all over now, because we still can't get out."
Unable to determine if the fire was a means of man or magic Torm looks to the people who are gathered and searching for friends and loved ones among the scattered dead. He scans their faces trying to determine who may have seen something, but with his aggressive demeanor nobody will return his scowling gaze.
Realizing the people are as intimidated by him as they are the devastation befallen them, he decides to use a more forceful tact to find a hesitant witness.
Standing in the midst of the ring of death he clangs his sword and shield together to get the people's attention.
He bellows to the crowd, "Who here saw where this flame of destruction came from?"
He pauses for a moment to let them consider his question.
"Speak up now! If we do not find and vanquish the source, you leave yourself exposed to more wanton destruction such as this."
The bronze-skinned Aasmir holds his sword out in front of him, rotating to in a slow circle to highlight the dead scattered around the scene.
Intimidation: 19 (15+4)
"BY THE GOLDEN GUSSET OF GOND, THAT’S a voice I’d follow into the Nine Hells!”
Gus scrambles up, brushing soot off his clothes and adjusting sleeves that are more patch than fabric. He half-runs, half-trips his way into the ring of carnage, raising both arms like a child summoned to supper.
He skids to a halt before Torm, staring up at the towering Aasimar with unabashed awe. “Well, look at you. You’re like a war god got bored and decided to join the city watch. That jaw could be used to split kindling. Is that glow your actual skin or are you always standing in the light of divine reckoning?!”
“Oh, I saw it, friend Trom,” he gasps, blinking wildly as if trying to unsee the memory. “Saw it closer than a goblin sees a misplaced coin purse!”
He paces two steps, then whirls, voice rising. “So there I am, Gus Wobblewand, local eccentric and occasional hero, venturing straight into the maw of chaos. Smoke choking the air, tents alight like festival lanterns, the whole market sounding like a war drum being kicked down a hill—and then, I see it.”
He throws out his hands, casting Minor Illusion: a winged silhouette with glowing eyes that flicker red in the smoke appears in front of him.
“It was bigger than that.....obviously" He pauses, lets the illusion hang for dramatic effect, then waves it away with a flare of his fingers.
“Naturally, I assume: dragon. What else would it be? Fire in the air, bodies in its grip, my entire life flashing before my eyes.”
He holds up a finger, solemn. “But no. It moved wrong. Too smooth. Too silent. No draconic roar, no glorious bellow, just this slithering weight in the air, like a serpent made of shadow and dread.”
He draws closer, almost whispering now. “And then it spoke. Not with its mouth—in my mind. Just a voice, cold as barrow wind: ‘Not yet, mortal.’”
With a flick of Prestidigitation, the air around him grows briefly chill, mist curling from the ground.
“I don’t know what that means. But nothing good’s ever whispered like that. That’s the kind of thing you hear when an ancient evil’s marking you for snacks.”
He shudders, rubbing his arms. “Then it just took off, with four bodies, mind you! Like some cursed scavenger bird heading back to a feast it didn’t even have to hunt for.”
He pauses, then sighs, eyes wide.
“So yes, I saw it. And now, I’d very much like to not see it again, thank you.”
Then, straightening with sudden purpose: “But first, I’m going to find a man named Ivor Buckets, and I am going to make him command that water line like he’s the Captain of a Fire Brigade blessed by Chauntea herself!”
He marches off, cloak flapping, muttering to himself, “Buckets, buckets, buckets… where in the Nine bloody Hells are your buckets, Ivor…”
Torm is shocked as Gus bustles back into the area. Yet, at the same time, it only seems fitting that the enigmatic gnome was at the heart of the chaos. He listens to the sorcerer's eerie recollection of the tale, the illusions aiding in allowing Torm to empathize with how unsettling all of it was.
When Gus finishes and quickly scampers to do something about . . . buckets? . . . Torm uses Gus's frighteningly accurate imagery to try and recollect anything he may remember of his learning from the priests as a youth about demons, devils, fiends, and celestials. Trying to understand what this creature my be.
Religion: 3 (1+2) [[feel like Charlie Brown trying to kick a football]]
Frustrated his mind is so clouded with rage at wanting to avenge the dead littered around him, the Paladin storms off toward the west--hoping he finds his recent companions near the well. Perhaps if he relays Gus's account, they may have an idea of what foul creature this is.
Or perhaps the walk will at least help clear his mind and allow him to think.
***OoC: Great reference Torm lol. I think Lucy has been messing with Tuu'Saayn' thieves tools too.***
Tuu'Saayn gives a nod to Janet and sets down one of the healers kits. "Just in case..." he says with a gentle smile.
With the injured well cared for, he heads back out to rejoin his companions. He listens carefully to Gus' recounting of the events in the center of the blast site.
***He tries to remember a matching description to the beast from his studies at the monistary.***
History: 18
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
None of the people clearing wreckage and moving bodies would meet his eye - afraid of bringing the terrible vengeance he embodies down on themselves, perhaps.
Perhaps someone with a more...Religious bent might be able to make something of the descriptions?
As Torm scuffs his way Westward, a voice whispers from a nearby stall
"Hisst! Paladin!.
I didn't see nothin' myself, you understand - but I was down by the Tavern, when it happened - there was some big Tiefling, lookin' straight at it as the blast went up - lit up his face like a lantern, it did. Go bother him - he must have seen the whole thing, the red-skinned freak!"
[Usual disclaimers apply]