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The Hand of Valjer, Act I: A Touch of Wyrmfire

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Raveena met Jin’s gaze with patience and empathy before looking back to Reynard. “I’m of the mind that no question is idiotic. If you’ve not surmised, I intend to run defense and support for you all. My talents are better suited for it.” She observed Reynard with a keen eye as she spoke. His actions spoke of dissatisfaction—perhaps he did not work well in a group. The manner in which he sat, detached from the group. Her restless hazel eyes took him in and did as she did—she read him.

His accent was Genesarian, but he was not a part of the Empire. Her gaze narrowed thoughtfully. He did not have the beach swept hair that Nadia did. He did not have the foreign attire of the Midlands. He was not from the East, nor the West. Genesarian accent, fair skin, red hair. Raveena immediately pinpointed that Reynard was local to the Cold South. And then he uttered the name, as if a curse or reverence.

Valjer

Reynard was from Shrine City, the only place where such a name held any true meaning. Raveena was known as Kingslayer to her newly acquired people. She slayed the Beast King Raz-Nogore and it was not an easy feat. She had inspired a rebellion and paved the path to a revolution the likes Renovatio had not seen for some time. Long before she had slayed the king, she was a Godslayer, twice so. She knew she had abilities far beyond her understanding. It served no purpose now, as she could not remember how to tap into them since her God had revived her. Was it invocation? Instinctual and primal? She never had the time to find out and understand. They said she could summon swords from the air and don armor like magic. That she could be in two places at once—that it was always a fantastic sight to see. Yet it served this group no purpose whatsoever. “Would that I could be of better use offensively; if I can anticipate the moods of the beast and guide you through its patterns of intent, it will give you a better chance.”

If it doesn’t kill you as you try to approach briefly enough to make contact. Jesta’ interjected. Raveena ignored her still. Reynard intrigued her—in that way that Empaths were intrigued by the emotional vessels they met. Though he tried to mask his underlying panic, Raveena was adept at reading the language of people.

A Shriner—as she called them—who did not work for the government-oriented capital of the Cold South, who worked as a mercenary. Who drank often and retained a moody disposition. Now there was a story behind that. A deserter? Or—perhaps he was something else? She knew from the Kadian way of life their disposition of those who wielded magic or did not retain human or mortal lives. She had no doubt that same Empirical mindset held true in the Cold South. “What do you bring to the fold, Master Reynard?” She questioned smoothly, “Aside from your Crossbow mastery?”

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Alright, now the real party could begin! It seemed that everyone had arrived which, upon further inspection, did not really impress him much. Not that he could assume anything about anyone; he himself knew that his outward appearance typically made people underestimate him due to his looks. It was this mentality that made him realize that, no matter who the possible acquaintance may be, unless you have knowledge of their skills beforehand, they can and most likely will fuck you up.

It was then that he had begun to further look at his new team. 

There was their 'Commander', Nadia. She seemed to be pretty experienced which he could attribute to her being a soldier. However, the task of taking down this Wyrm was obviously too much for her and the men she served with. In fact, if not for her quick thinking, he highly doubted they'd be here. If anything, he most certainly would not be trekking around in the damn cold. He was unsure of how she felt of the group as a whole, but if being surrounded by those who called themselves 'soldiers' (AKA Paladins), then she might not have been too impressed with them. And if he was being true to himself...despite the missing arm and the seasoned scars, when she dropped the cloak he couldn't help but feel his cheeks get a little hot.

There was the dwarf, whom he didn't have much information on other than his name was Baddic. Short, but stocky; the norm for all of their kind. Not that he didn't mind, he had known some good dwarves back home...before they got murdered. And the smart ones know what happens when you murder people back home. Besides that, the man seemed to be a rifleman, meaning that he would be handy as a more ranged combatant. That is, unless he had some axes or something hidden away in those furs of his.

Then there was the man known as Jinsoku. He seemed to be a pretty capable person from first impressions. Then again, everyone had an air of capability to them, else they wouldn't have even considered embarking on this quest. Ans his gear seemed to be top-tier, the amount it must have cost making Mensa shudder at the thought. And his sword...if anything, he felt that it would at least do something against the Wyrm, to hell with what Nadia had said. And her was a pretty boy to add to it. Who birthed this guy!?

Maria...was an unknown to him. All he could tell was that she had arrived before he did, and that she had a cat. Hopefully later she would tell me about herself, if only to figure out how she'd be an asset to the team.

And then came Raveena and her freakin' Daemon. Both were stunning, and he avoided any chance of eye contact with the woman for the most obvious of reasons. And to top it all off, she happened to be in a military faction as well...which was kinda hot. And then she eventually began to list off some of her held ranks, and Mensa bit his tongue even harder. Lord? General? Queen!? So much political might for one person!

From that point on he was present for everyone else's arrival. There was the half-ling lady known as Wisp who was simply amazing because she had arrived on a reindeer. The (not so big) man upstairs named Reynard who was the owner of a dog who was huge enough to warrant someone keep eyes on him at all times. Then came Kenshi who baffled him with his choice of attire (though he had no room to excuse his own attire besides his magical armor). And once it seemed as if that was everyone, Nadia would then address the group as a whole.

Questions were asked, answered, and noted in Mensa's mind. Jinsoku's question had caught his attention the most, as it had been about what to do with the remains of the dead creature. Good, that was the outlook he was looking for! Make it clear that the group would succeed and kill the Wyrm...and he needed documentation of this. No one would believe him back home if he just said 'Oh, I killed a friggin' Wyrm!', so he needed something to prove his story true. Some scales, teeth, the entire skull, something! He also offered that the team as a whole get some rest before they prepared. He himself saw nothing wrong with this, just someone looking out for the well-being of the group.

Reynard however, that guy had found issue with this. And he let it be known. He believed that they should form the plan now, and that having nothing was akin to walking to your death. Funny, how he said all of this stuff and didn't once speak of any tactics to combat the Wyrm. Oh well, might've just been the drink talking. Jinsoku would respond, not only explaining his words, but seeming to be annoyed with Reynard's misinterpretation. Raveena would also respond, though she was more gentle with her words. And, once that had been done, he felt himself wanting to speak. Not to intervene in the argument (he found that slightly amusing), but to offer something to the group.

"Alright, to those who don't already know or chose not to remember, I'm Mensa Voss."

He would lead with that, stepping closer to the group as he continued talking. "I am a pyromancer, if this slight aura of fire is of any indication. Cold things tend to not be my thing, especially with my low tolerance for it, but I generally do alright. Magical armor made of nothing but fire can be quite handy, I can vouch for that. I guess I'm more of a hand-to-hand guy, but for obvious reasons I'm gonna try to stick to ranged attacks." And with his piece said, he would cross his arms before giving the group a friendly smile.

"Next!"

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Archwyrm? Why of course the word of such beast had never been heard by the eastern swordsman. It's description alone, was enough to send any man cowering in the other direction. The fear of the unknown for Kenshi however, gave even more a reason to challenge this dragon with or without the group of the other seven. Still, even though he was supposed to be learning about the lands, this was a pilgrimage of his own.

To been as large as two ships? This reminded him very little of the Golden Dragon back home, just as much myth as it was legend. The attacks and it's patterns hardly moved the ookami bloodshed always came with price, but as Nadia went describing the venom and how the poison could spread quickly soon as it's contacted, it did raise some concern for the blind hanyo. Just enough he would realize how mal-equipped he was actually; one drop of venom was enough to burn through the fabrics from his kimono and hakama, one-two-three and his god forgiven bare naked toes. This would mean he'd have to fight a tad differently against the creature, more of ranged combat no matter how great of a swordslayer he thought he truly was, he could not fly either, yet then, he didn't think any body had that ability to go airborne. Life force, spiritual energy, and his Sacred Flames might not be enough to slay the beast by his own he ruled out taking the reptile head-on unless of course, he had wished to come out of the adventure a dead man. Kenshi kicked his chair back so that it rested on its rear legs and he took another chunk out from his apple looking at everyone, examining them both in and out mind, body, and soul. He went over a few times, everyone with the clarity of a true predator unlike the rest he was bred in nature of a hunter. The wolf was sniffing for weakness, truths, falsities, he had to trust these people with his own life as so would they him. Marble white eyes focused on one man in particular, a great spiritual awareness would find himself watched in the metaphysical by the who called himself Jin. Via telepathic energies would he communicate and in silence would he stare, blindly, but the ookami's spirit was his guide naturally, he trust gut instinct in ways he could not rely on blindsense. The turn of his stomach burning him up on the insides, or was the warning presence of the Raiju setting him up to feel uneasy and challenged by this? If the man could see the intangible plum yoki building in waves radiating from his person like a wildfire, then he would come to find that he was upsetting the half-demon, stirring his spirit into defense. As two Wolves persay from different packs, though Kenshi was a literal one and could make the transformation while also, projecting the spirit form of his yokai. The old saying went, "this town ain't big enough for the both of us.", the two hundred year old Wolf would established dominance the moment he set foot in the establishment. One was not simply greater than the other, it was obvious which was wiser however.

You possess the Raiju? Or by looks of things, it possesses you. Tame your wolf, please. I don't want to cause unnecessary trouble, or have to harm an innocent. This isn't why I've came.

Jumping into conversation with the rest of the group:

"This Archwyrm has a weak spot, no? We should target the underbelly every opportunity, that we see. With Yoki embedded into my blade, I can cut even through dense rock and steel. Yet, no doubt in my mind would I not have an appropriate defense against the spewing of it's venom, once I make the cut. The first chance I get will be aimed under the neck, or at severing it's head but I know I will only get one chance to cut it down. I agree with Jin, we should wait until the morning to move out and make search. I haven't even known any one more than five minutes, here. Sadly, I don't trust any of you just yet with my life."

Edited by Etched in Stone

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A dragon never forgets.

Watching his brethren fall to the arrows and spears of an inferior species—he does not forget.

Running from those hunters clad in the flesh of his kin—he does not forget.

Ashamed of his fascination for their younglings, blind to that which they will become—he does not forget.

Valskyldr fought alongside his brothers and sisters at the formation of the Dragonsoul Summit. His blood, sweat, and tears formed the mortar that held their new civilization together. He stood in awe of Sayrithekin as he rose to power, cobbling a governance that would stand for ages. Valskyldr hoped Sayrithekin would lead them in doing what their god would demand of them—eradicating the human pests, destroying every trace of them from all of Genesaris. A land ruled by dragons, no longer subjugated by the whims of the fading embers known as men. Like the sparks of burning tinder, they quickly came into existence, and the flickered out, fading into the sea of darkness. Dangerous sparks, who sometimes burned down tracts of land in their careless displays. Sayrithekin failed the dragons, and abandoned the will of their god, by letting the humans continue to exist.

With a heavy heart, he left the city and returned to hiding, nursing his growing hatred of humans. For thousands of years, his fury remained constant. He could feel it changing him, contouring his perception. Everything humans did became an affront. Valskyldr felt an itching at his fingertips, the urge to bring down his vengeance on every living soul within a thousand miles, but he waited. A dragon alone is a force to be reckoned with, but even still, the humans had such numbers. A day when the dragons would look to his words and remember his warning. When they called upon him, he would return, and together they would crush everyone.

That day has yet to come. But today, he answers a calling.

Valjer has finally awakened.


The archwyrm crept through the woods surrounding the tavern, approaching with caution. A gathering of humans came together this night, plotting his demise. Valjer made his presence known in these parts in recent weeks, exploring the human civilizations, and learning of his enemy. He took his time, for a dragon does lack patience and circumspection. He let himself be seen in his true form, hoping to invoke fear in the little mortals. Valjer relished in the thought of their dread, fearing an enemy so much stronger. Let them know of their impending demise.

The archwyrm approached the tavern in the cover of night, wrapping his body around it, taking the measure of his target. Tonight, he would strike a blow to these foolish would-be heroes. He would show them his strength, and he will smile as they tremble in awe. He was not just any dragon; he was no common wyrm living a comfortable life in that so-called summit. He was a feral beast who stayed faithful to his god, growing stronger every day, reading himself for such an encounter.

Inside, distracted by their affairs, the patrons would know nothing of the death that curled up beside them. Coiled up and pressed against the tavern, Valjer lifted up his might head and stared down at the pitiful structure. He paused for just a moment, admiring the way that his massive body dwarfed the building. Then, in one crushing blow, he constricted his body and brought the walls crashing in, halving the size and width of the tavern. From above, he breathed in deeply, and then engulfed the building with the fires of an ancient god, incinerating the roofing in seconds, filling the carcass with a blaze that would be remembered for centuries.

Then he left; slipping back into the darkness from whence he came. If any survived, they would rightly fear him, and surely return to their homelands.

When the time was right, he would return with far greater strength and destroy them all.


OOC Note: The dragon ambushes the tavern, wrapping his body around the entire structure, and then crushing it like a python would with a rabbit. He then floods the structure with an onslaught of flames, undoubtedly leading to many NPC casualties. After, he recedes, assuming his terrible attack will encourage these hunters to give up their pursuit and seek glory elsewhere.

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Wisp was not sure what to make of this party. Everyone seemed to have arrived and they all seemed capable, though the fact that their leader only had one arm was a little concerning. Also, the fact that this Wyrm seemed to have no real weaknesses or ways to kill it made this trip seem a little more daunting. 

Everyone had begun introducing themselves, and Wisp had begun playing with the large dog that Reynard brought with him, when Reynard seemed to be getting a little angry (or maybe just more drunk). From her spot on the table, Wisp saw him pull out a box and a small vial of purple liquid which she assumed was some form of wolfsbane. Wisp had some experience with Werewolves and it was not an experience that she wanted to have again. She loved all animals but Werewolves were the exception, they were wild and unpredictable creatures who would turn on anyone. Right away she knew that she couldn't trust him. 

Before she had a chance to introduce herself, Wisp had an uneasy feeling come over her. She could sense an evil presence unlike any that she had ever felt. Wisp closed her eyes and let herself reach out with her mind. She found a crow sitting in a tree nearby and looked through its eyes. It was a dark night and the snow made it difficult to see, even with dark vision but she could make out a large shape flying towards the tavern. 

"Well that is not good," she thought to herself. "I have to warn the party."

With a gasp she came back to her body. 

"Guys!" She shouted, in a voice louder than most people would expect from a half-ling (it was necessary for trying to deal with large, stubborn animals). "We have a dragon-sized problem on our hands."

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A few moments before the walls came closing in on Reynard, both figuratively and literally ...

Cheeks reddened with erubescent hues of rose and crimson as he took another large gulp of alcohol. No longer caring about paying the damages he owed to Icestone Tavern, Reynard was just about ready to abandon the quest in its entirety. All of the money, fortune, and fame he could receive through this entire opportunity were enticing, but these would not even cover a fraction of the grievances he would most surely obtain if he spent another minute with Jinsoku. He didn't have to deal with this. He knew that these adventurers were certainly capable of handling a dragon on their own, and that they would most definitely be able to navigate the labyrinth that was duly titled "The Wilderness" for no particular reason whatsoever. His own pathetic sarcasm was almost enough to offset his intense exasperation. They wouldn't last a few days in the forest, let alone a week, he thought to himself. Were they born and raised on the hellish terrain that made up the Cold South? Were they experienced bounty hunters who traversed these regions on a regular basis? Were they even prepared for the dangers that winter within these parts held? These rhetorical questions all passed through the hunter's mind, except that the word 'they' was replaced with various profanities that Reynard had just recently associated to the word 'Jinsoku.'

His fingers moved unconsciously towards the hardwood crossbow that lied flat on the table. He was very drunk, yes, but more than that, he was an angry drunk who had a vindictive temperment. Before he left, he would have to settle the score with the insolent child.

I'll show the bastard who needs to sit down and shut up... by the time I'm finished with him, he'll be the one who needs another drink. If one could read minds, it would be clear that Reynard's state of mind was past the mark of simple inebriation as the swordsman would not be able to drink with a bolt of iron in his throat.

Then, as if choreographed by some higher force, all murderous intent and drunken thoughts of killing Jin were washed away in a river of words.

"What do you bring to the fold, Master Reynard?" Spoke a voice that contained a certain charm that Reynard could not pinpoint. It disarmed him, catching the man who was always prepared completely off-guard. A few moments earlier, he had already decided that he was not longer going to be apart of the quest, but now, all such thoughts were gone. There was a strange feeling welling up inside of the mercenary -- one that he could not currently put words to. He wondered: what was it about the question that could change his mind? Was it the honey-like smoothness? Perhaps the punctuated staccato of exotic origin? Could it be the alcohol in his body luring him into a state of depravity and sin? Unable to comprehend these emotions in his drunken state, the mercenary shook his head in an attempt to clear up the foggy haze which clouded his mind. If he was to respond properly to the woman, he needed to at least act like a sober man. Realistically speaking, Raveena was indeed trying to further communication and collaboration within the group -- something that Reynard was originally trying to promote before being rudely dismissed by the insidious Jin.

He put his flask down onto the table -- he would show her them that he wasn't a slave to the bottle. (he was a slave to the women)

Ready to impress With newfound motivation towards the noble cause of defeating the wyrm, Reynard brushed off the comments made about his constitution and show that he too wished to further discussion.

"I-" He began with confidence -- before being cut off by the fiery Mensa who seemed to have the same idea.

"I-" He spoke louder -- before being again cut off by the blind bas- collaborative teammate who also wished to establish group moral and teamwork by sharing ideas which would most assuredly lead to the archwyrm's demise.

"Raveena, I-" He yelled -- before being so rudely warned by the druidress about a 'dragon-sized' problem. Had she no sympathy, no shame? The mercenary was desperately trying to answer the sorceress's simple question in a civilized manner, but the alcohol and unruly group members had taken him on a joy ride through the various facets of the human spectrum of emotions. Anger, Strange Emotions. Confidence. Irritation. Vexation. Condemnation of all of mankind.

Surely, these individuals must have known that they were making life for the newly-medicated, chronic alcoholic a lot tougher than life 'ought to be. Why wouldn't they let him speak? Was he so unlucky as to receive such talkative party members? Wasn't the 'third time' something is attempted supposed to be the 'charm' -- as he heard preached religiously at the bar counter? Was there any end to these questions?

Perhaps Reynard's own confusion was infectious, for there were many, many, unanswered questions.

For example: what was the dragon-sized problem that the small Wisp had mentioned? Was it something important?

Spoiler

OOC: In short, Reynard is now very drunk. He attempts to communicate with the group his skills and background, but is foiled thrice by Mensa, Kenshi, and finally Wisp. He currently has no clue as to what is about to happen; however, he will most likely snap out of his drunken trance after seeing the literal building be constricted to half its size. Despite this, some help for my poor, misunderstood, medicated, and drunk werewolf would be appreciated ~

 

Edited by Artificer

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So fixated was she on his words--for she was sincerely curious. The prickling of warning came on her skin when Jesta' tensed. She, too, felt it--in the breadth of a few seconds. Affronted, it felt like, by a plague. A plague of mankind. It was sharp--like the scent of decay. An emotional decay, there as no true way to define the sensation but to be reminded of the senses themselves, how it grafted onto her memory. There was no time to bellow, no time to react towards others. The walls groaned and creaked for mere seconds before the powerful swell of muscles crushed the threshold of the Tavern, a deafening, explosive sound as splinters and chunks of wood and stone showered them.

The burning scent of wood and worse--of flesh as the rafters collapsed, burning wildly. This was no fire started by nature--but something preternatural and powerful. It was as though Hell rained over their heads, the choking black smoke smothering the senses. Raveena felt a blazing piece of timber sear the skin of her right shoulder as it collapsed, and she could hear the death cries of those caught in the belching flames that rose up to the exposed sky. To her, in the moment of adrenaline and fear, the world was pristine, clear and slowed. She kept low and crawled and in truth--she was afraid. She was born from a line of Elementalist, the most respected magi of her people due to their ties to nature. Still, this was something else entirely. It did not make her immune to fire, as fire did what nature intended regardless of what she was: burn. She could not dispel flames, but she could guide its burning path and potentially cut it off. Still, at this magnitude, the fire around them was too great. The destruction, too much. There was only the singular path she could focus on, and so she did.

Flame was a tricky sort, slippery and alluring. It was easy to be distracted and fire itself was easily distracted. It wandered, and thus it spread. The intent was there, imparted by the trickling of her will. At first, there was no answer, but as the seconds ticked, the blaze seemed to part, leaving the marred and charred remains smoldering and smoking. Raveena crawled, following the high tail of her Daemon as though she were a tour guide raising the sign to be followed. Her knees ached, black and burned. Her lungs felt full of smoke that was dizzying. With the roof collapsed, the crisp, cold air would surely fuel the blaze for hours. She needed to find a spot that would endure, and for that she knew she needed to get below. The flames parted like slow moving waves around her, converging again only as she moved on to the next section she willed away. The room was a silhouette of shadows and unrecognizable faces contorted in mindless fear at being trapped or worse, and she skittered and crawled as quickly as she dared, tripping over her cloak as she went. There was no water to douse it with, though it had been scarcely dampened by the snowfall. It barely helped to breathe through, but it kept her alive long enough. A large, structured door laid into the ground was half destroyed. Petite that she were, she squeezed and writhed her way carefully through the charred edifice and tumbled down stone steps and sprawled onto the ice cold pavers of the cellar floor.

Raveena coughed and sputtered; the air was not as clean and clear as she'd like, but coughing helped to clear her lungs. All around her were fleshed out shelving to keep rations for the tavern's patrons. She stiffened at the realization that there were barrels--likely of alcohol. Her body ached enough that she couldn't readily worry about the floor caving in and blowing the barrels up. No heat would get there, and the fire would burn on the timber above rather than the stones below.

Or so she hoped.

She drew her cloak close, shivering at the thought. Jesta' prowled onto her chest and perched, her bright green eyes inspecting the woman.

Your injuries are minor, and there's no use is worrying about the fire. It will likely burn through the night, but with the roof destroyed the smoke will not be contained. Breathing will become easier as it fans and burns cleaner. It was a gamble to come down here. I will watch if the fire worsens. Tentatively, you are safe.

Raveena groaned in assent, her head cushioned by the hood of her cloak. The unique Chimera gene that had mutated her on the cellular level some months back was slowly taking effect. It had been an unintended accident from Rowan sharing his immortal blood through transfusions with her. He was immortal insofar as the unique genetic structure of his regenerative Flatworm DNA had slowed his aging down significantly, and doubled his ability to recuperate. Raveena was nowhere near as advanced as her Chimera beau who could recover from his injuries in hours, but she knew it would take a day or moe to recover from her minor burns. The lids of her eyes drifted. She felt a sudden exhaustion as the adrenaline left her feeling drained.

She tried to grasp onto an important detail--something her brain recognized as the wyrm had attacked but it eluded her sluggish brain as rest dictated her thoughts just then. Which was to say, no thoughts at all... 

Edited by Deus Ex Aizen

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No sooner had Wisp warned the group about the dragon heading towards the tavern, then the walls of the tavern began crumbling. She started up, that wasn't normal. As if it couldn't get any worse the roof caught on fire. 

"Shit...."

She looked around to try and find some way to get out of the tavern because burning to death was not really how she wanted to go. The flames were spreading quickly, which she assumed was normal for dragon fire. Beams from the roof were cracking and splintering and beginning to fall to the floor of the tavern.

Wisp turned towards the doorway to try and escape but the large tavern door had been destroyed and several broken beams laid in the way. She also noticed Raveena looking around for an exit and saw looking at what must have been the taverns underground cellar. The way was blocked by a wall of flames but that didn't seem to bother Raveena, the flames melded around her like water which was really cool though why she couldn't just get rid of the flames Wisp didn't know. As she watched, Raveena disappeared into the cellar and the flames reformed over where she had walked. 

Wisp was not as good at dealing with flames as that, she was more powerful when dealing with plants and animals, but she did have a few tricks up her sleeves (actually they were in her pack). She quickly rummaged through her bag to find what she was looking for and pulled out a small pouch. The pouch was filled with something she had found on her travels to the island of Amalia, off the coast of Terrenus. At first glance, the beans looked like something that you would eat for dinner, but these beans were also blue and would also be extremely unpleasant to eat. They were called, sea beans and they would react violently with the flames. 

Wisp would have to be fast. The strength of the fire would overwhelm the beans after a few minutes. She grabbed a few beans and put the pouch back in her bad. Tossing the beans in the fire in front of the door she hoped that the beans would still work. But they did. The beans had barely hit the ground before they exploded in a cloud of vapors which pushed back the fire away from the door. 

As soon as they exploded, Wisp started to run towards the cellar. Her swift legs, made swifter from dodging hostile animals, carried her across the tavern floor and over the broken beams. She dove through the small gap in the door, rolled down the stairs and came to rest on the floor of the cellar. Wisp hoped that the fire wouldn't follow her down here but for the time being she was safe.

She looked around and saw the same barrels that Raveena did, well that could pose a problem. She also saw Raveena, who looked to be passed out on the floor, and her strange cat who was guarding her sleeping form. Wisp couldn't get a read on the cat but she tried to reach out with her mind to make sure that the cat knew that she meant her mistress no harm. 

"Easy now. I will not harm her. Is she alright?" She thought to the cat. 

 

(OOC: If she can't communicate with Jesta' just have her not communicate back. She can communicate with animals but since Jesta' is a Daemon I will leave that up to you)

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There was no time -- no time at all to have prepared for the walls which fell inward and the touch of wyrmfire which lit the tavern ablaze. She only had a few seconds to save herself from whatever surprises were coming her way.

Time slowed down for her as the world came crashing in. Her heart was pounding like a wild drum as a slough of adrenaline poured through her veins. Looking upwards, she stood motionless, paralyzed in fear -- she could see the eyes of the archwyrm, the eyes which haunted her dreams. Without warning, the horrific images of that night came rushing back, rooting her in a state of disbelief and pure terror. She hadn't yet prepared her mind for the most pernicious of evils she knew she had to face on this quest: her own memories. Petrified, she stood staring helplessly at the fiery death that awaited her.

Marius, her mind screamed, Please -- save me!

Then, like a knife cutting through the veil -- through the cacophony of cracking wood, falling rubble, and muted screams -- the words of a distant memory forced its way to the forefront of Nadia's thoughts. "No, no, no! You're doing it all wrong, Nadia. You forget the most important rule of battle: A mage who cannot protect themselves is nothing more than cannon fodder. Raise your shield higher this time ~ En garde!"

At his memorized instruction, her lips moved without thought, speaking the words which she had practiced so many times on the sandy training grounds of the barracks. "Tel'le moor -- re'vak!" She yelled -- each syllable of the incantation ringing with the notes of arcane power. Marius's words carried wisdom that would not be forgotten: she wasn't just going to allow herself to die. Within a few moments, fragments of thin, glass-like pieces of magic manifested themselves around her out of this air, encasing her body his a coat of ethereal armor. Yes, it seemed as if Marius had come to save her yet again as he always did. The words which had been engraved into her by countless training sessions reminded her that she was not a cowering child: she was the illustrious bulwark of her entire squadron. She was a mistress who not only guarded her allies with her tall, imperial escutcheon, but also enlisted a whole range of spells dedicated towards protecting those whom had not the means to protect themselves -- even if that person was herself. Had this spell not been beaten into her by her beloved during her time in the military, she would have been nothing more than a helpless lamb in the face of Valjer's wrath.

The sound of cracking mortar which thundered behind her elicited the lieutenant's attention first. Head turning, she was immediately assaulted by an avalanche of brick and stone that was once the masonry flue of the fireplace. There was no time to react, so instead, she shielded her face with crystalline gauntlets and braced herself for impact. Within mere moments, the tower of rubble assaulted her with relentless force, burying the woman alive stone by stone -- her magic construct of armor was the only thing preventing her mortal frame from being crushed into a bloody pulp.

A few seconds passed, and then she heard the first crack in her armor -- a sound which could be likened to that of a melting glacier.

Her will to survive was enough to hold up continents, but the real question was how long her spell would hold up the mountain of rock above her.

Edited by Artificer

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“I suppose Uncle thinks this should be a good chance at gaining some experience.” He said quietly, opal eyes scanned the paper in his hand. It dictated his orders to join the group seeking to hunt the Wyrm, and to protect Southern assets. This made sure that none of them were spies, and not to allow the creature to leave the region alive so as not to be used as a weapon. Pretty simple, thorough even, with other suggestions penned in. The rest was left to his discretion. A lot of trust, rare given the usually direct and heavy handed nature of Neronius. Either way someone representing the Cold South needed to take part, if only for political reasons.

Normally a Legion would have been sent out, split into multiple hunting parties, and then flush the beast out into the open. Sadly that option was not on the table. The rise of beast attacks had been steady, and with the borders needing to be watched, there was little resources that could be spared. Regardless the threat could not be ignored. Using his authority in TESA, Nero had chosen his nephew to take on the multifaceted task. The name Melisende carried weight, and allowing Renovatio to also take part in it kept the military relationship fresh. It also helped that he was adamant in being chosen. Eager to prove himself a capable Bravada, and killing a Wyrm would be a nice achievement and stepping stone to Galaxy class.

Something caught his notice, a distinct scent on the cold crisp air. The scent of burning wood, of smoke. A fire? His attention turned to the direction he was headed, where the call for would-be hunters to gather originated. Not good. The smell was much too strong to be chimney smoke, and there was the distinct tinge of burning flesh just beneath the surface. Not good at all. He ignited the letter, red-gold flames devouring the paper hungrily, and released it to fall. He grabbed the large, obviously two-handed blade that stood sheathed, leaning against the tree beside him. Whatever was going on, he was beginning to get the feeling that it might be related to the Wyrm. His gut instinct was usually right.

Asher set off at a jog, his Renovatian magitek armor allowing him to plow through the snow with relative ease. He could see the smoke now, the orange glow of fire, the sputtering flash of embers as the flared and died during their ascension. It was no normal fire, the heat was too intense, felt even from this distance. It wasn't long before his suspicion was confirmed. IceStone tavern was aflame, the roof gone and the walls toppled inward, as if crushed. No fire caused that. He rushed forward after slamming the sheathed blade into the ground, the sounds of shouting and screams signaling that there were some survivors. At least some could be saved, though he had no doubt that many had already died in the initial attack.

Immediately he made his way to what had been the entrance, barred now by the debris of a collapsed roof. Gauntleted hands heaved and pushed it out of the way, using his own natural strength, supplemented by his armor he made as short work of it as he could. “Hey! If anyone is still alive try to get to the door quickly, I can clear a path.” But for how long? Asher guessed he would soon find out. He seeded his senses into the flames, felt their deep hatred and need to consume. Its resistance. Whatever had created this fire was strong, and full of rage. At last he subjugated enough of the flames to split a path leading from the center of the tavern. “Hurry!” He shouted against the heat and roaring fire.

Edited by Alexei

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Maria had a bit of a problem on her hand at ghe moment... she hadn't really heard much of what happened before the dragon... which was slightly odd for her but no matter... she got the basics. Group was together one was severly drunk.... and what about the others? NO TIME! Fire, danger, things, dragons, and ADVENTURE! IT CALLED! She giggled a bit at the fire and she steped right into the middle of where the dragon had hit protected by her magic and red stone.

"AH Fire how you glow brightly but you hold no power over me." She says as she throws her arms out and slowly starts to draw the fire towards herself from all over the tavern. "DRAGON COME BACK AND FIGHT! I WILL SHOW YOU HOW TO USE THIS STUFF!" Runes appaer in the air on both sides of her hands and slowly absorb the flames. There where a lot... she know she couldn't keep this up with what the dragon could produce but she could absorb the fire it left behind.... luckily it left... though the tavern was destroyed... 

She couldn't tell how many were dead... did every team member make it through okay? She couldn't lose concentration though that wouldn't be good since she was eating all the flames at the moment! She smiles to herself. It felt nice to know that their enemy was this strong. It had been a while since she got a good challenge and she felt good about their odds this quest should be fun. She calls out to the group 

"Looks like this is going to be fun!"

Though as she says that the building starts to collapse more... not a good thing so quickly changing directions Maria takes the flames she is willing at that moment and engulfs the roof in them. Focusing all the flames on burning the roof up completely.

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"Dragon-sized!?"

Oh...crap.

As Wisp spoke, Mensa would immediately not like the tone of her voice. For one, he was sure that halflings were not the ones to be yelling (as best she could) at people. This was quickly dwarfed by the 'dragon-seized problem that happened to be nearby. The flame aura that had surrounded him would quickly return to the solid armor shape it had held before. And not a moment too soon, for as he did so the walls around them would seem to explode in at a fast pace.

Shrapnel was sent flying, and the assembled band of 'merry men' were obviously sent scrambling once the flames were rained down upon them. Such an event could only be described as terrifying, and such words could be also be described as coming out of Mensa's mouth as he busied himself with dodging the falling upper support.Well if this was the dragon they were to be hunting, he certainly knew how to make his presence felt! Unfortunately, he seemed to be in the habit of trying to kill them all in a glorious blaze before they had even had the chance to attack him, much less even see him. "Coward." He'd mutter under his breath, for he had actually looked forward to seeing this mythical creature in person, and for it to just sneak up on them like that...well it was just plain rude!

But on to more pressing matters.

The group had scattered, each taking their own routes to ensure their safety. Some seemed to look for shelter, others were more content to simply get out of the burning building. He would have to get to fresh air soon, as the smoke would surely be the end of him if he lingered around too long. He would begin to make his way to the front door, only to audibly curse as he realized that it had been blocked. The debris seemed too heavy to move by himself, and the dwindling group might not have been enough to help. Guess it was time for him to blow a way out, which happened to be something he had really hoped to avoid. He'd have to make this check out to his grandpa, because this was a life or death situation and he just couldn't let himself get burned to a crisp. He would not hear the end of it if such a thing even happened. Mensa...the pyromancer who got killed by fire.

Noticing Maria's effort in redirecting the flames, he would attempt to blast through one of the walls before he not only heard, but was pelted with debris which originated from where the fireplace had once originally been. Not only that, it was where Nadia had once stood, using her magic to shield herself from the flames. However, once the smoke had cleared she was nowhere to be seen, with a bunch of stones being all that was left. Which meant...well, that was just great. Leader of their little group, and she gets buried under some stones.

Make a choice, stick by it.

"For the love of...hang on!" Mensa quickly made his way to the stones, crouching to keep to the floor. The smoke was damn near everywhere, and simply covering his mouth with one arm wouldn't save him forever. He'd try to save Nadia, though he would really appreciate if someone had come and help. Alas, that did not seem to be the case. It seemed Maria had begun to make her escape, seemingly leaving him as one of, if not the only members of the group that could help. Hell, he couldn't even see anyone else, just the smoke and stones that were barely visible in front of him. And one by one, he would push and pull at the stones, unsure if his attempts at saving his new companion were even worth it. For all he knew, she had already suffocated. Or crushed to death, either way was a bit morbid to be honest. However, he had already made his choice, so until he was either dead or certain, he'd keep at it.

“Hey! If anyone is still alive try to get to the door quickly, I can clear a path.”

Who the hell was that? Scratch that, maybe they could help! "I need some help over here!" He'd yell, though his attention stayed towards digging his way towards Nadia. His flames were now an outward show of his determination, with a glow that rivaled that of the wyrm's own. Down side was that he was not helping calm the fires; if anything he had added to them, with his mind not focused on keeping them at bay they would only help to ignite the interior of the damaged tavern. After more attempts he could barely make out a face, prompting him to clear as much rubble from around her upper body as possible. If possible, he'd pull her out. If not, then he'd probably have to think of something besides 'dying'.

"Come on, you're not done yet. There's still a wyrm to hunt, dammit!"

Edited by Grim Wolf

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A searing of bolt pain shot up the man's thigh -- breaking the mercenary out of his drunken haze. Head jolting up towards the ceiling, screaming in agony, Reynard was able to witness the blazing inferno that had suddenly erupted from above. The Dragon?! To say he was surprised would be an understatement, as what was happening was a scenario he had not considered -- he thought the dragon was somewhere in the depths of the forest, but to attack the tavern... the archwyrm was more bold and malevolent than the mercenary had originally surmised.

"Tel'le moor -- re'vak!" He heard as the chimney crumbled into a mountain of rubble -- the voice, that of Nadia. He looked for his leader, but there was naught but a cloud of dust and a pile of rocks where she stood.

What the hell, what's happening? Eyes darted back and forth, Reynard trying to get a grip on his surroundings -- the last he remembered, he was sitting several feet away from the closest wall, but now, his back was practically touching it. He could hear the crackle of burning wood, frantic screams, pained yelling, and sputtering coughs -- likely that of those who suffocated in the thick, black smoke. Shit, shit, shit -- where's Seb?! The frantic man thought. Trying to rise to his feet, Reynard could feel something pinning his right leg down -- the splintered end of one of the fallen wooden rafters that had impaled itself cleanly through flesh and muscle, the rest of it's wide girth resting itself upon his thigh. Moving his hands to try to raise the beam, he felt something warm and sticky on his palms. The blazing fire illuminated the vivid crimson as clear as day -- his own blood staining his very clothes.

Then came the warlike cry of another: "AH Fire how you glow brightly but you hold no power over me -- DRAGON COME BACK AND FIGHT! I WILL SHOW YOU HOW TO USE THIS STUFF!" The voice was unfamiliar to the man, but it was definitely a woman's, and most certainly resonated with power -- and a hint of lunacy. The sheer luminosity of the fire was blinding at that point, as if some new source of flame had arisen from the floor. It was a passing thought -- as he had more important matters to tend to --, but he wondered what in the world that woman was doing.

Mind refocused on his most pressing concern, the man called for his mastiff: "Seb!" he called.

Once more that night, she did not respond. Instead, his ears heard a shrill voice through the sea of wailing agony -- distinctly male, with a note of panic: "Master? Master, get up!" A boy cried, "Ma-master -- somebody help!"

It was hard to swallow, as Reynard felt a lump growing in his throat. Despite the incinerating heat, the man felt a chill traveling down his spine. This scene -- it was all too familiar. A burning fire, the kind which ate through lives like a ravenous demon. A screaming child whose voice echoed the mercenary's own from a time long gone. A father, mother, master? Possibly lost to fate's cruel hand....

He would not take it -- he would not stand idly and watch his own play be reenacted again, to let its horrible plot unfold. What he considered now was madness; however, it was his only option. Reaching deep into the depths of himself, the mercenary called for its power, to which his body answered.

Teeth sharpened, claws grew, body reshaping both bone, muscle, and sinew. His tincture of aconite was only strong enough at suppressing the beast inside; however, it was not the wolf who wanted to change -- no, Reynard would not allow another tragedy to take place. Unlike his previous transformation, this one was not long or drawn out, but rather fast. He was not fighting against the changes, but rather encouraging it -- seeking its strength. The only main difference from his previous experience was the excruciating pain he suffered as his human form rapidly transmogrified itself in a rather gruesome fashion. In addition, the wooden beam had driven itself further in as his muscles expanded, but Reynard just grit his teeth. He was willing to bear through the pain -- he knew far too well that the pain of losing a loved one was much greater.

If Xartia the magician were watching, the first thing he would most surely notice would be the stark difference in the man's eyes as they were of a new hue. They were not a lurid yellow that spoke of primal rage, but rather a burning, silvered blue which spelled his determination. This time, it was the mercenary who was in control.

Wasting not a single moment, his padded hands wrapped themselves around the wooden beam before choking the life out of its fragile, oaken body -- snapping the piece of lumber off. More blood gushed, and there were remnants of the foreign body within him, but there was no time to pull the fragments that were still in his leg -- he had a child he needed to save.

Getting up to his feet, he grabbed his box of brewed concoctions, and he ran into the inferno, letting his ears guide him. Where are you... where are you! He thought as the acrid stench of charred flesh and pine filled his nostrils. He needed a sign -- something, anything that would let him know where the boy was. Although he was not religious, he prayed to the only god he knew in desperation: Valjer, please -- please let me make it to them. It was ironic -- out of all the gods he could have asked for help, it was the foul being who orchestrated the entire event the mercenary prayed to.

Bounding up the blackened stairs in wide strides, he had made it to the flaming hall of suites. There was a distinct cracking sound that emanated from behind -- each step he took on the weakened flight caused the structure beneath to crumble, eventually leading to the planks that made up the steps to fall down. He couldn't look back at the damage that was done -- he had a task at hand. Collateral damage was something that would have to be an accepted reality -- the tavern itself was already burnt beyond repair. Now on the second floor, he listened for that voice once more. 

"Someone -- please --," the same voice sobbed, "...anyone...."

Down there! He thought, as he ran past the horde of other screaming tenants, begging for help. It was a bitter thought -- abandoning other lives who he could have so easily saved. Still, he had to keep moving forward -- he had already made his choice.

Hardened claws tore through the now charcoal door at the end of the hall with ease, revealing a young man with pointed ears, clothed in strange flowing green silks, now covered in gray ash -- an elven hunter in training? He had hoped that his arrival would bring comfort to the boy's face, but instead it brought pure terror. "I am not here to hurt you -- I am here to help," he spoke softly, throat struggling to make the words. The smoke up on the second floor was suffocating, and it was difficult to breathe. Perhaps the rasp in his voice made him seem even more monstrous that he already was.... Coupled with his visage, it wouldn't surprise him if the boy drew a sword and slit his throat at that moment.

He knew he would have done so given the situation.

Thankfully, the apprentice pointed a trembling finger towards the far corner of the room -- an unconscious man with a large gash on his forehead. For a moment, Reynard grinned -- the boy trusted him.

Throwing the elf's master over his shoulder, he grabbed the boy's hand, urging him onward. "Hurry -- we are going to get out of here, just shield your face, and follow me quickly."

The two ran down the burning hall -- both trying their best to ignore the other pleading souls. The staircase was almost entirely gone at this point, so instead, Reynard grabbed the child, and threw him over his other shoulder. "Hold on," he yelled as he jumped, feet colliding with the floor soon after. As a result of the landing, one of the fragments of the beam erupted from his legs, falling onto the floor and painting it with a splatter of bright red fluid -- if only the other cursed wooden splinters weren't in his leg. Dropping down to one knee, the werewolf grimaced at the explosion of pain that was his leg -- vision starting to blur from the wretched agony.

Tipped ears picked up another voice: “Hey! If anyone is still alive try to get to the door quickly, I can clear a path.”

Without a moment's hesitation, Reynard bounded towards the door -- cracked, but hopefully still functional. He moved quite slower this time, with a noticeable limp in his gait -- after this ordeal, he would be lucky if he could walk in the next few weeks, if he survived. At the moment though, such issues were trivial. His life mattered not at this point -- he had to save this boy and his master. He knelt down, quickly dropped the elfling, and then the child's master soon after on the ground. There was rubble blocking the door, but Reynard dug through the mess and tossed parts of the wreckage aside, piece by piece. He knew he didn't need to clear the door -- he only needed a opening large enough to get through. Now, with knees bent, and arms extended, the desperate lycanthrope pushed against the hardwood.

Nothing. The wood wouldn't budge.

"I need some help over here!" yelled another man, this time coming from the location where the mercenary he recalled Nadia was previously.

Damn the gods! Reynard cursed -- he couldn't be in all those places at once! Everyone needed help, but he only had two hands -- and two people already with him. He was no longer helpless as he was before, and yet still he could not open a path for them. If he could not even save but two souls, what use was he at all? Anger swelled as blood boiled at his own lack of strength, until finally reaching its melting point.

He would give it his all -- even if it cost him his life.

With newfound fury, he used what little strength of his remained and pushed the door off it's hinges and onto the ground. He couldn't carry both the elf and his master, so he shouldered the master, and roared at the boy, "Go -- run through -- escape now!" The little whelp thankfully followed his instructions, golden hair bobbing into the dark of night. Hanging the older man's fragile frame over his neck; Reynard barely made it through the gap in the door.

The piercing winds were a welcome friend -- it's cool chill easing the pain. Reynard could see not where he was headed, walking forward with heavy step until he no longer felt the burning fires on his back -- he had no more energy left, nor sight in his eyes. After a few more steps, the wolf man soon slumped over with the elven master, onto the icy grounds outside of the burning pyre that once was Icestone Tavern. No one would hear the soft thud on the snow, the breathless sigh as the herculean task was completed. The insides of the wooden box he carried spilled open, releasing bottles and jars all onto the ground. Reynard hoped the boy would see all of the medicine that was laid available on the fresh snow and use it on his master -- avoiding the ones labeled with a skull and crossbones of course. For now, though, the mercenary could not give instruction on how to use the elixirs, nor apply the salves, as his own world faded to inky black.

Russet fur charred to an ashen black, a pool of blood growing ever so steadily from his open wound -- Reynard laid on the ground like a blooming rose in the icy storm -- the wintery powder frosting his skin. The pouch he always carried around his neck had opened, leaving those thirteen black coins he kept with him at all times scattered, spread on the forest floor as the dark petals that accented his wilted flower.

Soon to be buried under a blanket of snow,

Perhaps, soon enough, he would see his own mother and his old master once more

In the fabled gardens of paradise.

Spoiler

OOC: Here is a brief summary of what I just wrote: Reynard awakens from his drunken state to the blazing inferno caused by the dragon. To his horror, he discovers that there is a large wooden beam impaled in his leg. After calling for Seb, he hears the voice of a child who reminds him of his own tragic losses, and is spurred to transform into a werewolf. Without regard for his well being, he runs upstairs to the other rooms, and saves an elven boy and master. At this point, he is losing a lot of blood, and is in severe pain from both the fragments of wood he left in his leg and the raging fire. He is able to get the main door open, saving the elf and his unconscious master, but is now blacked out himself outside of the burning ruins. Having lost a lot of blood and expended all of his energy, Reynard is fading fast.

Oh yes, and the stairs to upstairs are practically burnt up, so those who wish to be heroes -- you'll have to find another way to save the other npcs who are on that floor (if you want to -- I mean, they are just npcs right? (Says this as after putting his own character through hell for two meager 'npcs')).

 

Edited by Artificer
fixing some grammar errors

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Had he really been so distracted that his guard was let down this much? Between his words with Reynard and his forced mental assault from the blind one, Jinsoku had seemed to be so distracted that he failed to realize the true reason why his wolf had began to growl with raised hackles, despite it's divided attention upon Kenshi. It was trying to warn him for the inevitable hell that was literally about to rain down upon them. As his attention was torn from all in attendance, Jinsoku found himself kicking off of the bar to roll backwards from his stool as the tavern would finds it's dimensions halved. Remaining knelt down, he lifted his head to look around, and his passive ability of electrolocation kicked in just about the time that fire would come falling from the sky in a vicious gout, threatening half of what was left of the compromised structure. Jinsoku looked to the few employees about the actual bar before him, and throwing his hand out he shouted for them to find immediate cover. Alas, his voice was muted by the splintering and snapping wood all around them, as well as the screaming, burning wood from above. Parts of the roof fell in and even parts of the upper level fell into the lower. The bartenders found themselves victim to falling and breaking glass, only to douse themselves prior to finding one hell of a fiery death right before Jinsoku's eyes. Likewise, the countless lodgers over head screamed in fear and pain through what was most of there ends immediate or not. 

Just as innately as it's host, the Raiju reacted instinctively, albeit selfishly at that. Unlike it's hero of a host, the Raiju was limited in it's applications without risking the host itself. As such, it would only go out of it's way and risk itself to save itself. Much like how it happened when Jinsoku found himself incapacitated in stressful situations, the Raiju projected an electromagnetic barrier around Jin. It expanded from his core and came to create a bubble that was roughly six fee wide. The translucent blue bubble would keep Jinsoku clear of debris, as well as filter his air from the heavily tainted air. Jinsoku rose to he feet and shook the grief off. He would have saved others if he could. Though in attacks like this, as he had witnessed during his time spent in the Draco South, there simply wasn't the chance of saving most from a dragon attack, especially not one of this class. As the giant serpents body relinquished the compromised bar and slithered off in victory, it would seem that most of their party had began counter measures to save themselves. That at least was a relief. 

While he couldn't see Raven anymore, he could feel her a level lower. Her mind was sharp and catlike as always, whether she remembered how she was or not. It would seem that there was so much going on that he found himself missing bits and pieces as most did during moments of severe trauma such as this. Surely if they all survived to tell the story some other time, their accounts of what happened would vary. Though it would seem that Reynard while wounded had revealed himself to actually be a werwolf of some sort, albeit a cognitive one that retained it's speech. He attempted to save what was likely the only survivors from the second story, for most if not all injured and alive would fail to survive until they could receive proper medical attention. His knowledge of first aid would not suffice. And so it was best to let these people die as they were rather than to delay the inevitable and bring more suffering...Right? If you were to ask him this a year ago, his answer would be a much more hopeful one. It would suffice to say that his experience was sobering, humbling. Not only had he learned to live with the failure of saving others, but he had learned to live beyond it. Even if he never forgot...

One of the other party members managed to gather the flames scattering about the ruined bar and managed to unite them upon the debris over head. Surely if she could hold them all together until nothing was left, then they could salvage any lives left. Yet only if they could provide sufficient shelter until transportation worthy of accommodating arrived to ferry them to a proper medical facility. A man outside offered help to those trying to get out, Reynard found himself collapsing in the door way, while Mensa moving to dig someone out of their death trap. Judging by situations, this one was most dire. Jinsoku would easily lift his arms and face his palms at the debris upon Nadia. Grasping any conductive metals, he would using things like partial piping to pull the debris off of Nadia without compromising her safety in the process. Once Mensa could get to her, Jinsoku would move to clear the path. If Reynard was still left laying in the doorway, then Jinsoku would drag him out and away from the surprisingly viable exit considering. Granted, the Raiju had to drop the barrier protecting him if he so desired to If Mensa still struggled with Nadia, he then returned to lend a hand to get her out safely. With the incapacitated persons immediately dealt with, Jinsoku would assess the situation before haphazardly returning once more to help any others in need that he could possibly be assistance to.

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On 12/28/2017 at 2:08 PM, HumanBean03 said:

"Easy now. I will not harm her. Is she alright?" She thought to the cat. 

Banged up, I have seen her endure far worse and lived. My mistress does stupid things but her mind is sharp.

"How quaint," Raveena wheezed, coughing smoke from her lungs. She blinked wearily, her eyes still stinging and watering from the fire until she realized the willowy girl Wisp was with her. "Are you okay? Injured anywhere? Sore? Burnt?" With an unladylike grunt she writhed and prepared herself to be in a position to sit up if she needed to. Her vision swam, and she felt the exhaustion that came with the Chimera gene. Rowan's DNA was repairing the burns, and she could smell the acrid stench of smoke, fire and charred flesh.

You made a snap decision, the thing you're toting around likely would have reacted badly to the fire.

Raveena subconsciously grabbed the satchel, feeling the balled up contents within. It was a bulky thing now that it lay flat on the ground. The subtle rising and falling denoted that it slumbered, barely perturbed by the wild events that had transpired--which Raveena herself thought odd. So much jostling and moving around and it did not wake a single time. Either that or she should count whatever blessings she had.

"We may have to dig out, but it will be easier to extract ourselves once the wood has finished burning. I can't control a fire of that magnitude. Do you get cold? Will you need a cloak?" Though she could not endure extremes like the fire above, she had a much easier time with the cold. She could even draw from the heat from above through the door if she needed to, but coaxing such a thing was a tricky effort--she didn't want to lure the fire to the cellar door. They were perhaps several feet underground so that if the building did collapse, it would build atop itself, the ground too thick for it to fall through. Air could be a concern before too long, but if the roof were truly gone, the fire would burn itself out and the freezing temperatures that surrounded would choke the flames.

Hopefully.

"It's going to get colder down here a the fire dies. I will do what I can, but these burns...I just need a moment to figure out what to do next, unless you have an idea?"

 

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