“Ahh. Feats of marshal skill. Killing things. I would enjoy competing with you. If we could find somewhere nice and peaceful.”
Ransom’s response came out in short spurts, for an errant fireball had chosen to impact in the midst of the group and forcing them to take cover. Luckily, only the grass had caught fire, and several helpful hobbits were already moving to douse the fire with assorted beverage, some alcoholic and some not. Said hobbits quickly discovered that wine makes a fire worse.
By some stroke of luck, no one had been harmed. Indeed, the small clump was slightly shaken, and Elenna’s beautiful dress was partially marred by ashes. Even the picnic baskets had survived. The group finished searching for possible damages and continued their conversation.
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"The blood of the dead mixes with the the flowing sand and grants more power to the killer."--Gaara of the Desert
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