Fate - First Reply Night of Fiery Rain

[Roland Grayson]

Cheap ale and cheaper wine flowed free as the Bystra River not but a mile at most away. The scents of booze, cooking mushroom stew with boar, and musk from the sweat of a long days work mixed into a foul stench about the tavern. A passing bard strummed at their lute. The tune matched the mood of the room: cheerful yet slightly somber and tired.

Roland found himself at a table trying out both the ale and wine along with the stew. A loaf of barley bread dark as the loamy soil surrounding the town. A truly rural affair that suited Princess' royal tastes well. The serving wench (or owner's eldest daughter to the locals) had taken upon herself to provide the furry ruler of all the lands with a modest tribute of fluffy fish freshly fetched from the river and bits of left over pork. This came along with her own small bowl of stew broth and bowl of water that her knight had requested.

A pleasant little stop on his way to finding more work. Roland had nothing to complain about.

Noise erupted from outside. The locals began to murmur confused. Roland frowned and rose to his feet. Muffled sounds like this came before raids. Orcs, centaurs, and humans alike all were known to do just that along the Bystra. This particular town lacked a defensive wall and guards were all either young and dumb or older and lazy from the peace. More a token offering to security than paragons of it.

The man slowly began to head his way to the door. Hand on the hilt of his dagger just in case.

WAAAM!

The door was flung open. A gray haired man with a wild look in his eyes rushed in. Panting in panic he yelled, "Fire from the sky! Run and pray the gods have mercy!" Then he was gone as suddenly as he had arrived.

Roland bolted for the door as shock and panic began to run through the tavern. The braver did the same. The sight that greeted them was not the perfect starry night daily blanketing the peaceful place. From the East a fiery figure flew like a small imitation sun over the village. A fire hawk. A screech boomed from its beak with the unmuffled force provided by the dark.

Loose flaming feathers rained down as it past by. Where they landed fires erupted into life. Half the village was already an inferno.....

 

[Tharraleos]

Watchful golden eyes would survey the tavern from one of the corners of the establishment. Feathered ears twitched about to intently filter through the abundant commotion. Leaning against a wall with a glass of wine held in his paws was the mighty Tharraleos. The nomadic warrior was taking a momentary pause on his seemingly endless travels. He truly could never seem to stay in one place for long.

As the ensuing chaos would begin to take place, Tharr would retain his stoicism. The beast would merely spectate as the many patrons frantically fumbled about. He appeared indifferent and not really even bothered by all the destruction happening around him. But not long after a sigh would escape his beak and he'd bring the glass to his maw where the remaining red liquid could go down his gullet. The avian feline would make his way to the exit, weaving his way through the hectic insanity and leaving the glass on the counter as he departed.

Tharraleos would find himself standing beside a particularly tall and burly fellow. He was much more accustomed to looking further down on humans and it felt a tad odd. But his attention was much more focused on the source of this calamity. Tharr narrowed his eyes at the fiery raptor for a few moments before turning his plumaged noggin to the dark brown haired man

"What an unfortunate mess." the Griff would say with booming vocals as his eyes averted themselves back to the catastrophe unfolding before them. He was still composed nearly to the point of apathy. It seemed destruction such as this was something the centuries old warrior was rather accustomed to. Regardless, he did intend to crush that creature under his might for disrupting his relaxation. Without an ounce of fear, Tharraleos began to walk forth towards the flames. It appeared he was getting ready to use the wings folded along his back and the rising air from the surrounding heat as an updraft to take flight to pursue their airborne assailant.

 

[Roland Grayson]

Things had turned to chaos already. The village made an inferno so suddenly. Peace instantly became fiery death. Roland couldn't blame the locals. The river wasn't far. One could easily see thanks to the reflection of the flames upon its waves. But it was still too far away. It needed to be in the town so buckets could be filled and thrown right away. Time was the enemy and even that simple mile could prove fatal.

The feathery man made some comment then took off into the sky after the firehawk that was already well past them and who knew how far away. The man just frowned then refocused on what was important: the burning town.

Roland grabbed one of the less panicked souls. "Gather people. Get horses, mules, donkeys. Whatever you can strap barrels to and get water from the river quickly."

They looked at him dumbfounded. He scowled as he yelled, "Go!"

The aggression got them moving. Sense at his words finally sank in. With that task done, he moved onto what he could do now. He grabbed a bucket and ran towards the nearest water barrel. The local leaders were trying to organize everyone but it was clear they didn't know how to handle this much fire outside of tossing water onto it.

Roland ran over to them with his bucket filled.

"Toss the water on wood. Don't waste it on the thatch. Drag that down with racks and stomp it out or smother it with dirt. Got people going to the river to collect barrels."

The leaders hesitated for a moment before the eldest began repeating back Roland's orders. People began to find a flow and organize themselves as they moved. Racks in the hands of the tall to drag down the flaming straw and shovels in the hands of the not so to put it out. Bucket lines past water from barrels to where it needed to go.

As Roland worked with the village, Tharraleos would find that the firehawk remained just out of his reach. It seemed not even to notice his presence as it maintained its course home. Wherever that home may be.