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Wickligher and Markhan along with the Ironwrought save a life and the heavily armored breachers for the long stumble towards a safer location.
The Company at large hear the bungle in the distance. One of the bannerbearers sounded it to call for reform. All is well. Rally around the banner, people. Must mean we hold the field.
Markhan prepares a torch but it's not quite dark enough to need it just yet. Though the shadows are lengthening, the long twillight out here lasts for a while. Good to be prepared though. The village up ahead is quaintly quiet for all the fact that surely there must be Windsworn here, dangerous and deadly. Where are the villagers? Where are the people? A hundred and some innocents do not disappear readily into the night. Something is. . . amiss.
--
Edward throws! And throws! And throws! And throws! And right in the middle of the alley, he slams his hand back for one final toss and he feels a sharp sting of pain across his knucles as he realizes a moment too late.
shit.
*alley*
he just smashed open a glass-vial of lungrot on the wall behind him.
Oh SHIT-- He wraps his unifor scarf tight around his mouth and clenches his nostrils and tries not to breatheeeeee but the burn. no. it's already seeping through. it's all over his hands, leeching in through the open cuts from the glass shards there no no no no no NOOOOOO
at least unconsciousness comes blessedly quick and with it an end to pain.
>...?????
