>>5534705>Rolled 16 (1d20)You feel heat flow from your heart, through your veins, out from your hand, the current like blood as it ebbs from the tip of your wand into his. Your sweat on your brow stings your eyes. Your wand runs so hot your hands have fallen cold. Your vision begins to blur as his thurible expels smoke, head now alight with irritation as the acid-like incense blots your face.
But your would-be assassin ran too late. Your spell licks his wand hot–first red, then orange-yellow, then white–as the steel begins to bend oddly from his grip. He manages to cling to the wand for just a bit more, his glove fingers now flickering with small, creeping flames, before with a sudden <span class="mu-i">clang</span> his thurible slips from his hands into the grass.
The wand’s censer sputters out a few half-hearted coughs of incense, now out of his master’s grip, before the smoke clears from the grass. His wand of chains and incense is BENT, the white hot heat of your smithing spell having left his wand misshapen. The wizard’s look remains indescribable beneath his helmet.
>Have Molly take care of him.>Cast a spell yourself.>Write-In. 