Rolled 19, 6, 17, 6 = 48 (4d20)
>>5730455You exhale only a thin and brief stream of flames, assuming that even a quick puff of dragonfire will be enough to bake a slimy-looking worm-thing. Such is your confidence that you are already turning your head away when an awful screeching-sound draws your gaze back in that direction.
>1 To your shock, the mystery-grub is NOT dead. Even though it is aflame, that thin, mucousal layer actually serves to protect it, however briefly. Worse, the creature’s pain and panic spurs it to even faster movement in the direction of the water-source, as if sensing that submerging itself may be its only salvation. You hiss in irritation, but you don’t even have time to inhale again and to try to muster another blast of your breath-weapon before—with surprising speed born of deathly urgency—the anomalous entity has slid into Hawksong’s water supply.
“NO!”
You rush to the water’s edge, thinking to dive after it and finish what you started but draw up short as you gaze into the deep, black subterranean basin.
>AQUAPHOBIA ACTIVATEDYour heart hammers in your chest as you remember sinking, falling slowly down and down and down, your head pounding and lungs screaming for air, the rush of water in its stead filling you up, the darkness and cold and pressure closing around you as surely as stone or soil. A watery grave, narrowly avoided…
You take a moment to steady your breathing. You hear screeches and hisses, snippets of True Speech form down the tunnels in the direction your ally pursued the invisible Infiltrator. You shake off your mental paralysis and, with one last glance after the disappeared creature, you follow after Albacete’s course.
[Athleticism roll, DC 16/18 thanks to the delay and critfail]
