Tycondrius turned to check on the state of his companions.
Notaku was still gawking, though he had transformed from a full elf into a creature half-elf... half-sand.
"(The Ancient... He... that... th-the drake...)"
Mmm. He'd become an imbecile.
How unfortunate.
Tycon looked to where Beatrice had been... and found not a theoretically loveable fire faerie, but a dull mound of loose sand.
He brushed away the top half, and she popped out with a 'fwoosh.'
She shook herself off and flitted about to show her gratitude.
⊰ sand bad ⊱
"It *is* rather bothersome," Tycon shrugged. "I agree."
Where Yanaba's sand-drake had fallen, the Elven Chieftain pulled herself out of its unshaped remains. Numerous cuts and scrapes marred her skin and she collapsed to her knees, sputtering and coughing violently.
Blood and sand.
She was no longer fit for combat.
