The onlookers surveyed the aftermath of the battle, their eyes drawn to the intricate patterns etched into the street. Cracks spiderwebbed across the pavement, interspersed with indentations resembling footprints. Yet, these fissures paled in comparison to the colossal symbol emblazoned in the center. Scorch marks marred the ground, seemingly inconsequential on their own, but when viewed collectively, they formed a mesmerizing magic circle, so intricate that some spectators had to avert their gaze to stave off the burgeoning headache. As the crowd dispersed, unable to bear the strain of prolonged observation, three figures remained unfazed: a pair of mercenaries and an unassuming dwarven man.
Unperturbed by the presence of the dwarf, the mercenaries approached the scene for a closer inspection. Two figures lay at opposite ends of the magic circle—a bartender, barely conscious, bearing burns and missing limbs, and an elven man, grievously injured with his body partially consumed by flames, save for his regenerating form. Despite his injuries, the elf's body gradually began to mend, save for his severed leg.
The trio stood vigil, watching as the elf's wounds slowly closed over time. Eventually, Terry, the bartender, stirred. Despite her battered state, she rose, eyeing her axe—the very weapon that had disrupted the magic circle—lodged firmly in the ground. As Terry retrieved her weapon, the elf, now sitting up, inspected the space where his leg once belonged.
His expression cycled from pain to disbelief to simmering anger as he locked eyes with Terry. In a calm yet cutting tone, she remarked, "Well, since you're now disabled, consider your debt settled. It wouldn't do for me to charge disabled folks, you see. Fits better with my insurance policy."
Gesturing emphatically, Terry continued, "I've already got the story ready for the insurers. A miserable drunk elf stumbles into the bar, wrecking everything in a fit of self-pity. End of story." As Terry finished, the elf's shock morphed swiftly into fury, prompting him to launch into a tirade against the bartender.
Interrupting his outburst, Terry brandished her axe, asserting, "Mind your manners. I've still got an axe, and you've still got one leg. Talk to me like a person, or I'll ensure your screams serve a purpose." Grimacing, the elf identified himself as Renzelle Austinford, scion of the noble Austinford family and an acolyte of the Church of Ever Rising Ashes. Unfazed, Terry dismissed his titles with a shrug, declaring, "Titles mean nothing to my insurance policy."
As Terry walked away towards her ravaged tavern, the mercenaries approached Renzelle, eager to recount the events that unfolded in his absence