Several sheltered militiamen stared blankly at the dark clouds slowly moving toward the human camp. Although the hippo poet has described magic countless times in his verses, seeing it firsthand revealed how pale and feeble his depictions were.
Magic is a way to change nature, the bigger the magic, the more one feels as if facing nature in front of a mage, invoking a sense of powerlessness and insignificance.
The humans in the camp saw the clouds and heard the dull thunder. They immediately stopped chattering, began reinforcing their tents, anticipating a potential storm.
Occasionally, there were complaints, perhaps because they found rain at this time annoying.
Even before the muted thunder sounded, raindrops as large as beans began falling heavily onto the human camp. The fire pit gurgled under the onslaught and quickly went out, the kettle hanging on it clanged under the impact.
