Stogie and Ellesar raise an eyebrow when Smohalla staggers by clutching his chest. While there are limited statistics available for heart attacks among shifters, the distant possibility doesn't seem likely enough to trigger much concern. After all, anyone who can not only survive a blood eagle delivered by an Infected troll , but be on his feet just moments later is not likely to succumb to cardiac arrest or a high-cholesterol diet. Stogie sees Smohalla's aura and gives him an opportunity to compose himself. Stogie understands - he can feel the frightened, depressing nature of the mana too. The mana will clear itself in time. It may take weeks or longer, and maybe a blanket of snow, but eventually the surrounding mountains, trees, and rivers will reclaim the place as their own, both in this world and the astral.

Stogie and Jake go and sit close to Smohalla. He calls Ellesar over, too. "I can see how this place has affected you, Smohalla. Gets me down, too. I hope the aura of this place will clean itself. Maybe if nature takes back the town it will happen sooner. Or maybe the people who lived here, if they rebuild, will instil a sense of hope that counters the despair from the destruction.

"I guess we should take stock of our understanding of what went on here. The place is totally devastated, but from what I understand, everybody got a dream warning to get out. That's why, I guess, nobody died. I can't even find any evidence of dead animals. So, while the Sisters did a real number on the town, they spared lives. That's how I would like to get at some of the corps. Nuke their profits but kill no one.

"I'm kind of wondering about our employer. Why did he hire more than one group? Is he interested in stopping the destruction, or eliminating the Sisters? And if it's the Sisters, then why? Does somebody or some group want to move into the neighbourhood? Is there something about the mountain that somebody wants? And how do we find out about that?"

This is interesting, that everyone was warned of the destruction.

Was it the Sisters who sent this dream, or another?

The student in the firetower seems a relevant instance of death occurring in these incidents.

Was he not the son of some important person? Why didn't the Sisters warn him as well?

Perhaps the Sisters are being used as a scapegoat in a political act.

But then again, they knew about the boy dieing, even seemed to take pleasure in it.

Smohalla pauses and looks at his assembled friends.

Our throats are parched and raw from the asking of so many questions.

Let us contact Gunny to see if he may have a stream of answers to slake our thirst.

"You've got a unique way of putting it, Smohalla. Maybe after this is all said and done you can write a book of obscure poetry. Anyway, I'll handle Gunny."

Ellesar inputs the number to reach their employer. He thumbs his tomahawk as he waits for the call to connect.

Gunny answers quickly.

"Status report!" he barks brusquely. Ellesar flashes back to getting yelled at by his commanding officer in the Ghosts.

The shaman is startled to see the sudden shift in Ellesar's aura.

Where once it was a nice peaceful shade of green, now it is not.

Whatever the elf is hearing from Gunny, Smohalla imagines it isn't pleasant.

Ellesar starts at the gruff voice. It had been some time since anyone had given him orders and the return of forgotten memories left an unwelcome feeling in his stomach.

"Good day to you too," the elf says crossly. "We're still digging up information on the Sisters. The locals don't have much to say as far as the destruction goes; they're too busy mourning their lost property. We were hoping you might be able to clear some things up for us."

There's a long pause at the other end of the line. Gunny seems to be waiting for a question.

"Well what do you want to know?" he spits back. "I'm not a mindreader!"

Ellesar restrains himself from commenting on Gunny's ability to read his own mind and answers calmly. "First and foremost we'd like to know if you hired anyone else to work this case? We've noticed at least one other group's trails in the woods and would much rather not get caught up in a bloody misunderstanding. I don't consider my life cheap and I'm sure my partners don't either."

"I posted a bounty," Gunny says. "I'll pay whomever completes the job, I don't care if it's Judas. There's too much territory for one team to scour. There's 10,000 square kilometers of forested mountains where the Sisters could be hiding. The only way to track down these nutcases is with numbers, both men and nuyen. I've got city slickers, I've got feral woodsmen, I've got fragging dwarves in tinfoil hats!"

His voice accelerates, his tone rising in a fevered pitch:

"Yes, I find my role distasteful - I am a Johnson to the madmen, murderers, and maniacs of society, but I don't care. You're my sons of bitches. The Sisters must be stopped before they strike again! I am going to all of my options, and failure is not one of them! Now status report!"

Ellesar replies calmly. "There isn't much to report. The locals all seem to have had a strange dream that lead them away from their homes while the Sisters destroyed the town. We've trekked miles across this forest, staved off plenty of dangerous beasts, and even rescued someone's lost pet but we have yet to pinpoint the Sisters." He pauses to think over his words. "Have any of the other groups happened to find anything yet? Any information could greatly increase our chances of success."

"Bounty hunters aren't exactly a collaborating breed," Gunny answers with a sneer so pronounced that it's audible. "They show up, they get the mission parameters, and then I don't see or hear from them again until they're looking to get paid!"

Luckily Ellesar is more charming than your average feral woodsman, and - with a bit of coaxing - eventually manages to pry some information out of Gunny. The bounty hunters who have gone south (closer to Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Adams, and the Tir border) have all come back empty-handed. The same is true for any venturing north of I-90. In fact, nobody has anything interesting to report. At least half the teams have gone MIA (including your team until now), but Gunny figures they're either out of communication range or they just went back to their previous, dissolute, SINless lifestyles. But he doesn't say it politely like that.

"Roger that Gunny," the elf replies. "We'll be get back to work."

Ellesar ends the call, obviously glad to be done with the overbearing man. He turns back to his comrades with a stoic expression.

"Well that was mostly a waste of time. The man is still out to get the sisters, perhaps unhealthily so. The only helpful hint I managed out of him is the large number of people he has employed. He has groups to the north, south, and all throughout the forest. Fortunately they haven't found any yet, at least as far as he can tell."

I did not imagine that Gunny would have employed so many.

Who controls the puppet that in turn tries to pull our strings?

Smohalla pauses to think.

Perhaps we should return as quickly as possible.

There could be much danger ahead, with so many crowding the forests.

"I agree. We have nothing else to do here"

"Did anyone actually ask the Sisters if they know Gunny? Maybe this -is- something personal."

I know I did not.

It seems we should ask this of the Sisters.

Let's waste no time.

Smohalla, Stogie, and Ellesar exchange a look amongst themselves and mentally prepare to retrace their steps back to the Sisters' camp. Sure, it's 29 or 30 kilometers, and, yeah, it's at least six hours of walking through misty forests laced with Infected trolls and unpredictable wolfmen, and, okay, they just finished making that same trip only last night, but still. Duty calls.

Jake seems up for it. Smohalla readies himself to shift into an eagle for easier travel when Stogie puts a hand on his shoulder. Smohalla's hearing isn't up to the task but Stogie can tell something unusual is approaching. Jake hears it too; his attention indicates the road to the west, the one that leads to Enumclaw and Seattle.

A Tata Hotspur comes barreling down the road and turns onto one of the Greenwater streets. Its windows are down despite the chilly morning, and it's blaring loud, aggressive music, the kind that parents hate. Inside, there are two street toughs with flamboyant mohawks that look kind of cold for this weather. Standing on the back, holding onto the roll cage, is another prime example of misspent youth. The young man slaps on the roof of the Tata's cabin to signal something to the men inside. The off-road vehicle does a couple donuts, the man on top resisting getting thrown off as he curses colorfully, until the whole procession finally screeches to a stop. The men jump out, joined by another guy who wasn't visible before because he was sandwiched between the two men inside. He looks equally out of place, but for different reasons. The long coat of the fourth guy is covered in strange fetishes and curious geometric shapes painted on haphazardly. (Smohalla, even from a distance, can see that the paint wasn't given proper time to dry, and has run down the coat slightly in places.) None of them look particularly Native.

The music stops. The guy in the funny coat walks around with a staff, opening his arms up to the town as he closes his eyes and inhales. The others watch him from a distance, giving him space to do his thing. They all look to be in their early- to mid-20s, but at least two of them are elves (the two inside the truck) so they could just look young. The man in the odd coat seems to be human, and the dude who was standing in the back could be either - it's hard to say based on his looks, plus his hair covers his ears.

None of them see you just yet. They will in a minute or two.

Smohalla exchanges a glance with his companions.

More of Gunny's hires.

Ellesar, what would you consider a wise course?

Having said this, the eagle shifter opens his mind to the astral.

He surveys the new arrivals, focusing on the coated one.

Ellesar gauges the newcomers warily. "I think it would be best if we act as we did with the sisters. We do not know if they are hostile or not and avoiding a fight would be preferred. They do have us outmanned after all."

Smohalla smiles slightly and looks at Jake.

Outmanned, yes.

But not outnumbered.

Threeof the men wander around listlessly while their partner holds his arms up and chants quietly to himself. The others scrunch up their faces, kick over the occasional piece burned wood, and casually examine the area. Stogie and Smohalla examine them astrally. The astral visibility is complicated by the background count but they still get a decent view. They see...


Stogie and Smohalla turn their attention to the guy waving his arms around. What they see is...


Stogie raises and eyebrow at Smohalla, who mirrors it. Stogie wonders...


Ellesar turns and looks back at the campsite. The fire is extinguished; things are packed and ready to go. There's still time to slip away before they spot you, or to move into a more advantageous position (i.e. not cornered in a triangle of steep cliffs on two sides and only one way out - across the river) before confronting them.

Smohalla looks at his teammates with some slight confusion.

Is the painted one attempting to deceive the others into thinking he is a shaman?

My natural instincts tell me to aggressively approach this situation.

Smohalla pauses.

But maybe my instincts would not serve us well here.

"Boys, I'm turning off my commlink, and advise you do the same. The guy in the paint doesn't look magical to me, but he might be a tecnomancer. If so, he could detect our signals. Why not wait here, out of sight, and see what they do." He shuts down his commlink, and moves to some bushes with Jake. He signals 'down' and Jake flattens to the ground, watching the show in the clearing intently.

Astral perception gets in the way of seeing clearly, but Stogie decides to keep it up, just in case.

Smohalla has heard this word before, technomancer.

He knows it has to do with the other world, the world he is not a part of nor will ever be.

Nodding his acceptance of Stogie's assessment, he also conceals himself as best he can.

A small tree or bush will do the trick easily as his natural clothing blends with the landscape.

Eagle eyes settle on the intruders and watch.

Infiltration is not Smohalla's strong suit. Perhaps it stems from his unwillingness to lie, his aversion to deception. He steps behind a bush but it's not enough. One of the lads across the river spies the movement and calls his friends over. The man with his arms raised turns and, with a vague sense of relief, follows the others over to the river separating them from Smohalla. Stogie and Ellesar - with their camo jackets and superior crouching abilities - remain out-of-sight. The young men laugh and shout across the river.

"Hey, pops!" one calls. "What are you doing back there?"

"You live here?" another one asks. "Are you from town?"

"Come talk to us, old timer!" another waves. "Tell us some stories! Old people love telling stories, right? C'mon!"

They smile and laugh and are obnoxious but not overtly hostile. They seem amused by Smohalla and his clothes and his "hiding" spot.

Never one for skulking in the bushes, Smohalla decides to approach these newcomers.

His hands sign quickly to his teammates Stay hidden as he walks out into the open.

The eagle shaman stops at the river's edge and calls across to the men.

I am not from this town, yet I have interest in what has happened to it.

If you wish to speak with me, you must come meet me here at this place of renewal.

The three men up front exchange a look with each other, then laugh at Smohalla's rebuff. The fourth man - the one in the silly coat - stands back from the trio. He seems to be watching things carefully, studying Smohalla and his reactions. He seems content to let the others take the lead. He looks slightly anxious about the encounter, uncertain of where it will lead.

"Don't be so stubborn, old timer!" one of them shouts.

"Where else can you go?" the second one asks indignantly. "There's cliffs on two sides and the river on the third. You have to come this way eventually. Don't be such a crotchety old man - come talk to us!"

"Don't make me get my threads wet!" the third one laughs. "There's four of us and one of you! C'mon over here if you know what's good for you." His tone is more light-hearted than threatening, but Smohalla can sense that their patience will only last so long. Peccant youth!

Smohalla's predator gaze selects the weakest of the herd.

The painted one - I will talk with him.

Send him here.

The three men spin around, almost surprised to find the fourth man there behind them. "Nick?" one of them asks rhetorically, before they all start nodding together.

"Nick! Get over there and do your thing! See what the old codger wants!"

Nick exhales and advances uncertainly. He moves down the river bank, the crosses the river gingerly. Smohalla judges him to be in his late teens. He's tall and willowy and not terribly coordinated. He loses his footing at one point and sets a boot down in the water to steady himself. The water splashes his leg and his coat, washing away some of the arcane symbols painted near the hem. He steadies himself then finishes crossing the river. He walks up the bank on the other side and presents himself in front of Smohalla with as much dignity as he can muster. He doesn't see Stogie or Ellesar. He raises his arms and speaks in an artificially deep voice.

"We are here to find the Three Weird Sisters!" he rumbles, projecting his voice almost comically. "Do you know the Sisters and where we may find them? Speak! The spirits command you!" He shakes his arms theatrically, causing the strange fetishes on his coat to rattle and shake from the motion.

Be at ease, I mean you no harm.

Let us sit and have palaver.

I am old, and standing tires me.

With this Smohalla sits on the bank.

I first came here seeking the Three Sisters.

I found the town in ruins.

Why do you seek after these Sisters?

The three men on the far side of the river exchange looks when they hear Smohalla confirm that he came here seeking the Sisters. Their smiles drop and their apprehension goes up a notch. They begin to fidget, putting their hands in strange positions near their waistbands and armored vests. They watch closely to see how the conversation will continue.

Nick remains standing, his arms still outstretched. He turns to face Smohalla, his back now to Ellesar and Stogie. He takes Smohalla's age as an excuse to raise his voice even further.

"We come to stop the destruction!" he booms grandiosely. "See the suffering that has befallen this town! The spirits here weep; can you not hear them? You would be wise to help us! Tell us what you know of the Sisters! Help end this threat, and you will be a hero to all who mourn for what the Sisters have destroyed!" His fetishes jingle in the breeze.

Astral:

These Sisters, they are powerful magic wielders.

Already some who sought them have been killed by spirits conjured out of thin air.

Are you sure you wish to find out just how powerful they really are?

Are you sure you wish to pit your...magic...against theirs?

Think hard on this, Nick of the Painted Coat.

Smohalla lowers his voice to a volume meant for the two of them.

And if you are in trouble and in need of help, I can give it.

Nick opens his mouth and looks like he's going to respond when Smohalla's final aside brings him up short. He stops, caught off-guard, and looks down at Smohalla. He tilts his head to the side, almost like an eagle would, to consider Smohalla anew.

He glances up. His back is to Stogie and Ellesar, his face is toward his friends. His eyes flicker to them.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," one of the elves bellows. "We see what they did here. We're not some yokel townfolk, unaware and unarmed. Magic is a gun, and I'm a mage." He lifts up his shirt to show a large revolver stuck in his waistband. It looks terribly uncomfortable. "If we can cut them, they can bleed. If they can bleed, they can die. If they can die, they ain't tough." He spits to the side, sending up a little puff of black ash.

Nick looks back down at Smohalla but doesn't say anything further. His arms start to lower subtly as the fatigue of holding them up sets in.

Still speaking in a voice pitched for Nick's ears only, Smohalla says

This much will I tell you.

Those three are no match for the power wielded by the Sisters.

If you continue with them, you will surely die.

Choose wisely, Nick of the Painted Coat.

In a normal voice, Smohalla addresses the group.

I have told you all I will.

Our paths now must diverge and be our own.

I will be going now.

Nick still seems floored by the side conversation. His arms finish their fall to his sides. He looks down at Smohalla, speechless, mouth slightly agape.

The three others don't seem to notice Nick's reaction. Instead, they laugh again and elbow each other in a get a load of this manner.

"Where you going, old timer?" one of them shouts after their amusement subsides. "Ain't no way out except across this river. You gotta come talk to us; there's no way around it. Besides, what the hell else you doin'? Your social calendar doesn't look too pressing from here!" They laugh again, expressing their shared opinion that these country yokels are good fun, if not a little cuckoo.

Smohalla cocks his head in the same manner as Nick previously had done.

His eyes are on the youth in front of him as he addresses those across the river.

What more do you wish to talk about?

"You know more than you're letting on," one of the elves says. "You said you came here seeking the Sisters too, but you didn't say why, or what you found. Then you say that the Sisters killed some who were seeking them. You obviously know more than you're letting on."

He laughs. "Didn't think I was paying attention, did you?" He taps his temple a couple times. "Elves, you old coot. Forever young, forever sharp."

The human on the other side of the river pipes up. "Stop dragging your feet; we just want to help! Do you want to see another Greenwater go up in flames? Come give us a braindump so we can curbstomp these witches and get back home in time for dinner and some 'trid, savvy?"

This elicits a smile from Smohalla.

Yes, it seems I have told you much already.

Yet you have told me little of value.

Let us be on equal footing here.

What do you know of the Sisters and how to find them?

The other elf puts his foot up on a piece of rubble and leans his elbow on his knee. "The Sisters done pissed someone off," he says with an affected hayseed accent that doesn't match his green-and-blue mohawk. "Must be someone out there that don't approve of their town-burning hobby. They earned themselves a price on their heads, and a handsome one at that. We're here to do our civic duty and to get paid doing it. Just concerned citizens, really." He smiles wryly.

"Greenwater ain't exactly a leap in logic. Nick'll find us a trail to chase; we'll take the Tata here and do some off-roading. So tell us what you know and give us a leg-up on some of the other 'runners that are bound to follow. Not everyone is as service-oriented as ourselves." He smirks, as elves often do.

What if I told you there is no trail to chase from here?

That you are too late in joining this endeavor.

The Sisters used magic to destroy this town.

And like all deeds done with magic the trail faded with time.

What then will you do?

The first elf throws his hands up in mock exasperation. "Well I guess we'll just go home and let the Sisters get back to their town-burning ways then!"

The second elf throws his arm around the human. "Chummer here is on the 'soft and he's got the Pathfinder™ chip. Dry conditions, not a lot of foot traffic - the guide companies closed up shop, the hikers are all gone - we'll just find the trail leading out of town and follow it." He grins triumphantly.

His logic isn't entirely sound - who's to say that the Sisters were ever here in person? maybe they just sent their spirits and watched from afar - but it could still lead them in the right direction. Smohalla, Stogie, and Ellesar are all accomplished trackers. They all know that the elf is correct that tracking in these conditions would be easy. If this isn't some sort of bluff (the human is the one with cyber on his nervous system) then what they'll find are the tracks Stogie and Ellesar made leading into town last night, which, coincidentally, lead right back to the Sisters.

Now how well these boys can "track" while riding in the Tata is an open question, but that might not be important. The river valley is a straight line leading back to the Sisters with little, if any, opportunity to turn down the wrong path due to the steep mountains on either side of the river. Alternatively, Toothy is out there and presumably is still hungry. If he eats these bozos then maybe he won't bother you again.

Smohalla tries one last time.

This destruction was the work of magic, a spirit conjured from the astral realms.

There is no mundane trail for you to follow.

A pointed look at Nick.

And you have no magic to find any other kind of trail either.

You're foolish if you think a chip and a few guns can defeat them.

Certain death awaits you if you continue.

The men dismiss Smohalla with guffaws and blown raspberries. Nick shakes out of his trance long enough to act affronted, echoing the derision of the others as he returns to them across the stream.

"Old man, you don't even know!" one of the elves jeers. "We're the nice guys. Word of this is just now reaching Seattle. You know what breed of psychos that kind of nuyen will bring down on this drekhole? You'll wake up one morning to find every Barrens monster with a load of Kamikaze and a short fuse standing right here where we are and you'll be like -" he adopts a falsetto voice - "why didn't I help those nice young men who only wanted to stop the Sisters' reign of terror? woe is me, boo hoo." He rolls his fists in front of his eyes to mimic Smohalla's crying.

The others laugh at the impression. Their merriment complete, the elves look to the other human to begin tracking. He slots an optical memory chip into a small datajack behind his ear. His body goes rigid for a moment before he resumes moving. It's immediately clear that his behavior is now different. He walks in circles with definitive purpose, his head swiveling back and forth with focus and attention. He kneels down at a couple points to trace tracks in the ash. His assessment sounds familiar.

"Some dog prints. Skinny bitch here - 2 meters, 80 kilos. Wearing combat boots."

The elves tell him to track the Sisters, not his mother, at which point the laughing and the pushing and the yo' mama jokes resume. But before long they have tracks to follow that lead south. They move toward the Tata, which somewhat obscures the line of fire, loudly proclaiming their intention to drive south and bag the Sisters. They might have actually said 'teabag', but Smohalla's hearing is only so-so and that comment doesn't even make sense.

Oh, but speaking of tea, Smohalla suddenly remembers Ellie's shopping list. Sugar, eggs, tea.

Smohalla addresses his friends in a quiet voice after Nick rejoins the others.

If they leave here, there is a good chance they will find what they seek.

Do we defend the Sisters now? Have we chosen our side once and for all?

Stogie stage whispers, "The contract we got isn't one. It's just a bounty. So we don't owe Gunny anything in terms of doing what he thinks we said we'd do. These jokers remind me more of the scum who attacked my farm than of saviors of civilization. I don't think they will be much of a challenge to the Sisters on their own turf, but a strike now on these guys will save the neighborhood some grief." He prepares his Enfield shotgun.

The farmer in him comes through again. Planting two different crops is a good hedge against hunger at the end of the season. "And we can always sell the Tata if we don't get Gunny's bounty."

So be it.

We will have to find a way to stop this bounty.

Else the Sisters will never know peace.

We make a start here.

Smohalla readies a spell, picking out the human of the group of bounty hunters.

"Shit!" Stogie curses under his breath. He whispers to Ellesar, "My shotgun is drek at this range. Ellesar, you're whiz with the bow. Lend me your rifle and I'll take out the driver. Even if I don't kill him, I'll make it hard for him to drive. You can get the other elf so's no one can quickly take control of the Tata. Smohalla is eyeing the human GPS unit. That will leave the fake magician Smohalla tried to chat up."

How many damn weapons do I need to have to survive this game?

Stogie takes a moment to draw magic and heighten his coordination for the shot.

Ellesar holds the Remington out in front of Stogie. "Only take this if you do not have murderous intentions in your heart."

He slides the bow from off of his back and quickly notches an arrow. Just scare them a little. Now is not the time for a slaughter. The sleek wood feels good in his hand, a virtual extension of his body. It had taken years to hone his craft and it made him proud to put it to good use. The small indicator light on the explosive tip flips from red to green as he pulls the bowstring back, a sign foreshadowing the implications of his actions. I hope this works.

Just before the arrow flies from his hands the elf calls out to the group. "Step away from the vehicle! This conversation is not done!" As the last syllable is uttered the shaft soars free, aimed just shy of the Tata.

Stogie can see the seriousness in Ellesar's eye when he hands over the rifle. Maybe Ellesar's right, maybe there is enough death in the world without geeking these schmoes. Maybe sending a high-powered rifle round through their mohawks would teach them a valuable life lesson of their proper place in the food chain. Or maybe Stogie's right that these four aren't long for the world so why not be effecient about it? Maybe getting drilled in the brain box is a best way to go; now you see me, now you don't. It's probably better than getting torched or electrocuted or whatever else the Sisters might do. Or maybe there's a third way where none of that is necessary.

Stogie turns his attention back to the task at hand, flexing his Magic and waiting for the boost to his quickness. He feels his muscles smooth out - it's easy to bring the rifle to bear on the driver, with the barrel sliding into place just so - but the kick to his reflexes never comes. Instead he receives a muddled telepathic woof from Jake, who suddenly finds himself inflated like a puffer fish. The drain sinks into Jake, adding a dull headache to his swollen body and his sense of perplexion. It would be comical in other circumstance, and might still be after the current fuss has settled down.

Ellesar stands and shouts his warning, firing his arrow before the men have a chance to reach the Tata. The arrow explodes between them and the vehicle. The detonation is more like an obnoxious firecracker than a grenade but it certainly gets their attention. The two elves are obviously the experienced combatants. They both drop to one knee and spin toward the source of the shout as they whip out their heavy pistols. Stogie already had a bead on the driver and with his enhanced dexterity it's easy to adjust his targeting. He fires a single shot, blasting the man's revolver out of his grip. It rips out of his hand, twisting the elf's trigger finger to an agonizing angle before the revolver drops to the ground. The man cries out and vigorously shakes his hand up and down before his other hand seizes his throbbing finger and squeezes it.

Nick and the other human stare blankly with dumbfounded looks on their faces. Nick throws his arms up to cover his head from the tiny pebbles raining down on him. The other human looks too confused to react. Smohalla figures that the other elf (with pistol still in hand) is the logical target for his spell. He concentrates the clean mana around him before firing a bolt into the background count. It's not Smohalla's best effort and, astrally, he sees pieces of the spell shear off when it hits the background count, like a meteorite entering the Earth's atmosphere. The elf is looking toward Ellesar and is unprepared for a wave of energy coming from Smohalla's direction. The spell manifests on the physical plane as a huge gust of wind erupting out of the astral world. It catches the elf by surprise and forces him to turn his head as the wind pounds his eyes and face. He raises an arm to protect his head. The shift in weight pushes him off balance; he topples over backward onto his keebler keister. Smohalla's murmured prayers dissipate all the drain.

There's a tense moment as the dust settles and the men collect their wits.