Jones is lurking near the Mafaton border in Ludmead when everything goes to hell and suddenly there's magic—and a bunch of ugly, angry creatures—everywhere. The next few (minutes? hours?) are spent frantically running about, helping people find shelter and safety and hoping that she'll eventually manage to get to that, too.
It's not long after the fire starts that she starts seeing the smoke billowing thickly over the rooftops; she groans, silently, and takes a deep breath. One more disaster, of course. Hopefully it's nothing she can't handle. (Part of her pridefully thinks that of course she can handle it; the other part is just tired.)
The building was once an inn, and the survivors have gathered outside on the street. It looks like it's curled in on itself, like a crumpled, burnt piece of paper, and the nearby buildings bend in toward the center, like heated metal. It's clear that they need to evacuate the area, not just the building; Jones helpfully points them toward a nearby part of town she's heard is relatively safe. It's clear it isn't here; there's at least one dead monster in sight, something twisted and spined.
One young, long-haired man—she dimly recalls that he's one of her cohort—seems like he's been shaken by the experience, clawing at his skin and muttering to himself. "It's all right," she says, reaching out toward his shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll be fine. You need to get to safety, though; it's not right here."
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It's not long after the fire starts that she starts seeing the smoke billowing thickly over the rooftops; she groans, silently, and takes a deep breath. One more disaster, of course. Hopefully it's nothing she can't handle. (Part of her pridefully thinks that of course she can handle it; the other part is just tired.)
The building was once an inn, and the survivors have gathered outside on the street. It looks like it's curled in on itself, like a crumpled, burnt piece of paper, and the nearby buildings bend in toward the center, like heated metal. It's clear that they need to evacuate the area, not just the building; Jones helpfully points them toward a nearby part of town she's heard is relatively safe. It's clear it isn't here; there's at least one dead monster in sight, something twisted and spined.
One young, long-haired man—she dimly recalls that he's one of her cohort—seems like he's been shaken by the experience, clawing at his skin and muttering to himself. "It's all right," she says, reaching out toward his shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll be fine. You need to get to safety, though; it's not right here."