[Ferran has some things to work out. Unfortunately, the tools in front of him are monsters, magic, and an evacuation to be protected.
So that's what he's using.
Luckily he's seen a number of heavy objects around, and he's letting gravity do the work—copying a minecart just above an umber hulk's head with a red sparkling light before it drops. This requires him to be a little close for comfort, though, so he's using his singular icy attack spell to slow it down enough for him to duck out of range again.
It's probably be good to make sure he doesn't die? He's not slacking, and he's decently agile, but he's not a physical class anymore.]
F
[He doesn't go anywhere near the bodies.
It's selfish of him, but he's already had to fish one corpse out of a lake this month and he's not keen on reliving the experience. He hasn't met any of the people who died, anyway, except briefly. He doesn't feel any particular obligation towards dealing with the dead, even if every death still weighs on him.
It's strange being part of a team like this. He doesn't know that he's suited for it.
Instead, he seeks out information—or tries to, anyway. For much of the two days that he's not spending duplicating medical supplies that may be needed, he's reading (where'd he get that book?), talking to the locals, or continuing to practice his magic just outside of town.
He won't be accidentally hitting anyone this time; he's intensely focused on improving the accuracy of his Ray of Frost and the dexterity of his Mage Hand. They're particularly flashy spells coming from Ferran, despite whatever he may want them to look like: the frost a pure white with gold glittering, and a glove with a red gem as the spectral hand, which he's using to toss and catch a dagger.]
G
[Ferran sits in the inn, the remains of a green apple on the table as he stares at a photograph in his hand. A dark-haired man with glasses has his arm around a stout woman with blonde hair, and between them is a smiling young Ferran. The scene behind them is a beautiful view of a city on the water.
He brings a hand over his face, hissing a quiet curse.]
no subject
[Ferran has some things to work out. Unfortunately, the tools in front of him are monsters, magic, and an evacuation to be protected.
So that's what he's using.
Luckily he's seen a number of heavy objects around, and he's letting gravity do the work—copying a minecart just above an umber hulk's head with a red sparkling light before it drops. This requires him to be a little close for comfort, though, so he's using his singular icy attack spell to slow it down enough for him to duck out of range again.
It's probably be good to make sure he doesn't die? He's not slacking, and he's decently agile, but he's not a physical class anymore.]
F
[He doesn't go anywhere near the bodies.
It's selfish of him, but he's already had to fish one corpse out of a lake this month and he's not keen on reliving the experience. He hasn't met any of the people who died, anyway, except briefly. He doesn't feel any particular obligation towards dealing with the dead, even if every death still weighs on him.
It's strange being part of a team like this. He doesn't know that he's suited for it.
Instead, he seeks out information—or tries to, anyway. For much of the two days that he's not spending duplicating medical supplies that may be needed, he's reading (where'd he get that book?), talking to the locals, or continuing to practice his magic just outside of town.
He won't be accidentally hitting anyone this time; he's intensely focused on improving the accuracy of his Ray of Frost and the dexterity of his Mage Hand. They're particularly flashy spells coming from Ferran, despite whatever he may want them to look like: the frost a pure white with gold glittering, and a glove with a red gem as the spectral hand, which he's using to toss and catch a dagger.]
G
[Ferran sits in the inn, the remains of a green apple on the table as he stares at a photograph in his hand. A dark-haired man with glasses has his arm around a stout woman with blonde hair, and between them is a smiling young Ferran. The scene behind them is a beautiful view of a city on the water.
He brings a hand over his face, hissing a quiet curse.]
Damn it. I'm such an idiot...