<strong>Name;</strong>Zam Sharrow<br/><strong>Location;</strong>The Prancing Pony, Everesta<br/><strong>Time;</strong>Just after midnight<br/><strong>Tagged;</strong>Ev'r'buddy<br/><br/>The lethargy creeping through his body was receding, draining out of the wound in his shoulder. Unfortunately, the lingering effect of the poison before its removal meant that the prior healing spell didn't quite work. His shoulder felt like a ball of fire under his armour. He didn't dare try to remove the arrow until the fight was over and he could get away to a healer somewhere. He supposed he could ask the elf who'd spent the mana on his curing... he didn't want to rely on the charity of strangers, though.<br/><br/>The chevaleuse hefted him to his feet and pushed him towards the door, hacking at demons and cutting arrows from the air as she went. Zam didn't argue, he just clutched at his shoulder as he stumbled for the exit, listening to the ominous creak of the inn's timbers as the fire ate into them, weakening the building. The whole street had been ravaged by hellfire.<br/><br/>Outside, he stepped into a sea of demonic corpses, in various states of dismemberment and burning. He looked about, grimacing as the movement pulled against his shoulder.<br/><br/>The twenty-foot tall demon lord stood between the necromancer, surrounded by his guardian spirits and encased in a skin of stone, almost as tall as the Balor himself; the pyromancer, wreathed in furious flame and smoke; and a third warrior, wearing armour the colour of night and covered in vicious-looking spines, holding a pair of swords.<br/><br/>It roared, a sound enough to shake the ground and set Zam's teeth on edge. The trio of adventurers tensed into their guard positions, ready to begin the final fight in earnest.