<strong>Name;</strong>Zam Sharrow<br/><strong>Location;</strong>Outside what remains of the Prancing Pony<br/><strong>Time;</strong>Shortly after dawn<br/><strong>Tagged;</strong>... no-one? So far<br/><br/>Zam came to, groggy and cold. "Urgh..." He could barely feel his shoulder now at all, and his legs were still trapped. There were townspeople and city guard moving through the street, searching for trapped and injured citizens among the rubble and smouldering buildings. A chimney stack toppled into the crater left by the Balor. A shout went up among the searchers about twenty yards away as someone found a buried citizen.<br/><br/>He tried to jump to one of the long dawn shadows in an opposite alleyway, but couldn't summon the strength. His injuries and exhaustion were getting the better of him. "Hah... help!" he called. "Over here!"<br/><br/>It took twenty minutes of digging to get him out. One of the city's monastic order of healers shuffled over to him, muttering litanies and catechisms as his hands glowed golden. His shoulder relaxed as the arrow disappeared, finally, and his tissues knit back together. His hand tingled with pins and needles as uninterrupted bloodflow returned to his arm. He sighed with relief.<br/><br/>He wandered away, past a captain of the guard in a serious discussion with some of the city elders. He needed a new tavern to call his local.