Devaguea vented his frustrations by setting the brush on fire where the bastard had gone to ground, before looking over the underbrush. His scales all the way down to the base of his neck were bright red, his chest was a duller red mixed with gold, and several streams of flame danced up and down the crystal embedded in his forehead. He snarled a long string of words in draconic, that he wouldn't translate for the party if asked. "Vriskeh faessi spical jaecr. Vi lekil shafaer jacida pride, nomag coi sask vur wielg mojka. Dout ehaism ti xihuuli siksta valignat!"<br/><br/>He started to turn around before hissing as his wound pulled. "Back inside, minor heal for me to stop the bleeding. We clear the tower, and then hunt that little shit down."<br/><br/>Once in, he took several deep breaths, before shaking himself slightly, and turning to examine the interior. "Well, if there is anyone else here, they know we are here now. I saw we burn the place to the bed rock, but that might be my temper talking."<br/><br/>fire damage 21 (6d6)