<strong>Ivette</strong><br/><br/>"WAAAAAAAGGGHHHH!" The troll cried out as the white-hot searing flame struck him in the shoulder and caused him to recoil as an entire monstrous arm fell onto the ground. He stumbled back as the second ray flashed just left of his stump and removed some rubble from the wall. "Muh-muh-maaagiiick!" The troll exclaimed, "FIIIYEEEHHH!!"<br/><br/>"BOOOGGGRRAAA! BOGGRA! DEY GOT FIRE!"<br/><br/>More than likely, the creature had the brute strength to take on Ivette in close combat and make it a very<em>very</em>bad day, but being as simple as he was and subjected to the only thing trolls need to fear, he ran. This was evidently not a creature accustomed to battle, or at least not accustomed to a fair fight where his enemies wielded fire or acid.<br/><br/>Still, the sorceress was alone with her already scantily modest clothing in poor condition and only one of her two female companions still conscious. "Thank you..." She mumbled, eyes wide with fear.<br/><br/><strong>Dexter</strong><br/><br/>Clearly, this was a statue of the storm herald, Diosetherus. A relatively minor god, closer to a demigod really. A lean and muscular body, with bracelets and necklaces upon his bare flesh and tattooes depicting his status, he was part of a pantheon worshipped in the ancient kingdoms like Ongwyn. Upon his outstretched hand, Dexter recognized arcane runes carved upon his arm, not the mere illustration of his tattooes. They were... receptors. His hand was a font for energy, possibly magical or merely just natural energy.<br/><br/><strong>Ellen</strong><br/><br/>Upon setting foot back upon hard ground, or hard ship as it were, the ghost was immediatly greeted with an arched eyebrow by one of the crew members of the Laft Hanza. The<em>cartographer</em>was not too far away, attending to some business under the deck. The crew member, a young lad of apparent high birth, wordlessly clucked his tongue and called out for the captain.<br/><br/>It was not long before the man arrived, a finely dressed human in his thirties, dark haired and wearing glasses. He carried upon his belt a rapier among some other expensive-looking gear. He seemed outfitted for a little adventuring himself.<br/><br/>"Ah. I see you've already demonstrated your qualifications just by getting up here." He said, approaching her as he offered his hand, "Ermon Wythe, my lady. Pleased to make your acquaintence. Uh- You<em>are</em>here for the job, yes?"