[b]Ricon Fields[/b][right][i][u]Ahhh so that's how it plays[/u][/i][/right]

Ricon turned, hearing the howling. And he hissed out, "Reavers." When they appeared he was ready to run, expecting one of the hordes he remembers seeing and hiding from. Numbers nearly uncountable. Slavering berserker men and howling harridan women. But what appeared is well...not. Forty maybe all told. And they looked far worse for wear. As if they'd been running for a long time. It made no sense to the flame eyed man at all. Almost breaking his mind, as his memories, and they really aren't that out of date are they? The flow of time in The Maw can't be that off. It'd only been a year or two hadn't it? There's no way the Barbarians would have changed their tune that quickly. They're strength had always been in numbers. Villages and tribes banding together to raid and reave. This small group is absolutely anathema to what he remembers. There should be more and there should be the half trolls and half giants among them. None of the towering half beasts he remembers. Feral and roaring for battle.

Yes this little thing causes Ricon to freeze. To him it's not right. Something must be wrong with the world! In the moment the fighting begins and Ricon stands there, seemingly not wanting to condescend to fight. His fire sprites Orbit him slowly, coos turned to hisses of worry and anger, his fire halo whirling faster and brighter. 

And it's only when the banshee scream fills the air that his pose is broken as he bends to one side and rubs his ears in pain. As he straightening though he heard dimly, "Sulfreyans!" Looking over at the skeletal woman. He blinks a few times then nods, "That makes sense. These ones are a raider remnant. Likely being hunted for sport at this point."

Ricon spread his legs bracing abit. One of his sprites fluttering over between his held out hands. The sprite giggled and nuzzled his hands, leaving no sign it hurt thr man before it flared becoming a bright red beacon of firey might, "My turn. Let's make it harder for them. Let the flames rise!" 

It started as a roar. And rhe final rank of the Barbarians start to dance a fearful tarrantella. Kicking around the ground. Them they start to begin to howl in fear.

"Rise!"

Ricon says it again and a wall of flame shoots up some twenty feet. Immolating that last rank of Barbarians, and separating the groups in that moment.

And another chance to question the pyromancers sanity comes around when he begins to laugh mightily crying out, "Burn! Let it burn! Man, woman and child. Wood, cloth and flesh! Let it burn!"