The air around Seki began to fill with voices as the man burned. Not loud voices, but not whispers. The word were indistinct, as though the speakers were impossible far away. It was strange. They didn't usually react like this even when he was in mortal peril, and there was an uncommon tremble to their voices that their pride would never allow to be heard.

As the drows armor clattered to the ground he understood. They were uneasy in the presence of any greater god, but this one? Even other greater gods feared this one. As the bolt of darkness streaked past his he felt every disc on his arms tremble. This battle, in this nice town on this nice morning in this nice little blacksmith shop, was a battle in which his very soul was at stake.

All the more reason to help bring it to an end. He moved forward, sweeping his staff through the air toward the drows clenched hand. If what was in that hand had allowed him to throw that darkness he intended to break that hand so it couldn't happen again.