[center][h3][u]Nillium Encampment, The Burroughs[/u]
[sub]3rd of Summer - 9:24 PM[/sub][/h3][/center]

	Locke pulled his blade down as soon as he could manage a motion with any strength, around the same time that the brilliant flames encompassed his body. The sword sliced through Paric's flesh until it hit bone, but didn't severe straight through the man's arm as his opponent back away in recoil from the blast. The puddle behind him splashed, and he lost his footing, losing grip of his sword while falling back onto the hard ground, soundless behind the swooshing of flames. Paric was bleeding heavily from his arm now, but Mop was frantically rolling around in water, trying to put the fire out as quickly as possible. At this point, he might have sounded some kind of alarm, but when he tried to scream, whether it be out in pain or for aid, he instead began to cough and gasp for air. He flopped helplessly from side to side like a fish out of water. The guards didn't think anything of it, even though they could hear the muffled echoes of their captain's coughing fit.