[hr][center][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/b3RmLjk2LmRkYTBkZC5VbUZ1YzI5dElFeGhZbVZzYkdVLC4y/golden-jewelry.regular.webp[/img][img]https://i.imgur.com/HvlcxJd.pngp[/img][/center][right][code] The Waystone Inn
Interactions:  Ed [@NoriWasHere] Latrom [@Cosmic]
Outfit: Absolutely covered in snow[/code][/right][hr]

Almost immediately, and most certainly due to his irresistability, Ransom inspired Lairëcúma to burst into another song. Wait, stupid hair? A cloudy breath escaped from his mouth as he blew a heavenly lock of hair out of his face. This must be a cover.  He heard the cat jawjacking behind his back as Cali started shooting straight bullshit out of her mouth. Ransom was a gentleman. He’d never shove a lady out of the way just like Cali would never admit the real reason why she doth protest too much. Ransom gave a cocky little half-shrug at her accusation, not wanting to start a fight with Cali when he had a kitty to maim. 

He turned back to Lucky and was caught off guard as his opponent blitzed past him, shouting for everyone to go away. Momentarily stunned, Ransom realized that technically an unanswered challenge meant that he had won the duel. He turned towards Lairëcúma to see if he could get her to sing a song of his victory, but she was already moving through the door with Cali behind her. He watched as the tiefling scooped up her fox. Perhaps slightly distracted by the swish of a tail, he did not immediately register the shredded ribbons of leather clenched in the beast’s jaws as once belonging to him until he noticed that his glove was now missing when he moved to pick it up. Ransom dropped his head with a heavy sigh. His victory didn’t feel very celebratory. 

[color=00FA9A]“Thank you for calling pause, Ransom,”[/color] said the Undertaker. He glanced at her from underneath his stupid hair, confused as to what she was going on about. [color=00FA9A]“I would hate for bloodshed to ruin such a promising nigh-”[/color]

Yes. Yes, see, she got it. Ransom was such a benevolent man that he had let Lucky go unharmed. His eyes drifted to Latrom as Ransom rubbed his own shoulder, unaware that the muscle he assumed to be the Undertaker’s guard had been the one who had eased Lila’s punch. Although he was not injured, Ransom could still use a priest. It would totally help validate his claim to being a holy man of…which god had he gone with again? Ilmater? Loviatar? Lathander. Right, light boy. 

[color=plum]“You’re welcome?”[/color] offered Ransom when he realized Ed wasn’t going to finish her thought after something rumbled. 

She was distracted, looking at something else. His eyes followed hers to the top of the Arcane Tower as it began to spin and slowly rotate. He blinked. Had Cali actually been able to secretly slip something into his drink? He blinked again. No, this was happening. The city groaned, snapped, and shifted. Oh, shit! No, no, no, this was happening! A pile of snow sliding off the roof of the Waystone Inn clocked Ransom and sent him to the ground with an, [color=plum]“Oh, shit!"[/color] He frantically started to dig himself out of the snow, his unprotected hand stung by the cold, as his mind gravitated to one single thought:

[i]See, this is fucking why you don’t build your town around a mage tower.[/i]

Nothing good ever came from a mage tower being located in town. He never ever heard of a story about a mage tower where something mysterious happened and everyone in town found twenty gold pieces in their pocket. There was never an arcane experiment gone array and now everyone was two points hotter or a bunch of nymphs got summoned to town. No portal ever opened up to the wine and cheese dimension. It was always arcane explosions, zombie apocalypses, or unspeakable eldritch beings whose name was spelled with sixteen consonants, seven apostrophes, and pronounced by tearing out your own throat. 

Ransom pulled himself out of the snow. Either some snow had gotten into his boots or some part of Kel had started to freeze. He shoved his bare hand under his arm to warm it back up as he surveyed the cataclysm around him from his knees. Roads weren’t supposed to do that. Buildings weren’t supposed to do that.  People definitely weren’t supposed to do that. He winced as a man proved why, despite Ransom’s own wariness of mages, that having a wizard around who stocked Feather Fall was always a sensible idea. Ouch. What a way to go. He watched as Edwina moved to help a mother and her child, a monstrous construct emerging out of the shadows to shield them.

[color=00FA9A]“Don’t just stand there! Help.”[/color]

What?

[i]Why?[/i]

The instinct was to get up and run. He didn’t owe these people nothing, and these people clearly had nothing to give otherwise they wouldn’t live in Greyharrow. He wouldn’t gamble away his own life for nothing in return. He’d sworn no oaths. He’d signed no contracts. He wasn’t some—a voice, shrill and squeaky, in the back of his head: Mrs. Marmsdale. A memory of something his etiquette teacher had once said. A noble man doesn’t help others because he wants to. He does so because he has to. At first he has always thought it was some stupid lesson in chivalry, but know remembering the phrase with the benefit of hindsight, knowing that no bannerman arrived to answer his father’s demands to defend Labelle Gardens from the goblin horde, he was pretty sure it was actually a lesson in karma. 

Goddamnit. Ransom stood up. The Undertaker and her golem had the mother and child safe, or had at the very least bought them some more time. He moved to save another stumbling toddler, seemingly unaware of the rocks falling down around their head. Why were there so many damn children up at this time of night? Ransom moved quickly, one hand over his noggin to protect it in case he failed to dodge a piece of debris. He bent low, slid, and scooped the toddler moments before something wooden came crashing down. The toddler started slamming him with their fists as he felt something slash and sting across his calf. He buckled but did not fall, skating across the snow until he set down the toddler in the relative safety of the shadow of the Waystone Inn.

It was only then that he realized the toddler had a full handlebar mustache and graying hair.

“Oy, whaddja think ya doin’, ya freak? Tryin’ ta git fresh wit me, are ya? Ol’ Petey don’lit anyway touch ‘im ‘cept Missus Petey. Where’s me knife at, I gut ya from shin ta knee ya fucking bastard! I fucking kill ya,” hollered the drunk gnome. 

Ransom shoved the gnome backwards into the safety of the pile of snow Ransom had just dug out. The drunk gnome harmless kicked and punched at the air, unable to stand himself upright, as he rolled around in the fresh powder and made the saddest snow angel ever. The gnome was safe as long as his drunk ass didn’t bury his face beneath the snow. Ransom just hoped he didn’t follow through with that threat when he turned his back. Across the way, he spotted a hand beneath a mound of snow. He bolted to the pile and started digging at it with one hand—look, he wasn’t just about to get frostbite for someone who might already be dead. It really wasn’t working too well. Fuck it, he wrapped his bare hand in his cloak and began shoveling with it, too. 

[color=plum]“Hey, big guy!”[/color] Ransom yelled at Latrom. [color=plum]“I hope those aren’t just show muscles. Help me pull them out.”[/color]