Trial by Fire

A stout, rotund dwarf walks beside his companions, shoulder to hip, his bulbous nose pink from the cold. He pulls his fur-lined cloak closer as he walks, his brass-capped staff clinking along the cobble in the alley. Despite the chill, Jormund's smile peeks out from under his golden brown beard. Occasionally, his hand goes to the red crystal suspended by chain around his neck, hidden under his robe.

"Lovely weather we're having." He says, followed by a hearty chuckle. It wasn't the first time his friends had heard him say this, and it wouldn't be the last. It became something if an incantation.

How is he able to stay so jolly all the time? That's very simple: he's always thinking about magic, treasure, or (best of all) magical treasure. Despite the lean times, he tells his friends that good luck is just around the corner. It has to be, he thinks, clutching at the red crystal once more.

"Yes, it sure is." The young witch responds in her usual terse way while huddling in her cloak to keep the chill at bay.

She stands not that much taller than her dwarven companion. Gretel never said how old she actually was, or shared much of anything about herself at all really. She was obviously wise beyond her years, had a knack for all things magical and was driven by curiosity and ambition. All else she left up to speculation, never confirming or denying anything, just answering with vague remarks and an enigmatic smirk.

Gretel was originally only supposed to help sort out some magical artifacts the guild had dug up, but that curious gem Jormund was carrying caught her interest and she just stuck around. The dwarf and her got along well despite their rather different personalities. A shared interest in magical trinkets connecting them.

Her reputation within the guild is the topic of many a debate. Some calling her a freeloader who doesn't do any work, while others argue that her talents are worth keeping around. Both sides make a valid point and Gretel herself has never commented on the matter. So far she has not been kicked out though.

Filbur was not as joyful as the others. In fact he rarely experienced joy. His bunions, crooked back and chronic pneumonia made sure of that. But the former rat catcher soldiered on none the less. Finding the prophetic runes behind the wall of a rat-infested basement had given him a new look on life. He had a purpose.

"Ain't seen such decent wea'her in a while. Must mean sum'n bad 's about to 'appen." He replied drearily.

'Something bad is about to happen' was basically always Filbur's mood. His companions had had to learn to ignore it and, though he didn't like to be ignored, it comforted him that his paranoia didn't rub off all too much.

Fudge, the ferret sitting on his shoulder, squeaked excitedly and snapped at a passing moth before munching on it. He gave her a pat as he coughed loudly and spat on the cobbles.

Towering above his companions, like a mountain amidst shrubs, Merik grunts and pats the gigantic warhammer by his side, "And as always Filbur, there's nothing to worry about."

Probably. The owner of The Frothy Mare hadn't exactly kicked him out after that last little scuffle Merik started (He was able to smooth things over by offering to train the owner's son in some basic swordplay), but he was certain he was still on the man's sh*t list. He just wanted to grab some ales, play some games of chance, and maybe, just maybe find a way to pilfer that red crystal Jormund liked to hide. Not because he disliked the dwarf, far from it. He just liked the jingle of a full coin purse better.

A concerned look on his face, "You heard the lady, kids need saving!" Merik exclaims as he heads off toward the door. No way was he going to let some kids burn to death. And if it inadvertently makes them heroes and gets a few extra coins in his purse, why, even Filbur can't complain about that.

"Blazes, a conflagration!" Jormund helps the old lady away from the fire. "Quickly now, no time to lose! I'll raise the alarm and then join the search. Go!" He says, before taking off down the alley towards a more populated thoroughfare. "Fire! Fire!" He yells, pointing back towards the smoke.

Filbur sighs and mutters under his breath. "I knew this wea'her was too good." Never the less he lets Fudge jump down "Stay 'ere.", ties his dirty bandana across his nose to protect from the smoke and heads into the house. "I'll take the second floor." He calls out to Merik as he goes up the stairs.

Gretel quietly observes everyone rushing about. Either entering the house or fetching some help. With a shrug she approaches the old woman and checks up on her.
"Hey there lady. Are you alright?" She asks in a dry tone.

After saving the kids, Filbur needs a minute to cough up the soot that was stuck in his throat when suddenly a radiant heat makes him look up. Knowing one of his companions likes to mess around with fire, he asks "Jormund, is this your doing?".

Unsure of the intentions of the strange shape, he grabs his dagger and chooses to assess the situation before acting.

Gretel rolls her eyes at Filbur's suggestion. She looks at the fiery apparition with some curiosity, but decides it's probably not a good idea to mess around with it too much. "Hmm, this might be troublesome..." She muses to herself.

Jormund huffs, having rushed back to the scene. "The bucket brigade are on their...Merlin's beard!" Upon seeing the strange creature wreathed in flame, he readies himself to cast an incantation if need be. It's high time I learn that 'douse' spell, he thinks. His red crystal glows, as if in agreement.