They slapped Wraithvine hard before hugging him tightly, GLAD that Wraithvine hadn't gotten hurt.
"You IDIOT! I told you not to do that!"
"It was just a little cantrip"
"There's a reason none in this party are using any magic in this area!"
"I will remember that." -- Anon Guest
All things considered, they were all lucky that such a simple spell hadn't obliterated a city-sized area. They were also kind of lucky that the Eternal Wizard of myth and legend didn't decide to retaliate.
"This is a wild magic area! Weaponised wild magic, set to make any spell detonate against us. All of us!"
Wraithvine picked hirself up and, still feeling hir face, said, "I wasn't thinking. I only thought to light my pipe for a... relaxation aid." Which was code for pipeweed in general and dandelions in particular.
Artraxis the Mender detatched a smoking match[1] from his beard. "Until we complete the ritual... please. Think before you do."
Wraithvine used the match to light hir pipe, tying it to a dangling braid. "I'm usually the one telling adventurers that," ze smiled. "I should heed my own good advice." With that in mind, ze busied hirself with brush and ink, scribing some Elven runes on the back of hir hand.
"What are those?" asked Lilaan the Curious.
"A reminder," said Wraithvine. "It says, no magic or you die so that I don't forget again."
They still had days' worth of travel before they reached the epicenter of this wasteland. Where they would commence a ritual to absorb or at least downplay the damage done in yet another episode of the Xenophobia wars.
Perhaps this time, the ritual would work.
[1] In pre-industrial technology terms, this is essentially a very slow-burning fuse that eliminates the need for flint and steel. This is what the matches of the modern day are named after.
[Photo by Anton Darius on Unsplash]
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