"I'll be more careful next time, hun." lied Fredek, winking to the ample breasted Warrior Priest who had just fished him out of the growing pile of corpses that littered the ground in front of the keep.
He immediately resumed his attempts of exploding the gigantic bowl of steaming oil that poured its foul contents at regular intervals and, slowly but surely, was syphoning the health of the door's assaulters. He soon realised he was hitting nothing but the bowl itself and what little of it he could chink away was being quickly restored by unseen defenders.
He grunted as he received reports that the small resistance at the postern door had been overrun. He turned his fire to the main door, mindlessly hurling the countless bouts of the same spell at it, taking almost as much from his own life as from the sturdy wooden gate.
Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain on his ankle and, as he fell on his face, he noticed the Chosen laying on the ground with his teeth clenched to his leg, blood quickly soaking the surrounding robes, its red suddenly enriched by his own vital fluids.
As he lay dying, Parsley said something he didn't understand.
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