Silence reigns. “I’m here to do a survey!” Rufus yells. “I have some questions to ask the householder! I come in peace!” Still no one replies. After a brief pause, Noble raises his empty hands and clears his throat. “I am unarmed and unshod!” he booms. “I wish to negotiate a truce in good faith and without bias! Not a soul will suffer any harm if I am admitted into the presence of Lord Harrowmage!” “Nice one,” Rufus says, grinning. At that very instant, a mighty gust of wind slams into them both. It’s come out of nowhere—without warning—pushing them backward as it becomes a minitornado, sucking up a whole column of fluid from the river and sprouting half a dozen watery arms. Noble retreats a step, because he has no weapon. All he can do is run. But he doesn’t get a chance to do so before the column suddenly collapses. A huge mass of liquid hits the surface of the river. Crash! Bloodred geysers shower the landscape in every direction. Noble is spattered with goo.
