Blacketh I

As chaos ventured across, the denizens of Baythorn, Zariel, and Timat took in the sight of men and women on fire, their mangled bodies melting into a pyre of flames. They were kicking and screaming, some bashing their heads in for a quick death. The stench was foul, encompassing the cinders of ash and the flesh of man. While bodies of young children lay unmoving, the crackle of embers of their charred remains was a visceral sight, invoking dread and pandemonium. 

Unfazed by the scene, the two ventured through the scorching flames as if they were on a pleasant stroll around town. They stepped outside the burning building and into Artesian Street to find similar sights that seemed to taint unwavering minds. 

Tiamat took in a familiar sight she'd seen countless times before. "Why do you think they did this?" 

Zariel adopted a faint grin. "Does it matter? It's not our business." 

"You almost died," Timat said darkly.