Character || Ime
Stage || Healer
Battling || Spitorog
Battle Stat || 16
Defense || 5
Roll Needed || 80-100
Rolled || 94
Outcome || Win
Experience earned || 4 x 6 = 24 / 2 = 12

There was a young woman outside Kesris with a stomach illness that left her unable to leave her home. It was her husband who had asked for Ime's assistance out on the street, although he had been wary of Thorn at first. Ime continued to the tent alone and opened the flap, coming to the ill girl with a concerned glance. She began asking all of the usual questions, struck with pity every time the woman groaned or gulped uncomfortably. Ime opened her bag and began to gather the supplies for a medicine that should help her queasiness. So focused was she on her work that she didn't notice the tent flap flop open or their new audience until she heard an odd burbling croak. For a moment she thought it might have been the woman, but instincts told her to turn and she did so with an arched brow.

A bright blue spitorog sat on the tent floor, boggling up at her.

"Shoo," she said, not even particularly loudly, but with a wave of her hand the creature puffed up in defense. She sighed, shoulders slumping. She certainly couldn't pick it up. It'd poke her, and then she'd risk bringing new germs into the tent and making the young woman even more sickly. "Excuse me just a moment."

Ime put out both of her hands , folded outward and touching at the palm just below the wrist. A great gust of wind rushed forth and the spitorog rolled off like a tumbleweed, out the flap and back into the wild where it belonged.

"I'm sorry about that. Let me just get your potion ready and we'll be all set...

wc: 278