*000000*

[x] Yes.

-[X] Fly-by. Strafe with breath weapon and appropriate spells, but continue to move away from the Endbringer.

((()))

You decide you have to do something to help, but you can't afford to just linger. You slow down enough to cast a Grease spell while approaching, splattering it underneath and in front of the snake-o-taurs. Then you take a deep breath, and exhale a cone of poison down at them as you fly directly overhead.

Then you're past them, picking up speed as fast as you can. A glance over your shoulder shows that one of the three minotaurs has fallen down in the grease, but past that, you have no idea how the fight turns out.

A half-mile later, you run into a single minotaur harassing another group of citizens, but this time, there's no armed party trying to fight them off, just-

Smack.

Crunch.

Splat.

A teenage boy literally being pounded into pulp while a group of women and children keep running.

If you intervene this time, you aren't going to be able to just throw one spell and run. They need more serious help.

Get involved?

[] No.

[] Yes.

-[] How so? (write-in.)

[X] Yes.

-[X] Use Empathy to better understand the feelings of everyone. Why are the creatures attacking? Malice? Fear? Use Psionic Focus to save PP.

-[X] Attack the minotaur using magic, claws and construct as necessary. Use Haste and Swarm of Crystals if necessary.

-[X] Use Lesser Vigor on the boy. That should get him on his feet.

-[X] Continue fleeing from the Endbringer.

((()))

Exerting your mind just so, you take a look at the emotions of the people and the eel-o-taur…

They're terrified, and its emotions are reflective of bestial thinking, rather than that of a sapient. Either that or it's so hungry/angry that you can't tell anymore. Either way, this has made it clear what to do.

Swooping low, you drop the lizard low enough to keep it from getting seriously hurt, then use a pulse of Psionic Power to launch a shard of crystals at the Minotaur, something that very much gets its attention.

(3d4 nets 4 damage to Eel-o-taur.)

It turns to face you, but as much as you hated him, what Thumpy taught you about hunting prepared you for this, and you launch yourself at his face and upper chest before he can properly defend himself.

(EoT rolls 3 for initiative. Taylor rolls 3+8. Taylor uses Pounce from variant Barbarian.)

You bite down on his ugly snout (horrible taste), and claw at his chest, your wings flailing about wildly.

(7+12 on Bite, 17+7 and 16+7 on claws, 4+7 and 7+7 on wing buffets. EoT AC is 14. Damage: d8+7=12, d6+3=7, d6+3=7, 1d4+3=7, 33 total damage.)

Blood runs down his face and chest, but he just roars and lashes out, swinging his head wildly to slash at you with his horns. That's easy to avoid, but the snake/eel-things growing out of his back are surprisingly swift, and their fanged maws bounce off of your Psionically-reinforced hide. A single one manages to bite down on the weak point beneath your shoulder, but with all the adrenaline in your system, you barely feel it.

(1d20 on gore=1, explode down rolls, 14, +9 gives net 3. 4 snake-eel attacks at +9, 17+9=26, 4+9=13, 18+9=27, 11+9=20. With Force Screen and Inertial Armor, Taylor's AC is 27. One hit, d6+2=4 damage, Fort save of 16+9=25, negates poison effect.)

It might have an edge on raw muscle, but it's weaker than you.

(16+10=26 on bite, 14+5=19 and 13+5=18 on claws, 17+5=22 and 6+5=11 on wing buffets. Damage: 1D8+7=11, 1d6+3=6, 1d6+3=5, 1d4+3=5, total=27.)

You slash at its eel-tentacles as they withdraw, smack one with your wing, and bite down into the edge of the minotaur's neck. Sickly-sweet blood erupts outward, and it collapses with a groan.

(EoT has taken 64 damage, had 60 HP. It falls unconscious and starts bleeding out. It will have 6 rolls to stabilize before it dies, but this is immaterial to Taylor; it is no longer a threat.)

Tearing your teeth free of the Eel-o-taur, you jump over its body and swiftly cast a Lesser Vigor spell on the injured boy. He's in bad shape; one of his arms has been outright torn off, and he's deathly pale. Even so, he's still bleeding sluggishly when you complete the spell, which means he's alive. The spell immediately stops the bleeding, and that means he'll at least survive.

You don't have the time to wait for him to recover though, you launch yourself back up into the air, and once again start making your best speed towards the city outskirts.

"Thank you!" one of the fleeing women shouts up at you as you soar overhead, which provokes an odd feeling in your bloodied chest.

Fortunately, you don't run into any further monsters along the way, instead you catch up with what seems to be the main crush of fleeing civilians, a number of crashed or gridlocked cars leading towards what looks like an interstate overpass.

There are PRT troopers, regular police, and a few National Guard trucks on the highway, as well as a pair of capes helping set up barbed wire and concrete barriers. There's a gate right on the highway, and it's still open, and people are streaming through, but the guards are tense enough that you suspect it'll be closed before much longer.

You wing your way over the gates with ease.

What do next?

[] Look for a medical station; does anyone need healing?

[] Talk to someone about how much time is left. You can't carry an adult, but you could probably carry some children over the fence, a lot faster than they'll be able to walk/run through.

[] Just keep going.

[] Write-in.

[X] Talk to someone about how much time is left. You can't carry an adult, but you could probably carry some children over the fence, a lot faster than they'll be able to walk/run through.

AN: Go go heroism.

((()))

Finding a guard standing on top of a military truck just behind the wall, you wing over next to him, and perch on one of the truck's rails.

"Uh," you say, trying to figure out what the rank markings on his shoulder mean, "Sergeant?"

"Corporal," he replies, studying you warily, but with no real hostility, "How can I help you, miss?"

"How long until time is up?" you ask, "I can fly one or two kids out at a time."

"You've got just under two minutes," he says grimly, glancing at his watch, "Do what you can."

You nod, and with a flap of your wings, take off without any further words. You can make three, maybe four round trips if you are incredibly fast; there's no time to waste.

First you spot a small family of four in the crowd, they're moving forward, but they're too far from the gate to have a real chance of making it. What makes them both easy to spot, and your first chosen target, is that both the mother and father are carrying the children on their shoulders. You swoop down towards the couple, not managing to come as close as you'd like, but hopefully still close enough they can tell who you mean.

"I can carry them out!" you half-shout over the crowd, "Hold them higher if you want me to grab them!"

You come about as swiftly as you can, something that training with Betty definitely helped for, and find both children being held high as you return. Taking great care with timing and placement, you snatch both of the young children by their collars, a boy and girl about six and four you'd guess, and yank them up into the air.

The fence is less than a hundred yards away, and even with about fifty pounds in your arms, it takes you just seconds to get back over, where you drop them off next to the Corporal, before immediately turning back around and heading out over the crowd again.

The people out here aren't stupid; there are already dozens of children being held aloft by their parents, more and more catching on as you watch. You immediately pick out the nearest target, a toddler who looks barely old enough to stand on her own, snatch her up, and are back across the wall almost immediately.

You work your way up along the wall, moving steadily further away from the gate, and those who have the best chance at getting out on their own.

A half-grown boy that you almost drop when you pluck him from his father's massive shoulders.

A pair of twins who desperately cling to your forelegs as you carry them over.

A girl with a bloody gash on her forehead who's unconscious.

A toddler boy that you less pick up and more crash into; you lose precious seconds stumbling across the shoulders and heads of the crowd, desperately trying to avoid injuring anyone with your claws, before getting a grip on him with one arm, and using the other three to push off back into the air.

This time, when you drop him off next to the Corporal, the man seizes your wing before you can lift off again.

"Seven seconds left," he says grimly, shaking his head, "You can't get any more of them out."

You turn and look out over the crowd, something in you saying that no, you can go back for another load, but...

"I can't even hear her damn scream anyways," you grumble.

A flaring light snaps to life, and you turn to see a cape you don't know has erected a forcefield over the gateway. Those who just made it through keep running, which rapidly clears the way, allowing the PRT Troopers to swing the massive gate shut, and start locking it in place.

And it is locking it in place. It looks like it's designed for opening it again to be possible, but it's not a simple latch, even scaled up, that closes it. Instead a series of metal bars, like something out of a bank vault, interlock with the metal and concrete structure around the gate.

As soon as they step back, a crackle sounds as the barbed wire on top of the fence visibly electrifies, and some among the crowd who'd been pressed up against it scream in pain, before the crowd as a whole pulls back.

"This containment zone is now sealed," a PRT Trooper declares through a megaphone, "Any who attempt to cross the barrier without explicit permission will be assumed to be under the influence of the Simurgh, and shot on sight. Please remain near the wall until the Simurgh is driven off, then return to your homes if possible."

"That could have been a lot worse," the Corporal says grimly, looking up and down the length of the fence, "Nobody was crushed against the fence when it went hot."

He pauses for a moment, turning to look at you.

"You still got family in there, kid?" he asks.

Sometimes people on Ravnica would be uncertain about your age when you first met them. Some could tell just by your voice, and apparently the Corporal is one of them.

What do you say to the Corporal?

[] "No, I was dimensionally displaced into the middle of that like ten minutes ago. I don't even know what city this is, aside from not being home."

[] "No. I can heal, a little bit. Is there a healing station here?"

[] "I don't know."

[] You don't have the heart to look at this. Just fly away.

[X] "No. I can heal, a little bit. Is there a healing station here?"

((()))

"No," you say, shaking your head, "I can heal a little bit. Is there a medical station around here where I can find injured people?"

"There is," the Corporal says, "But I should take you to the station CO first. All the serious cases are routed to the medical station at Command, or moved on to other hospitals in the region. I don't think we have anything worse than a broken arm here."

"...Okay then," you say, feeling a bit off now that the immediate pressure is past.

The Corporal hops down from the truck, and you follow him down, trotting across a short distance to where a man with 'Captain Tiers' on his chest is talking with the forcefield-creating cape about reinforcing different sections of the perimeter. Apparently the electric fence is a temporary solution; a larger concrete wall is going to be constructed to encircle the city over the course of the next few months.

It's a chilling thought, seeing a city get cut off like that.

"Sir!" the Corporal calls the moment there's break in conversation, "Independent Cape here says she can heal; should we send her to Command?"

"She's our child air-lifter, Jenkins?" the Captain says, glancing at the Corporal before turning your way.

Corporal Jenkins nods, turning to look at you alongside the force-field cape, and suddenly you're very much on the spot.

"Who are you, miss?" Captain Tiers asks, "And what abilities are you bringing to the table?"

What say?

[] "I haven't thought of a name yet, and I guess I'm a grab bag cape? I can do a lot of little things."

[] "I'm…"

-[] Write-in name.

[] Write-in self-description of power(s)

[X] "I'm…"

-[X] Bookwyrm

((()))

"Bookwyrm," you reply, "And I have some limited healing ability. It won't necessarily heal someone completely, but it is guaranteed to stabilize them if it's just trauma. I don't know how well it'd do against exotic stuff."

"How fast can you fly?" the Captain says after a moment's thought.

"About ninety miles an hour top speed," you say, "About forty miles an hour sustained."

"Alright then," he says, "You've already demonstrated good initiative and judgment so far, and at that kind of speed, you can get yourself places faster than we could on the ground, and even if there's a chopper free, faster than the time it'd take to get here and back."

He pulls a folding map out of a pocket, and kneels down so you can get a clear view of it.

"We're on Highway Eighteen," he says, pointing up and down the road that the fence has been built along, then gesturing to it on the map, "Head East, and you'll get to a couple more gate posts, and then the command post, which is where the emergency treatment center is. Should be about three miles, big white tent with red crosses on it.

"Don't try to fly straight in, look for PRT troopers at the entrance and announce yourself. By the time you get there, I'll have word through the chain of command for them to expect you. Got all that?"

"Three miles East on the highway," you reply, "White tent, red crosses, announce myself to troopers at the entrance."

"Good," he says, sharply, rising to his feet and folding the map back up, "Then get going, and save everyone you can."

You've never wanted to be a soldier, but you still feel the urge to salute at his words; instead you offer him a deep nod, then leap into the air, and start flying East at your best speed. You're definitely feeling the strain of all this flying, but your training holds you in good stead, as well as your Dragon form's general physical endurance.

The highway below, and the fence that was rapidly built on the North side of it, are a testament to the terror caused by the Simurgh's attack, and the speed of the PRT, law enforcement, and the National Guard's response. The highway has the shattered glass and bits of plastic that mark there having been several collisions on it, but most of the damaged cars have already been cleared out, and you fly over a Humvee pulling another one off.

Military vehicles and patrol cars are cruising up and down the length, and there are large groups of citizens on both sides of the highway. While not everybody got out, it's clear many did, and it looks like there's some degree of organization to help people get further out of the immediate disaster area, but you fly over it too quickly to really be sure what.

It takes you less than three minutes to get to the command post, and the medical tent is every bit as impossible to miss as you'd expect; you drop into a glide and tilt your wings back a little to bleed off speed as you approach. You time your deceleration pretty well, and drop to the ground smoothly maybe ten yards in front of the tent, and trot the rest of the way over.

"I'm Bookwyrm," you declare to the two PRT Troopers standing guard, "I have a little healing ability, and I'm here to help."

"Step inside," one of the guards says gruffly, "An orderly will be there to tell you what needs to be done."

You nod and walk inside, where you see a bloodied young man in scrubs with a grim expression on his face.

"I'm going to need specifics before I know where to take you," he says, barely blinking at your non-human form, "But be as concise as you can. How does your power work?"

"General-purpose repair of tissue," you reply, suddenly very glad of your time in the first aid class at camp; it's given you the right terminology to use, "It restores damaged tissue to a healthy condition. It won't flush toxins out of the bloodstream, but if there's dirt in the wound it'll be pushed out as part of the healing. It's slow, but it stops bleeding first, and moves on to other damage after."

"We'll get you stabilizing then," he says, turning further into the tent and gesturing for you to follow, "There's some new wonder-healer who can rebuild just about anything, but she can't be everywhere at once."

"I have a sharp limit on how many I can effect," you warn, "Fifteen or sixteen after the boy I healed inside the city."

"That's important too," he says, grimacing as he looks around the tent; from your position on all fours, you can't really see past the row of cots you're moving down, "Come one, I've got two for you right now, and then we'll have you at receiving to help stabilize until you run out."

You nod and trot after him; he isn't running, but he's walking at a pretty decent clip anyways. The first patient he brings you to is a glassy-eyed soldier who's suffering from a half-crushed chest. Someone has clearly done some work on him, as his left arm is so heavily bandaged you can't see the skin, but his breathing is wet and wheezy, a bad sign.

Bracing one paw against the frame of his cot, you rear up and move your other paw through the motions of the spell, intoning the appropriate words of Draconic in a whisper, before gently touching him on the side of his neck.

His coloration immediately begins to improve, his breathing strengthens, and the next few exhalations splatter the blood that was building up in his lungs out.

"Good," the orderly says, sounding just a touch less grim, "How long do you have to stay with him?"

"That's it," you say, shaking your head, "It'll slowly repair damaged tissue for about a minute and a half."

"He's definitely better than he was before," The orderly says, already moving off towards the next patient, "We'll check his condition in more detail when the time can be spared. Your second patient is right over here."

You brace yourself on the attending cot again, and see a somewhat tall woman with her face bandaged over and long, curly dark hair-

Mom?

[X] Not.

((()))

No.

You drop back down and take a deep breath.

That is not your mother.

Even if the hair looks a lot like her hair, your hair, it isn't her, and even if you have some hope that Feather can come and deal with that, she isn't here now, this isn't your mother, and aside from a coincidental resemblance, you have no reason to think otherwise.

"You okay Bookyrm?" the orderly asks.

"Sorry," you say a bit hoarsely, "She just looks a lot like my mother. Stress is starting to get to me a bit."

You hop back up, and swiftly cast the spell. You can't see enough of her to tell just how badly off she was, which also means you can't see visible signs of recovery, but at the last she'll be stable now.

"Let's go," you say, shaking your head.

"This way," the orderly says, apparently used to shoving aside emotions to deal with the crisis of the moment, "Triage is going to be the ugliest part of this. If you don't think you can handle it, this is your last chance to back out."

"I've already seen some pretty bad stuff," you say, shaking your head as you trot after him, "I'll handle it a lot better knowing I did what I could."

"It helps," he agrees, "Even if it isn't as much as I'd like."

The triage 'room' smells overwhelmingly of bleach, and it isn't hard to see why; someone is scrubbing blood off the floor with it. Two injured people are being wheeled out of the small room on gurneys to another wing of the tent you haven't been to, one corpse is being wheeled out the same way injured people are probably coming in, and a third man who looks utterly shocked by his own good health is being helped to his feet by a lanky blonde teenager. Beside the two of them is another girl that looks barely older than you, who looks pretty strung out.

"I've got some relief for you here Panacea," the orderly says, "Bookwyrm says she can heal a dozen or so people before she runs out of juice for the day."

"What all can you heal?" Panacea asks, her eyes locking onto you with almost uncomfortably sharp focus.

"Mostly just trauma," you say, "I can't replace lost limbs or organs, but if it's still there and at least partially alive, it'll heal at least some of it. It always stabilizes people first."

"Good," a middle-aged woman with an expression like a battle-axe says as she steps back into the room, "What's your limit?"

"I can only do it fourteen more times before I get a good night's rest," you say, "And that's a hard limit."

"How long does it take you to use?" she asks.

"About three seconds," you say, "It'll keep slowly healing them for about a minute and a half after."

"Alright then," she says, "You're on first response for those on the brink of death. Panacea can patch them up later if she has the time."

Further conversation is cut off by a crack outside, and seconds later a mixture of injured capes and civilians are being carried or wheeled into the triage room. The battleaxe-woman wastes no time sorting through them, pointing you to two, Panacea to two more then, setting to work on the rest with the help of a bunch of other medical professionals.

The first is easy enough for you to deal with; he has a nasty sucking wound on the left side of his chest, but from your perspective, he's just bleeding and gagging; one Lesser Vigor spell, and he starts to rapidly improve.

The second is a much nastier case. A child maybe eight years old, you can't even tell their gender they're so badly burned, and that's before you get into how three of their limbs don't bend the right way. You cast your spell, and skin visibly starts to regenerate from the burn wounds. Maybe it's because… she is so small, but it works so fast that it's actually kind of horrifying, the damage seeming all the more real as you see it getting reversed.

Then she wakes up and starts screaming.

None of the others present even flinch; this girl probably isn't the first to be conscious and in this much pain. Fortunately, the screaming doesn't last long; it takes less than a minute before she's fully healed, staring down at herself in horrified shock, and you quickly grab a towel from one of the nearby stacks of clean linens to wrap around her.

Her clothes didn't survive the burning, after all.

"Hey," you say awkwardly, "You're okay now."

She turns and looks at you, starting violently as she realizes she's talking to a Dragon, then stares around the tent, wide-eyed.

"What happened?" she whispers.

What say?

[] "The Simurgh is attacking the city. You were brought here to be healed; I don't know how you got hurt."

[] "You're safe now; this is a field hospital."

[] Write-in.