Renardius, Kuzma and Irina work their filthy Traladaran peasant clerical magic on you, healing many of your wounds
(13 hp). You feel like you could tackle the world, you heretic! Somewhere in the Astral Plane, Vanya snorts in disgust.
Athelstan, Kuzma has an extra healing spell, and cures you as well
(7 hp).
Pyotr raises an eyebrow at Tret. "There's barrel of pitch in storeroom. You going to tar and feather wizard?" he asks.
Jarek chuckles. "Enough, Tret," he says, putting his arm around and leading the enraged thief away. "It was a sleep spell. Combat was over, and you were never in danger. It could have been much worse. Remember that time in Luln, when we were trying to sell fake wizard scrolls, and the dirty old man conjurer with the charm person spell? The ladies in that town wouldn't look at you the same after that." He smirks. "They probably still don't. Come on, let's go find some horses."
Taras nods in approval at your willingness to go. "I'm afraid there isn't much time to rest if we want to make this easy on ourselves," he says. "Best to strike during the day when they're weak."
"Hurry back," Pyotr admonishes Taras. "I want you here in case they come back."
Is anybody not going? For those who are, is everybody to go right now?
Get thee to the dungeon. Get thee to the dungeon forthwith. Pass not the barbican. Amass not 200 GP.