The prelate in charge of the Dragons Flame contingent looks on bemused as Anton flies over the railing of the ship. Uttering a prayer to the Dragons he calls upon their power while clutching at an amulet around his neck. The flames die down as a sudden burst of moisture ridden air gusts over the ship. In all several sailors will likely die because of their wounds, all of the rigging has been destroyed, and the mast and mizzen are severely damaged. Perhaps the most grevious loss was that of the inquisitor trained in the arts of 'persuasion'.
The Prelate orders that the sailors remain aboard, the rest of the Dragon's Flame contingent, all 50 of them will be heading towards the shore in full battle dress. Several spells had been felt by the Prelate over the past few days which either meant a very powerful spellcaster, or several lesser ones. He only hoped it was the latter, it might mean his death if were the former.
If Anton found their attacker so be it, the matter of the plague interested the Prelate more. Bodies found on the street in the morning were always a curiosity, more so in a busy square.
