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Not being very comfortable with the idea of disturbing folks long dead Father Quadrial makes a does a quick prayer then joins the others on the other side of the blue light.
The more distance he can put between him and the bats the better.
A little annoyed that his new 'finely crafted source of great magical power' had seen fit to help the elf and had done nothing to stance the bleeding from all his own bites and slices, the monk opens his bag of herbs and applies poltices to the wounds.
"Is there anyone else who could needs a bit of patching up?" he asks.
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