Chapter Three: The Lower Slopes
The ooze could not retreat quickly enough to escape Baern's wrench. Bessie struck the creature a killing blow, causing it to explode in a burst of black ichor that sizzled on every surface it touched, including the gnome's skin. The only thing spared was Bessie herself, whose steel surface shone as brightly as ever after Baern wiped it clean of acid.
Baern, you take three acid damage.
Muted clapping arose from the Remnants, more of whom had joined the crowd by hanging out of what passed for the windows of their hovels. A few barefooted children whooped and cheered. The most intrepid of them made immediately for the hopefully-no-longer-ooze-ridden junk pile and began digging through it. Their daring was rewarded with large scraps of metal and sturdy wood, passable tools, and in one child's case the head of an automaton, wires still dangling from its neck.
"Thank you," the tiefling said, showing a hint of emotion for the first time. "This will be a great boon for our village. My home is as humble as you imagine, but if you need a place to rest up and bandage your burns, you are welcome to it. When you are ready, I can show you the way to the bone pile you seek."