"Try anything funny? When I want to be funny, I'm funny. There is no 'try.'" Brin mutters to herself after the reluctant Hellknight's response.

"Whatever. Who else needs help? I think there are still some uses left in this wand...plus there's the ones we found on the cultists. If you'd just..." Brin finally has a look inside the sawmill basement and begins gaping. Their little band--despite being reinforced by the spritely waif and that dirty old man--had nearly been ground to mincemeat. "Nevermind. I'll come to you. Er...you should probably hold that coiling, sausage-looking bit off the floor until I get over there. Just let me see to this sucking chest wound first..." She moves between the injured as quickly as she can, plying the wands liberally.