They moved out into the road, bare feet on cold stones, and looked up. Smoke was pouring from the mountain, and ash was already beginning to fall all around them.
Someone said, “We’ve angered Rohol.”
The Sorcerer scoffed. “How do you know it was you who’ve angered him? And for that matter, how do you know this isn’t the work of any one of half a dozen other volcano gods people around here believe in?”
There was muttering, but he was mostly ignored. The town fathers would be knocking on his door soon, looking for magical protection. Time to work.