"You!"
A strange force knocked Renee off her feet and into the ground. It shook the wind from her chest, and she coughed. What little air she took in had a bite to it.
Our first battle begins. Roll for initiative.
Twelve.
Eighteen.
Ten. So Rarity starts off...
Renee fired the first cantrip she could think of, throwing a quick bolt of flame up at the assailant. It let out a pained cry, stumbling backwards into the hilt of April's sword. It fell to its knees.
Scott raised his mighty hammer high above his head.
"Wait," the figure pleaded. They stopped. "I'm not the one to kill." Its voice was a cold chill. It pointed to Renee. "She's behind it all. Nature is not yours to toy with, you witch."
"Excuse me?" Renee looked to the others. "You must have me confused with someone else."
The figure stood. Scott tried to restrain it, reaching for its prismatic hair but coming up with only vapors.
"What are you?"
"I'm a sylph. I'm the wind." She balled her hands into fists. "And I'm gonna kick your ass!"
The wind elemental lunges for Renee's neck.
"Why... me...?" Renee gasped through choked breaths.
The sylph smiled. "You challenged me. If you want to control the storm, you have to defeat the stormbringer."
"Lay off her," April said, raising her sword and stepping forwards.
A gust of wind threw April back, sending her flying into a tree.
"This is between me and the witch," the wind spirit snarled. She let go and backed away. The wind spirit had no legs, seemingly floating on a cloud of mist. "Give me your best. I take anything less as an insult."
Rarity rubbed her throat. She gripped her staff tighter as the pair circled each other for combat. Surely, she knew something more complex than a cantrip. Now would be a good time for her to remember any actual combat spells.
So take a look at your character sheet. We just wrote down some low level spells your sister used to use. Pick something you want to open with.
Chaos Bolt?
Your sis loved using that.
Roll 2d8.
That's two eight sided dice.
Two and Seven.
Pick one.
Uh, two.
Now make an attack roll.
Twenty.
Holy.
Is that good?
You hurl a chaotic mass of energy at the wind spirit. Frost leaves your fingertips. As it connects with the figure's body, you notice its shape begins to harden. The mist takes on a solid form.
Cold raced up the elemental's body. It felt sluggish. In seconds, the cold pinned her arms to her sides, slowly transforming the spirit into a frozen sculpture.
"I knew you were a witch," the sylph said, laughing. Ice began to roll up its neck. "The frost will claim you, too. Not even your sister will be able to help you, Prin—"
Scott shattered the stormbringer with a swing of his hammer.
"We're losing light," he explained. "We can cut through the woods."