rolled 4, 6, 6 = 16
After finishing your drink and your conversation, you excuse yourself from the command tent with a salute and a nod, hearing Corias's closing words as you go.
“Get some rest, but don't get comfy. I expect we'll be heading to support the next detachment soon enough.”
If it's just as well, you'd rather not go charging into battle again tomorrow. Or the next day, or the one after that.
You find a low, quiet spot beyond the trenches, pleading insomnia to the night guards. Exercising what remains of your magical power, you press your hands to the ground, and call thin walls of stone from the depths, locking them together in a simple, arched form just large enough to sit in. You make yourself comfortable inside the structure, place some of your books on the rough shelves, and speak to Hretmar.
Swearing him to secrecy, you unveil your plans for that great slayer of cities, the nuclear bomb. You describe the shell, the material, the mechanism, the utility of it all, stressing at each point the extreme power of the weapon, and the consequences of using it, and even of building it. You tell him of the second world war, of the obliteration of thousands, of the ensuing non-peace which could have blossomed any moment into the annihilation of your species.
The god promises to hold this knowledge safe, to keep it only as a last resort. With the touch of a button, this device could have caused the destruction of every human life. You cannot risk its use, except in the most grievous circumstances.