His body felt like it was held in place by daggers. Even then, he could manage to move, despite the short stabbing pains that shot across his wounds as his muscles shifted uncomfortably. Ventus glared at the small Orc that spoke to him, still taking a moment to catch his bearings. On instinct alone, he reached for his ebony blade, but could not find it attached to his holster. Most of his leather armor was removed as well. He lay there nearly naked, with bandages covering the lengths of his wounds. Did this little orc speak truth? Ventus deigned to ask who his saviors were, but memories of those wretched beasts slashing at him while he moved around clumsily in his pride-struck stupor were fresh in his mind. He took momentary solace in the fact that the warband's leader was struck down, but it didn't do anything to satisfy the painful thirst that scratched at his tongue. The orc assassin narrowed his eyes and saw his savior in a new light, looking the little orc over with deadly intent. The blood would help him heal. The thirst would stop. Suddenly, the only thing on his mind was leaping towards his tiny Orc savior and tearing out his jugular with his own sharpened claws. But a thought snapped him out of it, where was he? Who was this? Just how was this Orc so small?
"Where am I, child-" He blurted, almost incoherently, followed by a string of light, dry coughs, "Who.. Who-" Ventus began to lose consciousness, but managed to keep a sliver of his sanity from slipping away. The thirst clawed at what little reasoning he had left, but what could be gained from feeding on this little orc, right now? Surely, he was surrounded. Even if his wounds would heal, and his stamina could return, it would just be prolonging the inevitable.
