Peik

Featuring @Leidenschaft and @Chrononaut

Raelyn was completely fine, I mean, she loved being stabbed. There were worse things that could happen. She could have been stabbed twice. She wasn't feeling better, but the pain had reached a peaceful sort of agony that you often see in sick wards. The pain wasn't dulled, but her mind had entered the doorway of delirium. She lay against a wall, nearby Solveig, groaning and occasionally stiffening painfully. She'd mutter some prayer, more often than not to Stendarr, but occasionally to Dibella, who was also the patron of the arts as well as beauty.

His adrenaline and fear fueled blind marathon through the underground steam cavern filled with mouthbreathing Dunmer dumbasses and forgotten, ancient mechanized giants had Sadri soaked in sweat and blood by the end of his moments-long journey. Having accidentally stumbled upon Sagax and a wounded Tsleeixth, Sadri had somewhat begrudgingly applied his amateur Restoration magic upon the lizard's wounds, anxious over the fact he was busy saving someone else other than the one he wanted to. But even though he wished to do so, he couldn't just run off and leave the lizardman to die, and plus, he had to make up for that bottle thrown back at Windhelm somehow. Upon closing the Argonian's wounds, or at least, having diminished their severity, Sadri dashed off once more into the steam, looking for the spearwoman, and came to a panting stop after finding a bloodied, impaled Raelyn settled against a wall, and a somewhat anxious looking Solveig next to her. He was relieved that she was okay, but showing his relief in front of a seemingly dying woman was not exactly sporting behavior. 

''Oh. You're fine. No, I mean, of course not,'' the Dunmer muttered as he walked over to the bard, although his eyes couldn't help but dart at Solveig to see if she were wounded. He clapped his hands together and kneeled next to the bloody bard (he couldn't help but think that would be a good nickname if she were to survive this endeavor), looking at her wounds. ''Stabbed, are we?'' He asked, internally chastizing himself for his dumb behavior, and then pulled out a potion of restoration from one of the satchels on his belt. ''Alright,'' he muttered to himself as he settled the bottle next to Raelyn. He got around to analyzing the wound. Stab in the gut, that much the spear poking out of the woman told him. Looked quite deep - hopefully her intestines weren't damaged. He figured he could push her guts back in if need be, but to meld her guts back together, that was likely harder.

''So, we'll have to pull this out. Can't push it out the other side unless you want to shit from your belly for the rest of your days,'' Sadri informed the bard. ''If you could, give me a hand, eh?'' Sadri said, looking at Solveig, as his iron hand wrapped itself around the spear's handle, ready to pull it out.

Solveig readied herself to leap at the body coming through the doorway to where she rested with Raelyn. One more Dunmer to kill, maybe, but when she saw the scarred face before her, she couldn't help but let go an exhausted smile. She grunted, moving her weight somewhat of a task now, getting to one knee. She didn't want to block Sadri from his work and when he beckoned her over for assistance, she hesitated. Throwing her doubt to the wind, she undid the knot keeping her cloak around her shoulders and readied herself to keep the wound from bleeding after the spear left it. She nodded to Sadri.

Upon seeing Solveig ready herself, Sadri raised his head to look at Raelyn. ''This is going to hurt,'' he informed, as kindly as he could.   

With a stutter, Raelyn said, "Be gentle, it's my first time doing this," just a moment before an amused Sadri slowly tugged the spear back to see if its path back was obstructed by anything. It did not seem to be lodged in anything important (aside from Raelyn's flesh, at least), and thus, Sadri pulled back once more, and immediately threw the spear to the ground upon hearing the equally disgusting and relieving 'plop' from the flaps of flesh falling back around the gap where the spear once was.

Raelyn, at this point, wasn't sure if she were alive or dead but if she were dead it was the sort of painful oblivion that Molag Bal would likely inhabit. She made a sobbing sound after it was over, possibly relieved that she would soon be well enough to punch Sadri in the mouth for pulling the spear out. 

''Right, her guts aren't out, are they?'' Sadri asked Solveig as he kneeled back, inspecting the wound once more, with Solveig trying to stabilize the bleeding. ''We may have to lay her down,'' Sadri told Solveig, as he grabbed the potion he had put on the ground, popping open the cork. ''Would help staunch the flow.'' 

Solveig moved quickly to staunch the immediate bleeding, taking a peek behind the cloak at Sadri's question. She looked back to him, shaking her head, "No."

She nodded to Raelyn as she snaked a hand behind her neck, though she doubted the bard could tell she was trying to reassure her. She looked like she was in some other place, as far as she was concerned. She did not protest past giving pained huffs and grimaces when she led her to the ground, "There."

Sadri sighed with relief upon hearing that the girl's guts were intact. ''Well then,'' he muttered to himself, and handed the potion over to Solveig, motioning for her to feed it to the bard. Afterwards, he prepared for the awkward part, and after a moment of hesitation, slipped his fingers into the gap made by the spear on Raelyn's shirt, softly clasping on the piercing wound. ''Magnus help me,'' he muttered, as he closed his eyes and began channeling what he could of the flesh-mending magics that roamed Mundus, feeling scar tissue growing quick underneath his fingertips. 

Raelyn coughed and weakly tried to push Solveig's force feeding arm away from her, but she wasn't especially strong even in the best circumstance and this wasn't one of them. She felt like her skin was being wound with cord when it wasn't, so she moved to grabbing weakly at Sadri's wrist, relaxing when the magic stopped pouring into her wound. 

She only stopped giving Raelyn sips of the healing potion when she outright refused them, clamping her lips shut and turning away. She wasn't going to pry her mouth open, so she watched as Sadri wove her wound shut, eyes closed in concentration. She breathed easier now, knowing that Raelyn wasn't going to die in her care. Once all things were done, they sat beside Raelyn. She couldn't help but feel at least one bit happy, after all the things she'd done in Windhelm, she could say she did something to make up for it. A calm settled over the room, with the sounds of fighting in the other drifting over. "You'll live." She laughed weakly, rubbing at her bloodied face, only succeeding in smearing it over the side of her face, "I told you everything would be fine."

The edge of Marcel's sword was stained with blood, but unfortunately for him, his one strike wasn't enough. For a man of his manners, having the fight go on longer wasn't exactly preferable, but then again, neither was the situation. He lifted his sword against the Bosmer once more, but the fellow had managed to turn his attention back to Marcel, right after adding more to the deadly colors that flew around the cave and glimmered off the walls like a dangerous aurora. Before his sword could cleave open the crazed mage's head, a blast of magical fire from the mer's palm sent him off his feet, falling to the ground. He could feel flame creeping up his clothes, licking at his flesh, and thus, having already stopped and dropped, rolled around on the ground and muffled the flames. He hissed under his breath afterwards, feeling the remnants of pain from the magic now that he had come to a stop.

As he picked himself up from the ground, Marcel saw the mage literally burn away the wound he had inflicted, and blinked in disbelief. That was certainly the first time he had seen anything like that. He tried to lower himself to pick his sword back up, but when the mage began fanning out flames from his body like a furnace, he found himself staggering in the heat, and immediately threw himself away from the man. He wasn't going to be able to get anywhere near the man - even with his dampening abilities, the heat was too much. He lunged to the side of the cave room, grabbing a pickaxe that had been laying on one of the barrels of pitch, and with the momentum of the movement, swung it straight in Gwinnir's direction, releasing the handle when the middle of the head pointed at the blazing Mer.

''Altmer! Shock him!'' Marcel shouted as the pickaxe flew in the mage's direction, and proceeding his cry, he jumped out of place, maneuvering to confuse his opponent's sense of direction. He could only hope that the Mer would agree to his words, instead of shocking him. It would be a rather annoying disturbance.

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