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Message: <blockquote data-quote="hewligan" data-source="post: 4403459" data-attributes="member: 19688">Danth moves urgently to Jovik's side, pushing Jokad out of the way.Jokad knows how to tend sore feet and how to fill empty stomachs, but he knows he is useless when it comes to healing. To him, the young rogue already looks as good as dead. His skin has that silken pallor that he has seen so many times in the detritus of battle. The boy is at death's door.The Shoanti moves to the edge of the trap, looking up at the holes in the ceiling where the iron poles came crashing down from, being careful to stand a few inches back from their tell-tale faint marks on the floor. Standing there, his back to Jovik and Danth, he stares off into the corridor ahead, watching the shadows dance and flit in the lantern light. Somewhere ahead the enemies lies in wait, readying themselves.He can hear the echo of their preparations.Danth starts chanting, feeling around the ragged edges of Jovik's wounds, pulling the horrendously torn flesh together as be entreats Sarenrae to stitch the boy's skin with her healing essence. Each time he pulls and kneads the pale flesh, it catches and bonds with magic. He moves slowly around Jovik's body, more slowly than he really needs to, taking care to close the worst of the wounds. He knows that within this torn flesh the magic of his Goddess is repairing the butchered organs.And with a shuddering, gasping, wrenching start, Jovik awakes. His eyes bulge in his head as the life energy flows through him. The shock of its warm, invidious touch penetrates the depth of his mind. He had switched off. Not dead, but dying, for sure. He had known it. It had felt like something.He let his head lower again, feeling the cold of the stone floor as his temple lay down upon it. Danth continued his ministries, praying quietly now, as if in thanks to his Goddess.Slowly he helped Jovik rise into a sitting position, back against the wall. For the first time the young rogue looked up at the glaives that had struck him. The southern one was slick with his blood.He looked at his gut. The scar was fresh, blue almost, and curved like the scimitar of Sarenrae. A cruel wound, but at least the eight inch scar had some symbolism to him.Kael, standing back while the priest did his work, moved forward to run a friendly hand through Jovik's hair."I think you might be needing some new armour!" he offers jocularly, referring to the damage to Jovik's leathers.OOC: Jovik at half hit points. Actions please.</blockquote>

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