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Message: <blockquote data-quote="hewligan" data-source="post: 4431046" data-attributes="member: 19688">While Kael nervously guards the entrance, all too aware of the door across the hall from where he stands, and the cold, foreboding sense of evil that emanates from it, Jovik and Danth set about healing Jokad.The barbarian's armour is ruined. The damage done to his flesh is cruel. These wounds should have killed him. They WOULD have killed a lesser man. Only his stubborn determination to live, and perhaps the strength that his grandmother claims came form her powdered ankheg carapace tea.Slowly the healing magic of Sarenrae coursing through his body starts to knit and heal the wounds. After a few long seconds of the magic working away at him, stitching him together like some hidden seamstress, he gives out a shuddering breath and starts to open one eye. He has an almighty headache, like an orc-ale hangover, and a web of silver scarring across his gut to show for his wounds.Jokad offered a breathless thanks, before running a hand over his gut. His muscles were now overlaid by the fine mesh of scarring. Scarring that would never fade.He looked to his side, to see his destroyed armour. Such was life. Armour could be bought and sold, but this was the only body he had!</blockquote>