In the bowels of the Jyroht Caves, a mile or more beneath the surface of one entrance, a bedraggled and profusely bleeding elfin man sat against a cavernous wall. Half laying against the rough stone, his right shoulder had been feathered by two crude arrows, and splashed and splotched both across his leathers and underneath were deep crimson. Despite his best efforts his breath came out ragged and hoarse on the edge of hyperventilation, and the adrenaline that brought him this far had significantly waned; his shoulder was ablaze with pain. It wasn't the only wound that seared his focus, but it was the hottest. Black hair normally kept tied back was in disarray and in his face, and he didn't bother to fix it, his lower half damp from fording through muddy pools.

  Eldon Malhart touched the outside of his left thigh where one of his pursuers caught him with a dagger and discovered the blade has broken off in the muscle during the fight. This brought out a croaking wheeze of laughter-- the little shit snapped his knife off in me. As Eldon remembered the standoff with the deep dwarves, the fucking Underdark dwellers, his laughter ebbed into quiet sobs. He had not come here alone, and it more and more looked as if he wouldn't even be the only survivor: William, Tharin, Evahi. Ketsu. It's possible, possible they were still alive. The last he saw William the holy warrior was half-submerged in melting stone and yelling, divine authority projecting his command for everyone else to flee. Tharin was readying some kind of... Casting something, before he was feathered with arrows. Evahi and Ketsu had connected with one another, psionically linked, Evahi shouting "No!" as Ketsu was dragged off in a net. And for once, Eldon listened to William. Now he was alone.

  It's possible they were still alive. They had to be. This was bad, really, really bad but they've conquered worse, hadn't they? Fuck. Fuuuuck this hurts. Everything hurts. No, no they hadn't conquered worse, yes, they've faced bigger and badder badasses than this, but Eldon couldn't remember a time more dire. He shook his head, trying to focus. His mind was going everywhere and nowhere, and not where it needed to be. Focus. Options. What were his options?

  He could try to find his way back to the surface: find help, gather, pay or lie to get the rescue party he'd need, but. That would take time, precious time, too much time. He knew jack little about deep dwarves or the Underdark, but what reason would they keep his party alive until he count mount a rescue mission-- if they hadn't been slaughtered outright. Shit, don't think like that. Positive, stay positive. He had to assume they were alive. If not a rescue party a... Rescue mission? His head almost lolled right-ways and he stared at the arrows in his shoulder, then it lolled to the left to look at an inch of metal sticking out of his thigh. Silent snickers bubbled in his chest that only made every little wound flare, bemused to hell at how he could save his friends.

  Fuck it, he thought. His left hand came up to the arrows and gingerly touched each, and only one of his eyes half winced. He knew enough healing craft to know you shouldn't remove something that's keeping your blood inside you, but he was fuzzy on whether that applied to arrows. The same hand touched the inch-wide blade in his thigh and he fully cringed. Definitely not removing that. The arrows, he was more sure of. Even when he sloshed out of a pool of muck and dragged himself to dry, if damp ground, his right arm only seemed to inhibit him. Roll the dice? The thought came unbidden and he consciously nodded to himself. Roll the dice.

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  Fingers wrapped around the first arrow and his teeth gritted at the miniscule movement inside his flesh. A hard yank-- he groaned, something like an old man's wail escaping his throat. Fuuuuuuck that hurt! Fuck-fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck. Breathe. In and out, in and out, steady. Steady. It felt like the arrow had when in again but in reverse, from the inside out. Which, his exhausted and pain-addled mind appraised, was true. No shit it hurt, dumbass. A quick glance in either direction, ears straining... No reaction to his groans. Before he took hold of the second arrow he fit the first one between his teeth and clamped down hard, ready. Not at all ready but... Yank.

  The arrow between his teeth did little to stifle the sounds he made but it did feel like he was biting the pain back, holding it physically within so that another scream didn't leave his throat. Progress, right? Progress. Eldon spit the arrow out and patted down his waist, finding the flash he kept snug behind his belt. He bit the cork off, spit it onto his lap, then poured the strong contents into the now gaping wounds; he should have putt he arrow back in, the alcohol stung like elemental fire, even worse than the arrows coming out. All at once, his darkvision blurred into true blackness.

..............................

  Eldon's next memory was opening his elven eyes into the grey-scale imagery of the cave floor and walls, all at a wrong angle. It took him far too long to realize he was on his side. On his left side, thank the gods. The metal in his thigh seemed to throb as he gingerly righted himself, but he thought his shoulder would have suffered the impact much worse. He couldn't tell how long he had been out. His throat was so dry, and at that thought his stomach began to churn, and he realized that even before the fight it'd been hours since-- the fight.

  Shit shit shit. He was already worried about wasting precious time going back to the surface and he just lost he didn't know how much on a fucking nap. Now was the time. This was it. He had to retrace his steps, find the theatre of combat, and follow the scene to wherever the dwarves were encamped. Staying. Wherever the fuck they are. He was quiet, he was unseen, that was his niche. In and out, at least stake the place to figure out his next move. Tharin. William. Ketsu. Evahi. They were his targets. Not deaders, but the opposite. His, ehrm... alivers. Yes, his alivers.

  As he began to push himself off the floor, his keen ears picked something out of the silent gloom. Something either extremely quiet or far away. A wet... Slithering? Eyes as keen as his ears swept the small cavern he'd taken safety in, all he saw were stalagmites, a moving puddle, and stalagmites.

  Wait, a moving puddle?