He crawled around on the floor leaving a trail of crimson blood. Moaning. The mighty warrior that had ran ahead and dragged the group into danger.
The ranger sat in a corner nursing a broken arm – pale face and cold sweating. The white of his eyes glared in the dark. ‘Let…him…die’ he hissed through clenched teeth. The wizard slumped down next to the ranger.
The warforge stared at me – holding the door shut so that the critters behind it couldn’t get in. Our rogue were left dead on the other side of that door.
The dwarf kept on crawling. Going somewhere. Trying to understand why he laid there dying on the floor with his entrails dragging underneath him.
‘Help…me’ he whispered. Faint – his spirit at the deaths door.
Mercy is my deities trait. I heal, support and deal death. I don’t chose life over death – it’s something I do because my deity whispers it in my ear.
There was a great silence as if the force behind my strength pondered the question.
The dwarf had put its plans at risk. Whatever those might be.
‘Healer’ the flat booming voice of the warforged pulled him back into reality. ‘Decide – we need to save the rogue before his spirit have passed from this plane – we cannot go without him’.
The ranger objected but my deity spoke to me again. Death will sooner or later eat the dwarves soul. He will be abandoned by others for his lack of humility. But we need him here and now to move forward.
He shot me an angry look when he sat up again. The front of his armor ripped. Scales missing. Rusted blood dried into the edges. A slick pool of blood and ichors like a halo around him. ‘I will remember how long it took for you to heal me’ he spat.
‘I will remember that you said that when you need my help again’ was my reply. He knew the truth of those words. No one else said anything. We collected our minds. Healed – steeled and resolved.
And opened that door to save the rogue from death.