Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20160524211446/@comment-5543592-20160530014528

Scire hunkered down at a far end of the stream, left there by whoever had carried him out- he'd faded out consciousness, so the whole thing was hazy.

Grimacing, he pulled the boot off his left foot and rolled up the legging. The smell made him hungry and want to vomit at the same time. He smelled like a freshly cooked steak.

"Azura protect me..." He gagged, prodding at the tender, burnt flesh on his leg. The normally dark skin was a charred color, and slightly browned. There were rivets in it were bits of skin had peeled off. The burns were bad, third degree, and Scire understood that he was slowly dying of blood loss.

He pulled the cloth the rest of the way up, to the top of his thigh, and then sat down into the stream, so that the water ran up to his waist. He let out a content sigh as it began to clean out the wound.

He was Gulakhan, and wasn't necessarily worried about this wound. He'd seen men with weaker magic than him survive much worse. Still, it hurt like no tomorrow. He didn't understand those Dunmer who threw themselves into fire. It was idiotic-- just because you didn't burn as easily didn't make you invincible. If Scire hadn't be Dunmer himself he probably would've lost the leg altogether- but it didn't mean he was going to take such risks again.

Then again, he hadn't taken a risk. The Daedra hadn't really needed to do much to land the hit.

"When ever I need you, Agatha, you are just no where to be found." He said dryly to himself, once again wishing for the group's resident healer.