Garkhen felt a bit more cognizant the next time he awoke. He wasn’t in the lair anymore. He had been doing… something important. There was a war… undead… demons…
Slowly he pieced his memories back together. As he did so, his body slowly started to awaken, as well. It promptly informed him that it hurt. All of it. He groaned and shifted slightly. He realized he was laying on his side (which he usually did, his tail making laying on his back impractical). Had he fallen that way…?
No, he was on something soft… some sort of bed? He tried to force his eyes open. They did not want to obey, but slowly, he was able to convince one to open a bit. He could make out that he was in a dark room, but not the one in which they had fought the huge Infernal. Likely they had set up a healer’s area somewhere. Had Lt. Ailill seen to his wounds…?
He heard voices, and then a door opening. Light came into the room, throwing color onto what he had only been seeing in black-and-white, though stone walls were hardly much different in gray. He stirred slightly, trying to sit up or at least turn his head enough to see who had come in, but his body simply wouldn’t respond.
“He’s awake!” An unfamiliar voice said. After a moment a white-robed body entered his vision, shortly followed by an elven face as the person bent down.
“Good, your eyes are open! Can you speak?”
Garkhen tried to greet her, but could only manage a soft mumble. She nodded, smiling.
“Good, good. You must be very thirsty after three days.” She turned her head. “Mellaril, bring some water!”
He could hear footsteps as the elf turned back to him. “You’ve had everyone worried. The others who were with you told us about your part in banishing the chief demon. That was very brave.”
The thought slowly swam through Garkhen’s mind that she was speaking to him almost as if he were a child. Of course, at present, he hardly felt like he could think on more complex terms…
The footsteps returned. A clay mug appeared in his vision.
“Do you think you can open your mouth?”
Slowly, Garkhen was able to open his mouth slightly wider. The elf smiled, then turned her head to her assistant.
“Help me hold up his head.”
He felt strong hands gently pick up his head, and the elven healer slowly poured some water from the mug into his mouth. He swallowed, and she poured some more. It took two or three times for him to finish the water.
“Now, isn’t that better? Let’s try some broth next.”
The hands set him down, and he caught a brief glimpse of another white robe out of the corner of his eye. The healer with him talked of small things, the weather outside and the like, until the footsteps again returned. Then she gently fed him broth while the other healer held up his head. By the time all was done, he felt exhausted.
“There, now that you have a little something in you, you should start feeling better. But you look like you want to rest again.”
“Yes,” Garkhen managed to say, though his voice was hardly a whisper.
The elf beamed at him. “Good! Well, rest up. We’ll let your friends know you’re getting better.”
Footsteps, and the door closing, and then he was asleep again.
So yeah, pretty boring post… but Garkhen’s not dead, and he somewhere safe! That’s good, right?