>>5317989>>5317992>>5317997You run frantically from one felled adventurer, turning their bodies over and searching packs and pockets. In the process, you discover that the armoured fighter is still alive, albeit unconscious; you can only hope he does not wake in the meantime, for you can spare no time to slay or restrain him.
>9 (search)Unfortunately, the scouring of the slain and unmoving adversaries proves for nought. The potions prove to be among the belongings that the hooded human thief took with him to the roof… And you discover this because, when you turn over his thrice-stabbed and fall-broken body, you find that he landed on his pack, and smashed the vials on impact. Their restorative fluids now soak uselessly into his pack. You know enough about such arts to know that dissolution and contamination will render a healing potion useless to you… And to Glowie.
The adventurers are not your only option, however. In desperation, you pull the necklace from your own neck, and begin to flick and thumb your way through the strange beads which adorn it. You were never able to get it properly appraised by a mage of specialized skill… But that traitorous fiend, Hapo, did he not say one of the functions the demon told him this item had was healing? You try to focus your mind despite the rising anxiety for Glowie’s life. You try to quiet the fear, to stifle the part of you that says ‘make a deal with the demon! We have no time for this!’
You consider using the <Divine Favour>, pleading with the Dark Gods to save Glowie’s life.
>19 (spellcraft)But THEN, when all hope seems lost, you sense it: the telltale aura, faint and contained but undeniably THERE, of restorative magic! You clasp the bead, tear it from the necklace, and rush to Glowie’s side. Once there, you press it to her, murmur a prayer, and focus your energies. The bead breaks and warmth suffuses your palm and pours forth into your first mate…
“Please, please…”
You catch yourself pleading. It’s undignified, perhaps, unkingly… But you do not stop yourself. You squeeze your eyes shut, continuing to mutter prayrs and appeals to any deity that will listen…
“Dragonborn…”
You feel a hand on yours, and open your eyes. Glowie is staring up at you—pained, but alert, and with an expression you do not recognize and cannot place—not at first. Then, you recall your dream, your vision of the future and past… Your dead mother’s words…
>I love you.“My Dragonborn,” Glowie whispers, clasping your hand tightly. You simply stare at each other for a time, saying nothing.
