Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-28358106-20160726175355/@comment-28358106-20160803150314

(Oh, right, well, I shoulda asked for your flask then)

"We'll have to cauterize it later. By the way, don't ever drink when you have a wound. Alcohol is a blood thinner.  Keep that in mind; I don't have any healing magic anymore." He takes a long pull of the bottle, puts the stick in his mouth, and nods.

Hound pushes, perhaps harder than he should. There is a wet, tearing sound; Hound quickly pulls out the shaft when it runs through. By the time Ibrahim's muffled cry leaves his clenched mouth, it's already done.

Ibrahim grunts a few times, his face pale, the stick still in his mouth. He pants a few times, takes the stick out, and takes another long drink. Even then, he gasps something that Hound has never heard him say.

"Fuck.  That fucking hurt.  Ugh..."

Hound tears a strip of cloth from Ibrahim's cloak and binds the wound. It isn't bleeding much, but that could change. After a mminute, Ibrahim begins to try and mount up.

"Let's just...keep going.  We have to find the others.  We have to figure out what...what we're going to do."

As they begin riding,  they can see the fires of Whitemarch, still blazing in the valley, miles away. But they can see another fire, almost as big, to the south of it...