Phantasm

01. Undead and Dead-er

Blood trickled from Nightbrook's mouth as his head jerked to the side, letting out a harrowed cough before desperately gasping for air. I didn't remember this whole process being quite so painful... The mer thought, grimacing as he started to himself up on one elbow, his movements stiff and cautious. Pain lanced through his chest and he fell back with a grunt, his eyes snapping open as he tried to figure out where he was. He was met with the view of an angry, steel colored-sky, and noticed at this time it had been raining - quite heavily, more likely than not, as his armor felt soaked from some recent deluge. Odd. Could've sworn today started out cloudless. He mused as he made yet another attempt to get up, this time using both arms, his breath catching painfully as he forced himself into a sitting position.

It was then he discovered the source of his current discomfort. Looking downwards, he reeled as he caught a glimpse of bloodied flesh through the tears of his mangled leather armor. Every breath he took was unpleasant, and he now wondered just how badly injured he still was, despite having been brought back. If this was the best my patron could do, then our plight is even worse than I thought. Or perhaps she was just so cross with me she decided to let me fend for myself. I suppose I would deserve that. He moved to touch a gloved hand to his wound, but thought better of it as he noticed the dirt and grime present on his clothing. Experimentally, he moved a leg, and found that by the grace of the gods, neither seemed to broken. Bracing himself, he then attempted to stand - and narrowly avoided falling flat on his back as one of his legs threatened to give out on him, his nerves protesting vehemently at his sudden movement. Gritting his teeth, he managed to keep himself upright, cautiously taking a step forward. It was extraordinarily unpleasant, but he could move.

Now satisfied knowing he would not be easily overwhelmed by the majority of wild animals or hostile individuals he was likely to face, Nightbrook took a few moments to try and figure out where he was. Unsurprisingly, the mountain on which High Hrothgar was located was not far from his current position, and guilt nagged at his conscience as he cast a look in its direction. I'm so sorry, Helvia. It appears I have no choice but to let  you down as well. The thief let out a weak sigh as he tore his gaze from the craggy mount, instead focusing on his more immediate surroundings.No good thinking about it. There's nothing more I can do, for now. As it would appear, he had landed on a very narrow, snow covered dirt path between the mountain he had formerly been descending and a considerably less imposing one. It was obvious he had not had the most pleasant landing, if the dark stains where he'd previously been lying were any indicator of what state he was in when he died. But, at the very least, there was no arrow still sticking out from his chest. That would have complicated things considerably for him, no doubt. As it was, though, he was still not in the best of shape, and he needed to remedy that - and soon.

Wait just a minute... where are my things? That realization jolted him into slightly worried action, now actively looking around to try and see if his bag was anywhere nearby. With a sinking feeling in his gut, it occurred to him that he had placed his things on Snjall, just like the others he traveled with. Foolish. He now had nothing with which he could heal himself, and even though he was not entirely incapacitated, he would be disadvantaged if he came across anything that bore him ill will. Not to mention the fact he had lost a near priceless collection of various potent and rare elixirs, some of which might have proven useful when facing whatever was to come. But he had managed without them once, long ago - and now he would have to adapt to his current situation, one that might have intrigued him only a month ago but he was now merely apathetic towards.

He frowned as he cast another look at the sky, noting with slight relief that the storm seemed to be on its way out. That would make trying to find his way out of the empty, cramped, and unsettling environment he had found himself in moderately easier, even if he wasn't fully certain where he was. I suppose the best I can do is pick a direction and stick with it, until I come across some signage or indicators of civilization itself, the mer decided, biting his lip before taking an unsteady step forward. Then another. It was not pleasant, but he needed to get moving, and it was not as if anyone was likely to come across him anytime soon, much less any individuals with good intent.