Round 113

The tower's ancient stone groaned under its own weight, dust raining down from the ceiling in a fine, choking haze. Varrika stood over Merrin, her powerful form a solid wall between the halfling and whatever lay beyond the settling rubble. "Merrin!" The dwarf's voice was sharp with worry, her gaze darting around the collapsed section of wall. "Can you move? Are you hurt?" Dust motes swirled lazily in the torchlight, catching the flickering orange glow as they descended. Merrin lay sprawled on the stone floor, her small frame twisted at an awkward angle. Pain flared white-hot across her ribs with every breath, and a warm trickle of blood from a cut on her forehead blurred her vision. She tried to push herself up, but the motion sent fresh agony through her torso. "I... I think I'm okay," she gasped, though the words came out as more of a wheeze than a statement of fact. "Just... winded." Varrika moved closer, her hands gently but firmly gripping Merrin's shoulders to steady her. The dwarf woman's face was etched with concern as she examined the halfling's injuries. Her calloused fingers probed carefully at Merrin's ribs, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the injured woman. "You've got some broken ribs," Varrika diagnosed grimly. "And that cut on your head needs tending to. We need to get you somewhere safe so Serrine can heal you properly."