Blood, Dust and Spit

Gonyaul’s coughing and wheezing were like staccato notes punctuating a melody of groans. He spattered blood mixed with saliva from his mouth, showering the body beneath him that just moment before was pouring blood all down his backside. The adrenaline rush of bursting through the wall actually worked to help curb the edge of the pain slightly; another part of his projection had him possibly just embarrassingly bouncing off the wall instead.

He looked to his shoulder, a simple bloody puncture but nothing serious to hinder its use. His left leg though was screaming at him and he wished he could scream back, but he needed to remain as quiet as possible.

Fortunately it was a very old, deteriorating structure that fell on him and around him. The slab, upon impact, broke to pieces which dissipated and spread the force loads over a greater surface around quickly including the ground. Gonyaul could feel all the major muscle groups of his left quad lock up with muscle guarding due to the trauma. He could already deduce he had a painful contusion and he was going to have to favor the leg as much as possible. It wasn’t broken though, or smashed, and it would heal just fine with time and rest. He would need to adapt his technique to accommodate it for the time being.

Dust and debris was all around him, making visibility even more difficult. He rolled off the dead body and crab walked backwards while dragging it with him, always facing the new opening as he ventured deeper into the room.

He noticed he was in what one could have guessed was a possible kitchen when in its prime. There wasn’t much left to it; however he did find a broken island structure near an area that may have once been the stove.

Taking cover, along with the dead man, he finally had time to reach into his pocket and pull out his meditation head wrap. It was his last thing from home he still possessed and it was about to get ruined. He carefully, and painfully, reconstructed the flap of cheek back into place and then tightly wrapped his face with it like a bandage. The pain caused colors to flash in his field of vision. While tending to the wound he could picture how he was going to have a horizontal scar from his nose bridge to the cheek under his right eye, if he survived at all. The Luger scar now had a new companion.

Gonyaul had the appearance of a bandit with the accessory in place and the off white plant fibers instantly were stained blood red. In fact, he looked like something that had crawled out of hell’s river of blood. The nightmarish visage was due to the patterns of blood on his person: his entire lower face (now bandaged) was blood red and dripping, blood moving down the front of his chest, and the Whippers blood was all down his backside, and the shoulder wound was trickling a small trail down his very toned lean arm as well. He could also picture, but hadn’t checked yet, that he had multiple scraped and abrasions from the sand and rubble. His hair had partly come undone from his braid of celebration for Islana.

He noticed no one was entering after him, that was fortunate for the moment. It gave him a chance to collect himself, think and catch his breath. He removed his robe and wrapped it around his waist like a belt. He then began removing the Dark Robes robe in order to put it on, keeping his attention towards all possible entry points to the room.

He could also tell there was some type of skirmish happening in a nearby room. Perhaps it was Voah? He would give it a moment, in case anyone entered after him. If not, he would go searching after the noises.