The drow extends her free hand towards Karlach, a soothing hum of azure wisps flowing quickly, and attempting to reach and touch. Her own blood had been spilled in battle, but the wizard clearly did not prioritize herself for the time being. What manner of healer would she be if she were selfish? A pitiful one, that's for certain! Whatever pained grimace that would have threatened to escape from the exertion of aching movement was quickly hidden behind a concerned, yet composed and stern face.
"Stay. Still. I'm perfectly adequate. You, on the other hand, graciously soaked up half that entire battle," a sigh escapes between heavy, laboured breaths. The gaze in her eyes is one of steeliness, yes, but it also reveals a genuine tenderness. "You and the others come first," the smallest of smirks escape her, followed by a quick, sarcastic chuckle, "I would not be worth my salt otherwise."
(This is just random love, hope this is okay!)
Blind rage would only carry her so far. In the heat of battle, it was easy to brush off the pain if there were more enemies to smack, but when that inferno died to a steady smoulder, Karlach was often quickly and mercilessly reminded of the injuries she had sustained. She never held it against them, this party of rag-tag and broken misfits, but when she paused for breath she quickly realised that every breath felt like a struggle. One inhale felt like knives, the second felt like someone had sunk their fingers into the entry wound hard enough that it cut the inhale short. A quick glance from face to face told her that everyone else was fine, a closer look saw them brushing the dirt from their clothes and armour and that seemed to be the extent of their injuries.
"Alright, alright-!" She ground out. It did not come with the bite of the truly irritated, but leant closer to acceptance.
Karlach had held her hand against the wound in her side, deep enough that when she pulled her hand away from it that it bled, and bled heavily. Gods, she fucking hated the feeling of her own blood against her skin. How it bubbled as it made contact with her skin and welded itself there in a familiar scorch that barely made her wince in comparison to the wound itself. She has absolutely had worse, and the other little cuts over her skin were trivial in comparison.
Valeryana was a fantastic healer. Karlach knew this well enough that she trusted her not to make things worse as she poked and prodded at her with her magic, well enough that she could feel the wound pull tighter and tighter as it closed. The smell of burnt blood and flesh would remain in her nostrils for a few days after this.
Fake it until you make it, right? The tiefling's head half-turned to shoot the drow a toothy smile. "What's the prognosis, doc? Am I gonna make it through the night or will I leave behind a land of broken hearts come the morning?"
