Exton

Nathlyn comes to with a heartfelt groan, hissing with pain as he tries to sit up. For a moment he sits motionless, assessing his injuries. His collarbone is broken, as is his left arm between the shoulder and elbow. He has managed to acquire a fine collection of bruises on his trip through the Gate and he stands before he can stiffen up any further.

There! Some twenty yards away lies the unmoving form of the Priestess. Nathlyn takes a step in that direction; as little love as he has for the damned woman, his duty is clear. He has taken no more than three steps when he is hammered to the ground by an irresistible force; his teeth click together and he shrieks as the broken ends of his collarbone grind together.

When the pain becomes bearable, he looks to see what felled him - and looks into the glazed, unseeing eyes of one of his soldiers. The face is a mask of blood; Nathlyn stares, frozen - then inches out from under the corpse. The maneuver raises his eyes skyward; in an instant they widen in shock and Nathlyn throws himself face down, covering his head with his sound arm. Suddenly it's raining corpses, the bodies of his men falling to earth, landing in twisted, unnatural poses. 

The grisly bombardmemt ends as quickly as it began. Nathlyn swears fervently as he recognizes one face, then another. With sudden resolve he turns and reaches the Priestess' side. He examines her quickly and dispassionately. A broken hip, a broken forearm and wrist and what feels like a cracked skull. For just a second he considers if it might not be more merciful to end her suffering - but only for a second. She's still a priestess of Lolth and to kill her - even as an act of mercy - would be the most horrible blasphemy. They would never stop coming for him.

With the last of his fading strength, Nathlyn sends out a Call to the nearest Temple; then, thoroughly drained, he falls unconscious next to Ardara.