Artholath doubted anything could be done to improve his arm without disrupting his ability to change forms. He responded to the doctor’s inquiry about his name, “I am Artholath.” He decided to go through the human motion of greeting, holding out his hand for a shake.

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The guard chuckled, although it sounded more like choking with blood coming out of his mouth. “...doubt it… but… if you go… a little ways… back… there was a massacre… the king… needs to know…” his breathing became slower, and his life was slowly draining, he knew.

((I used the word arrow to describe the type of holes he had, by the way; the spell that caused them has since dissolved.))