[h3][color=00a651][b][center]Malkus[/center][/b][/color][/h3]
[Center][color=00a651][b]Location:[/b][/color] Road north of Salarn
[color=00a651][b]Actions:[/b][/color] Trying not to succumb to hunger and exhaustion[/center]

With the final orc dealt with, Malkus felt his body ease off. He put his weapons away and was content to just watch when his stomach made a rather loud growl. He hasn't eaten real food in a while, and now that the rush was over his body was feeling sore all over. He hasn't slept well recently, he was hungry, and now he could feel that stab wound in his arm festering. He was in bad shape. Logic told him he needed to find help, and honestly, help was right in front of him. Everything he could have ever wanted was right here, all he needed to do was step out and ask. But fear got the better of him. Right now he was [i]weak[/i]. And he just saw what these people would do to an orc, orcs who might be stronger than Malkus is. How can he expect mercy from them in a situation like this? He couldn't, and now he had to do what he did best: Run away and take care of himself.

Malkus left the camp and arrived closer to the main road. He didn't see anyone, but in his current state he wasn't at his sharpest. While mostly uninjured he unwrapped the bandages on his arm and noticed that it was infected. He cursed himself; stabbing his arm was a stupid thing to do just to break out of a spell. Infection wasn't going to be a quick death either. He'd suffer from hunger pangs, hallucinations, restlessness, and other nasty psychological stuff before his body simply starts falling apart, metaphorically and possibly literally. While not his first time suffering from this sort of thing, Malkus didn't exactly build an immunity towards getting infected wounds. Normally what he'd do is a rudimentary patch up, like pouring alcohol over his wounds to clean it of infections or, if he had the money and was desperate, went to go see a healer. But there wasn't a healer around here who'd help him and Malkus was broke anyways.

Eventually Malkus just found a spot next to the road to sit against. He tore off a strip from Sona's poncho to make into a new, slightly cleaner bandage. He didn't know what else he could do. He couldn't just go to the group. He doubts anyone was going to save him. He was hungry, starving, and in all likelihood dying. But he's been doing this same old song and dance for so long that at this point he just didn't care. Right now it didn't really matter what happened to him anymore. Maybe some wolves find him and tear him apart. Maybe orcs get to him first and kill him for shits and giggles. Maybe he gets sniped by some human scouts for being an orc. In the end, there was nothing else for Malkus to do but sit here and play his flute.

Though he could feel his arm to his fingers getting weaker, Malkus could still play his flute. He started off by whistling a few random notes. Nothing of particular interest. Once he got his lips wet and had an idea of what he was going to play he just started to play his flute. Softly at first, as he didn't have much breath left in him. As he played his mindless melody, a memory came to him. It wasn't a very important one. It was about a play he once saw. It was in Neverwinter, just wandering the streets at night. In the distance he could see some performers doing a play. He stayed to watch, not remembering the story, but remembering the music. There was so much music in that play and little spoken words. He could hear the music in his head, and then he started to [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dSp9_iLm2IY]play[/url] along with his flute. The song felt sad, likes... Likes a mother waiting at home for her children. But they never came back. 

It made Malkus wonder; would anyone miss him if he never came back? He thought of Sona, but she barely knew him. If he was gone one day, Malkus was certain that she would forget him in a heartbeat. Then Malkus thought of Noxus, his guild leader. Would he even care? He had so much more things to worry about than the fate of a single thief. He thought of Velanna. Sweet Velanna. Of course she'd make Malkus care for her, that seductress. But he started to wonder if she even knew he was gone. It's not as if Malkus was special to her. To the elf, Malkus was just another customer. Get paid for what she needs to do and move onto the next. If he comes back then great, but if he doesn't then there are plenty of others. No, Malkus had no one to go back to. No one who's expecting him. Maybe that's why he didn't care if he died anymore. It's not like he has any responsibilities to take care of. His own life, he felt, wasn't worth the effort to keep it up. By all rights he should have died in the streets of Neverwinter as a child. It's only because he was willing to steal from the success of others that he made it this far. He hasn't done anything to earn his keep. And now it was time for life to collect.

Malkus kept playing his song over and over, until eventually his fingers just stopped and the flute slowly fell from his mouth. He stared blankly at the dirt in front of him. He felt the breeze pass through his body, and slowly his eyes closed until there was nothing but darkness. All he could hear now was the forest and the wind, and even that too began to die away unto an audible silence. Malkus drifted to sleep, and only time would tell if he'd ever wake back up again.