Gaius groaned as softly as he could as the feverish heat of the poison ran the remainder of its course through his body. Fortunately, he was a rather healthy man, and though his arm was painful, the wound was shallow. In conjunction with the potion that Brynja had given him—he thought, since at the time he'd existed in a haze of semiconsciousnes—his natural hardiness and the grazelike nature of the cut had him back on his feet, if a bit slow and shaky. But slow and shaky had no place here. He had to keep moving. [i]He had to.[/i] If he stopped for even a moment at the wrong time, if he tripped and bashed his head, if he—for any reason—couldn't move forward, he knew in his gut that they wouldn't be able to carry him and still avoid the Falmer. He would die down here. That moment was, of course, the moment when the lethal spotlight shone its barbed rays between the crumbling remains of once-grandiose buildings and Daro revealed its mechanism of execution. Yet another way for him to die. It seemed like they were stacking up; Falmer, Dwemer automata, impalement from the enormous structure that haunted these ruins, a collapsing lift...

[i]I'm not ready to die,[/i] he thought with grim certainty. And so, even when a few others sat down in the gazebo-esque structure that the group took brief shelter under, he stayed on his swaying feet, hand on the hilt of his sword as he held on to his shield like it was a life raft. He pressed his forehead against it momentarily, uttering a prayer to all nine Divines under his breath, not caring overly much if Durantel heard him at this point.

Gaius had seen the cruel lethality of Dwemer making before; a few soldiers had borne armaments of it in the Civil War, and those blades and his own shield were a testament to its durability and impossibly good edge-holding capabilities. A bolt forged of that big enough to impale a Falmer certainly gave him pause. But, as his soldier's mind reviewed the situation, he became acutely aware that a pause here was enough to kill. So he swallowed down his fear and trepidation, steadying his shaking hands, and replaced them with the iron-hard conviction that came with the previous decision: [i]I'm not ready to die.[/i]

As Rhea told them that they needed to clear a path, Gaius cleared his throat, glancing at Daro'Vasora, Solandil and Meg, and mentally wishing them good luck. [i]Now, as for the rest of us...[/i] "If anybody gets caught in the light, shout for me. If there's anything that can stop a harpoon like that," he tapped a clenched, armored fist lightly on Empire's Aegis, "it's this." With that, he moved out of cover, following Rhea and doing his best to move his armored body along as quietly as he could, with dubious success. As he stopped behind a long-dried fountain a few meters behind Rhea's position, he attempted to calm his nerves. [i]It's not so different from Whiterun,[/i] he assured himself. [i]Just pretend the light is archers, and try to stay close to block the arrows.[/i]

[i]But at the same time,[/i] he added mentally as his joints clanked with what seemed infinite volume, breaking out of his imagined siege, [i]the closer they are to me, the less likely they are to escape the Falmer.[/i] And, really, he had his doubts as to whether or not even his time-tested shield could stand up to something lethal enough to make Daro'Vasora as afraid as she was.