[right][img]https://i.imgur.com/PVqxlG7.png[/img][hr][/right]

With the other party fleeing, a wounded Locke managed to turn into his back. It wasn't hard to figure how messed he had become. His breath escaped through the cracks, only to be replaced by the stagnant air of the walled ruins. It didn't help that the subtle stench of ancient sewers was noticeable to him. Oh, how he longed for the fresh mountain air once more. Really, he wasn't one for senseless combat. If his two sociable teammates could have sweet talked Hawklen and his gang of horribles to go away, that would have been much more appreciated. Unfortunately, because of a certain someone, that didn't happen.

[color=EB9B40]"I'm going to wrap my hands around that boy's neck,"[/color] Locke said to no one in particular. Certainly it was a joke, right? He did say it in a rather serious tone, but most of what he said was serious.

Artemisia's healing worked well. His brain no longer hurt from it rattling around his skull and his spine no longer felt like someone took a hammer to it. His clothing was still ruined from the fight. Though, the current situation gave for a brief moment of respite. With a wave of his finger, the iridescent fairy by Cecelia spun out of the mortal plane like the others and was replaced by a much more naturalistic fairy by Locke's side. To call the fairy primitive would be accurate. It seemed much more in tune with nature than the others. Without so much as a word, the fairy got to work. It flew around Locke, carefully inspecting the extent of damage to his gear. With a dull glow between the fairy's hands, it began to mend his gear. The cracks in his mask seemed to slowly unform, dust collecting and filling whatever gaps were made. Similar could be said about his clothing. Threads once torn and broken had strung together once more, filling the gaps from before and the ones left from the fight.

For now, he remained on the ground. The time to choke out the boy would have to wait. He just had to keep his life and not die because of some invisible twat. Keep at the pace of the other.