Beren was, unfortunately, awake for the entirety of the catacomb's destruction. The dragons cried like a wraith and the cracking of stone hammered into his ears like a thunderclap. He felt the ground beneath him give way, but to his credit he managed to leap away and bound onto a sarcophagus, but that soon crumbled underneath his feet, and he found no more handhold or steady place to land. Beren fell into darkness, the last thing he saw before the air was knocked from his lungs was the great head of the dragon rearing back, eye impaled, as the dwarves and Jocasta cried out, arms up and faces panicked as darkness fell. 

There was a great rumbling and the shattering of rocks, Beren hit something hard and bounced down a long slope before falling another handful of meters and landing on a flat, hard surface. Something heavy hit him in the stomach, and it seemed almost forever before the sound of falling debris ended. A soft light appeared from far, far above, almost like a distant moon on the mountain road. Beren almost wanted to drift to sleep, but an image of Jocasta flashed through his mind, and his training kicked in as his eyes snapped open. Whatever was on him, he was about to shove off, until he realized it was actually Jo herself. He sat up, his hands behind him and planted on the floor of the large chamber. 

He felt her pulse, and a wave of relief flooded through him when he realized she was still alive. He pressed his hand gently along her head to make sure she wasn't bleeding from her skull, and she began to stir. 

"Jo," He breathed, helping her slowly to lift herself up. She blinked, her light hair wild and her left arm bleeding from a scrape, but otherwise she seemed unhurt. He still had to make sure. "Are you ok?" 

"Yeah," she said tiredly, clinging to his shirt to keep herself upright, but turning her head to get a view of their surroundings. "You?" 

"If you're good, I'm good." He said, giving her a warm, albeit lopsided smile. She turned back and looked at him, both of their impressive chests pressed against each other, their noses almost touching. 

She shook her head and smiled, before the arcane-archaeologist leaned in, whispering: "I should have known I'd fall in your lap again." Her lips parted for a kiss. Beren's face flushed, blood rushing to his cheeks as he felt a thrill pass through him, as he had fantasized about this moment for the past month, but just before their lips met, a gruff, ugly growl rang out from the debris. Both of the two humans turn their heads, eyes wide as a large stone was overturned, Muragrim pushing it off of him to roll away into the darkness. He muttered something in dwarvish, too quiet for Beren to translate. Behind Muragrim, the very still corpse of the reptilian behemoth lay just under the streaming light from above, its blue-white scales shining brilliantly to give off a soft glow to the entire cavernous chamber they lay within.

Their surroundings suddenly began to shift as more rocks were pushed and dwarves got to their feet. The white bearded Otar grumbled, mumbling 'hammer and tongs' in northern. He had a large gash over his left eye, blood pouring freely down his face, but he seemed alright. Everyone else seemed to have a few bruises and scrapes. Even Buri only gave a few complaints, the fat merchant still a bit too stubborn to get too hurt save for some scrapes. Nonetheless they were fine. All save for Gunir.

"Me damned arm!" The soldier bellowed, Radsvir knocking some debris off him as Muragrim helped him to his feet. As Beren helped Jocasta to her feet, he winced when he saw the unnatural angle Gurin's arm was bent in. Blood seeped out of the chainmail and cloth of his upper dressing, but other than a few grunts, he held himself together well, save for complaints. "Blasted thing must have hit the wall when the drakk's tail hit me, stone take the damned wyrm!" 

"Looks a bit bad," Varin said, inspecting it. 

"Out of me way!" Otar ordered, and the rest of them parted to give room for the elder, who knelt beside the tough dwarf warrior. He lifted his arm, causing Gunir to wince, but he had too much pride to cry out again. Otar nodded to himself once, his face grim. For many moments he stayed silent, until he stood up. "I cannae heal it all the way, but we can set it back, make a splint, and I can call on Runar to speed up the process for ye."