The remainder of the automatons were dispatched with a swift ease, and none had turned their sights back to Roze and the injured Dunmer - much to her relief. Making the most out of the brief respite the group was given, she turned her attention back to Elmera; and the bolt nestled in her leg. From what Roze could remember of the Dwemer - not a lot, other than stories passed down from her father, and various other people she knew in Riften as a child - they didn't particularly use poisons. Electricity and murder-machines did the job well enough without resorting to toxins, clearly. The bolt was in deep, and while barbed, wasn't particularly large - it would be painful, but it could be pulled out with some ease. Hopefully. Before leaving, Roze wrapped an impromptu tourniquet around the top of Elemera's leg, just above the bolt with a strip of fabric ripped from her shirt. She couldn't pull the bolt out, but perhaps that could lessen the bleeding somewhat.
"If I don't die out there, I'll check on it later, unless someone gets there before me." She said in a cheerful tone, standing up and brushing the dust from her trousers. "I'm no expert healer, but I'll do what I can." Seeing Leif's face, Roze couldn't help but wince - but all she could offer him was a sympathetic smile and a light pat on the shoulder before catching up with the rest of the group. He looked in a bad way - hopefully she could find some alcohol in this place. He and their newest Dunmer looked as though they could use the drink.
As it happened, finding alcohol didn't seem all that unlikely, what with the discovery of another group. The last time they'd ran into a group of Dunmeri, it had been the Armigers - who had tried to kill them all. But on the brighter side, Roze had also found a lovely bottle of Sujamma. Most of it had been given to Sagax, but still, it had been damn good. The additional presence of what sounded like an Imperial man meant it definitely wasn't more Armigers (Thank Talos), but they were still an unknown force. Roze felt uncomfortable sending Do'Karth by himself out there, but it was worth trying to find out if this group were friend or foe. They could certainly use some friends right now, after all.
Unfortunately, they were foes. Fortunately, Do'Karth hadn't been skewered and his genitals were intact (Sevine would be pleased). Readying her bow and sharing a grim sort of smile with Sagax, Roze steadied her aim, staying close to the wall and out of the way of the main fray... only to falter in her attack as Sagax charged forwards, bellowing like a Nord giant.
"Gods, Sagax! Don't be so fucking stupid!" The words spilled out of her mouth in disbelief, echoing Solveig's own profanities. That boy was crazy - she was going to be having words with him later. And his little ghost friend too! Shuddering every so lightly at the thought of scolding some terrifying floating dead person, Roze knocked an arrow and aimed for the enemy's groups own archer; holding a crossbow. Not so great when it came to long-distance range or aim, but damn, if they weren't nasty little bastards up close. Those bolts were powerful enough to pin a fucker to a wall if you were unlucky to get close enough. Letting her arrow loose, Roze was knocking another before even checking if she had hit the Dunmer archer - only to pause once again upon hearing music. Glancing behind her, she noticed another of their new companions, one she hadn't really noticed until now. A bard? Why did a bard join a mercenary group like this? Not that Roze was particularly complaining - the lute added a little lightness to their atmosphere while they slaughtered people. Letting out a light chuckle - simply at the ridiculousness of the situation - she readied her aim was again as she spoke out to Raelyn.
"Play "Rocky Road to Markarth"! Now that's a killing song if ever there was one."
For a moment, Rhasha'Dar was certain he was dead. Part of that was because, at first, there was a disturbing lack of pain. Lack of all feelings, really. There was a numb sense of shock, seeing the bloodied talons of the matron sticking out of his chest. But there was no pain, not like there had been when the Werewolf had attacked him all those years ago. And what was a few scratch marks to branch-like claws skewering your body? Nothing, apparently. As he fell from the claws, darkness rushed up to meet him - the ground was too far away and he was falling for minutes, hours...
When he hit the floor, the pain joined him - and it certainly put that werewolf attack into perspective. That pain had been sharp, jabbing, stinging. This pain was completely different - deep, hollow and burning. There seemed to be a great pressure building up in his chest; was it blood? Had his lungs been punctured, and was he going to drown in his own bodily fluids? Eyes snapping open, the horrified face of Daelin met him - he seemed to be saying something, but his words were drowned out by a strange ringing noise. The pressure was everywhere now; his chest, his ears; sitting on his eyelids to close once more. But seeing the potion bottle, Rhasha fought against it.
"Now is not the time to sleep." He told himself - silently, of course. Any attempt of speaking would be intelligible and likely paired with drool, and as much as he was in pain, Rhasha still cared some for his own dignity. With Daelin's aid, Rhasha was able to sit up and swallow some of the potion. Much to his relief, it seemed his lungs had been spared from the attack - or, were simply too busy trying to stay breathing to force blood - and the much needed potion - back up his gullet. Even the few sparse drops alleviated his fatigue somewhat; didn't do much for the pain, but the bleeding seemed to slow down anyway. Still unable to form a coherent sentence, Rhasha just nodded in Daelin's direction, hoping his eyes could pass along the heartfelt thanks he couldn't form the words for.
Things seemed to be looking up slightly after this; the Nord man had both healing supplies and answers for the group (Not that the journey to his camp was an easy one; although refusing to let his agony be known through screaming, hisses made their way through clenched teeth as Daelin and Rothvar carried him. Rhasha thanked the twin moons the camp was nearby.) While listening to the man talk, Rhasha felt a pang of sympathy for him; he was lucky, as were Sevine and Keegan, despite the latter still being unconscious, from what he could see. More potions relieved some of the pain, and after a few more sips, Rhasha was able to sit up without the aid of anyone else. The supplies given by Rothvar were invaluable - but it would do the group more good if they had more potions.
"Daelin..." Getting their Bosmeri leader's attention as he walked by, Rhasha winced as he shifted slightly. His voice sounded heavier; from pain, or damage to his diaphragm? Who knew - Rhasha was just happy he was still able to speak. "This one will remain behind. There may still be some ingredients untouched by the fire in the forest to make more potions - this one feels as though we will need as many as possible." 
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