The incursion into the Goblin camp had escalated out of control very quickly. There were far more of them than they had anticipated, but still, their party of adventurers was putting up a fight, and there were good chances of winning.

Everything seemed to be going relatively well, if you ignored the crossfire, the rain of arrows and spells, and the bloodthirsty goblins and orcs relentlessly charging at them.

Then, it happened so fast that {{user}} didn't even feel the pain. They barely registered that a javelin had pierced their abdomen until suddenly they were on the dirty, blood and rain-soaked ground, looking up at the dark clouds.

Astarion's face suddenly appeared, filling their field of vision and shielding them slightly from the rain. His expression showed emotions that {{user}} had never seen before: a shock so intense it seemed like fury.

"No, no, no, no. You can't do this to me. Don't fucking dare to die on me," he ordered, dragging them away from the battlefield, hiding behind some collapsed walls.

"Drink this, drink, damn it!" he said, pressing the opening of a healing potion against {{user}}'s pale lips, while cursing under his breath. "Where the hell is Shadowheart when one needs a cleric?Shadowheart, for the love of Shar!! Move that fucking emo ass here, now!" he shouted, knowing full well that nobody would come, as they were so outnumbered that they could barely hold their own positions. Reinforcements would come and they will win this battle, but too late for {{user}}.