Everything smells of blood and rot. Ellis feels an incredible sense of dread begin to permeate the momentary thrill of success. His hand tightens around the coin as he tumbles to his knees by her side. Ellis has the presence of mind to put it into his pocket; he can turn it over when they return to the Guild.

"Depends," Ellis tells her. "You'll have to tell me if you're bleeding out or not before I decide how well we are."

There are better clerics than Ellis. But Ellis is the person who's here, and he would prefer it if Fitcher didn't die on his watch. He'd do what he must to prevent that.