Suddenly, Goma is elsewhere. She lays supine, unconscious, blood pouring out of her face. She wears a quilted gambeson under scaled armor. Shadowy figures surround her, most of them dead, discarded weapons, shields and arrows strewn haphazardly across broken ground. A large red banner lies among the carnage, marked with the stylized image of a leopard seal. A figure crouches beside her, cradling her head as another figure looks on. It says in Orcish, “This one’s still alive–”
Sanctuary is startled when Goma suddenly falls slack in his hands. “Goma?” Mercifully, she was seated before she started to faint, but Sanctuary struggles with her weight to prevent her from hitting the floor.
RAP RAP RAP RAP! Comes a knock on the shuttered window. Sanctuary becomes alert. “...Ah,” he mutters, eyes darting to the window.
“Sanctuary? Are you in there?” comes a voice from outside.
“...Yeaaah…” He hesitates, suddenly aware of how difficult it will be to explain to whoever is outside why he has an unconscious stranger on the floor of his room. “Just a moment!”