Old scars and present omens

[Pendar]

Some hours after the encounter with Nightmare Pendar returned to the room at the seahorse. Slipping into the room he cast his eyes over the sleeping lady already in bed smiling gently, pleased that Caitlin was taking the time to heal properly he began unclasping his armor. Slipping out of the made to measure armor Salathe had so kindly gifted him he poured himself a glass of water and took a seat near the fire. Stealing a few silent moments to reflect on today’s events.
Running his fingers slowly over the three score scars that ran the left of his chest from shoulder to last rib, scars given him by the last demon he crossed the name that still called him in dreams Groar. "Surely I was meant to die that day" he murmured to himself. Yet he had not magic had knitted torn organs back and a mixture of Caitlin’s care and sheer stubbornness had seen to bone and flesh. Lately he even felt some of his old strength and prowess with weapons returning all be it to slowly for his likening.
Yet as Dravish had said just today some wounds never heal and these scars were growing harder to bear. The way they ached in evil places, sapped his strength in the presence of spirits and today Salathe must have thought him a coward for not moving sooner. Truth of the matter was his left arm had been lame hanging limp as a block of ice. Closing his eyes he let his mind drift back to the battle...
Some how managing to grab his warhammer he leapt through the gap in the broken arena wall, Salathes heroic effort still had two demons left with out any further hesitation he had fallen upon the nearest demon. More and more these days he found he was able to wield the bulk of his hammer with alarming speed seeking out openings in an enemy’s defense. Finding just such a gap his hammer had found the Illusions throat and it vaporized before him. Spinning on his feet he brought the hammer round on the real nightmare the satisfying crunch of bone and wet tearing of the creatures hideous skin affirmation he would yet leave his mark on the day. The rest a blur of feints and strikes the battle hand ended quickly. Bending down and grasping the strange sword with an amulet caught on the hilt he had hurried to salathes side.
In my stories, the hero never dies at the end Salathe I will accept no different this day ..He had said as he bent down next the bloody lizard.

The chill that had gripped his side so suddenly turned to fire the scars felt as if a thousand red hot needles danced inside them. He had torn his armor off, staggering back trying to call a healer to tend salathe. Leaning against the wall of the arena back to the gathered group he had wished to crawl into the wall, both to escape the pain and to hide his vulnerability in the moment. Grasping the old wounds he had struggled for breath....as they bled?
Yet what had seeped from the old wounds was certainly not his blood, thick as tar and black as night, he still wondered what Dravish had seen and if he had seen what he thought. At least Aokan believed it to be drow blood he had found against the wall, a small mercy not to have to stand an inquisition on this horror he didn’t understand.
With a shudder at the recollection Pendar lets his thoughts return to the present moving his hand from the scars, suddenly aware he had been caressing them gently nearly lovingly through out his contemplation.
One thing was clear as day how ever much he hated them demons and could it be evils in generally were getting hard to face, taking there toll even?
Standing with a sigh he stretched his slight frame rippling nearly all muscle these days spent so entirely around weapons and the pursuit of there mastery.
Sliding into bed quietly so as not to wake cait he closed his eyes wrapping an arm gently but protectively around her tiny body. He resolved to sleep peacefully this night and not let the ghosts in...Keep the demons and dreams at bay..