Not quite... Muted noises return before vision

Though you suppose that wasn't quite accurate- before hearing in the dim haze of your returning consciousness, an all encompassing throb of urgent pain made itself known. You barely had cognizance of the number of limbs you had when this motley of aches was in full swing. It was almost a mercy when you started to hear the bass of your surroundings, noises cut off as if you were underwater.

At this, you tried to open your eyes, and at first it seemed as though you didn't have that luxury yet. But your delayed dark vision kicked in, confirming the return of your senses. You collected your memories like scattered marbles, recalling the exploration, the fight, the docks and the firm kick that sent you straight under. Unconsciously, you attempted to feel at your face, where your pain coalesced as if also remembering where it should be focusing its effort. Your hands, however, did not respond, as delayed recognition registered the tangle of corded rope around your forearms, elbow down to wrist.

They were lashed at your front, tied tightly together in a slipshod fashion with a fishers net. The chaos of ropes were a headache to try to find any order to, and added to your cranium's woes. With your forearms trussed together, your range of motion amounted to lamely rotating your elbows in tandem. With some effort you could scratch your nose. Lower on the list of discomforts was how tightly your biceps now pinched your chest. You were hardly on the small end, but the way your shoulders bunched forward, and upper arm grinded up against your torso, your girls were standing at attention like empire soldiers.

Your ankles were similarly bound, but to some mercy they were not nearly as limited as your arms. The fishing hut was not equipped for bondage, apparently, and a smaller measure of rope was lashed a few times around your boots. Some experimental wiggling offered a small hope- your thicker boots were taking most of the ropes pressure, and you could slip your feet out with only a little effort. You kept them in for the moment, thinking it better not to advertise your captors shortcomings until the time was right.

Speaking of, you glanced around for your assailant. With a little wormy wriggling, you turned over to get a view of the other half of the cave. He was within the broken walls of the fishing hut, having organized some of the mess. The roof was gone, and the near wall with the door. Three walls were standing, with some support, and the tools were laid out between you and the goat man. Your mind raced when you spotted a gutting knife nearby, about eight feet off. The goat man had not yet noticed you, and his work was somewhat noisy as he upended broken slabs of wood from a pile.

It was a miracle you survived, and the fact you were tied up did mean this thing didn't want to kill you. At least not right away, a pessimistic inner voice chimed in. The _helpful _voice even gave several alternatives to that which were markedly worse. You were here to survive, and you weren't out yet. You weren't going to fall at the first hurdle, not after everything you've done to get here!

So when the next clatter of shuffling activity began, you wriggled forwards, inch worming your way towards the knife. Hips and shoulders and knees worked to pull, push and lever your way over the boardwalk. New pains sang to life at your sudden movement, but you clenched your teeth at the bruises reminders.

[Rolled a 18+1=19 for Stealth (no penalty from carried equipment)]

Your approach went unnoticed, and the knife was quickly snatched up. The wriggling to get here had pulled and teased at the tangle of net around your arms. You carefully reversed the grip on the blade in your right hand and began to lamely saw it at your left forearms ropes. A few times you were able to snag into a loop, but being a net, cutting one or two wasn't going to do it.

[Rolled a 13+4=18 for Finesse]

You changed tactics, and affixed the knife between two boards, and began to saw the middle of your binds directly on the blade. The change of tactic was effective, and you quickly had a shredded net and free hands. Surging on some kind of high, a heady mix of fear and elation, you didn't waste time cutting your legs bonds, simply slipping out of the boots. Standing, your pain took a backseat for the moment, as you grabbed the knife again. Only one thing left.

[Rolled a 20+3=23 for attack]

You ghosted up behind the unaware goatman. He looked weak, wobbly, with some bloodstained wraps over his chest. You fell forwards in one smooth motion, knife meeting just below where you imagined his shoulder blades just as your hand gripped the front of his throat to provide resistance. This time it didn't hit bone. There was an inhalation and a choked warbling exhale from your foe, then he collapsed, his bodies weight finally apparent when all the strings were cut.

You nearly were brought down with him, but you released your vice grip on the knife and his body, and stumbled back to land on your ass. Exhaustion came like a wave, crashing into you like you'd never experienced before. It took everything you had not to just pass out, though you did remain laying on your back for a long period.

After you stopped hearing your blood flow in your ears, and the creeping threat of passing out stopped haunting your already dimmed vision, you got back up. Your bag was located near the piles of lumber and tools, evidently untouched. Your sword was a harder find, buried beneath the huts wreckage. You tended to a few needs, mechanically, eating to satisfy the surge of hunger that came shortly after the surge of the headrush. As you did so, you pondered your next move. You had means to traverse the lake ahead, but you also may be able to double back if the insects had finally given up their patrol.