Yes. A painful awakening ensues.

Pain. Uklag’s eyes fly open in an instant. There are several more points of pain than he has expected, whoever carried him hadn’t been exactly gentle whilst doing so. The greatest pain however remains the hole in his stomach, which somebody who Uklag is unfamiliar with is currently trying to attend to.

“Hands of.” The warlock growls and sits up. The person isn’t exactly happy with that. “Look, if you bleed out here Ulric is going to be pissed so just let me do my work.” “And have it done third rate? Get me some meat and a knife.” The guy looks at him like he is a brabbling lunatic.

“Do it.” Ukalg threatens, his hand lighting up with fire. “If you insist.” The guy still sounds unconvinced but one shouldn’t argue with a mage. When he returns Uklag practically rips the items from him. “About time, what is this?” “Pig, why?”

Uklag doesn’t answer, he cuts the meat into two halves and then carves runes into both of them. Pressing the halves into the entrance and exit point of the sword he channels his magic into them. The transmutation is a pretty straining process but he succeeds.

Meat becomes new skin as the injury become lessened to the point of bein merely very, very painful instead of potentially lethal. “Better.” Uklag says in relief and gets up.”Now where the fuck is my staff? Ah there it is.” He grabs the black thing and with the help of that third leg makes his way out of the tent, “Where is Ulric?” he asks the apparent medic.

The man points towards the centre of the camp. “Where else.” Uklag mumbles and stumbles forward. Upon seeing the warlock Ulric let’s out an enthusiastic greeting, with a smile even. “Some trick you pulled, taking down that gate.”

Uklag gives him a pissed off look. While the warlock may have a somewhat high pain tolerance a halfway healed stab-wound through the stomach still hurts like hell. That in turn shortens his patience.

He opens his mouth to make some aggressive remark when spots the Dragonbone between Catherine and Alratha out of a bottle that is somehow familiar to Uklag. However finding out where this familiarity stems from is not on the warlocks mind right now.

“Well, it was quite the achievement even for me. What happened after I got knocked out of action?” he asks. The scowling look on Uklag’s face seems to amuse the giant, his smile widening. “We killed everyone and took their stuff.”

Uklag takes a few deep, calm breaths to surpress the urge of throwing something destructive into that happy face Ulric is making. He succeeds and answers with a simple. “I see.” He says, clutching his staff tighter, eyes narrowing “I guess that means out cooperation is over, what happens no….” “Mashtur~!” comes a drunken shout from Alratha, “Shtop being a *hick* paranoid demonlover and this stuff, its amaaaazing.”

Uklag raises and eyebrow at his assassin. Not only she but Catherine and, from the looks of it, Kyra are in the process of drinking their fourth bottle. “I do not drink.” He says drily.

Pain spreads through his body as Ulric gives him a rather rough claps on the back. “You do now!” he exclaims and ‘gently’ shoves Uklag towards the drunken trio.

The **** movement makes him flinch. “If you insist. At least it should dull the pain.” He gives in to save himself from further annoyance (and torment). Taking the bottle that is presented to him and drinking a huge swing of the liquid. The wine is sweet with only the faintest taste of ****. “Someone of your age should drink a bit more.” Catherine encourages him and he takes another gulp. “I mean you should have built some resistance over the years after all.” Uklag puts down the bottle, “I never drank **** before today, Catherine.”

Thirty minutes the warlock is hopelessly drunk. The pain dulled by a foggy haze and thus his mode has improved considerably. Then again the **** maybe made him a bit more talkactive. “Ulric, ya piece of Shjarjatana. Ze jetzje nahjara Hejho.” Uklag babbles in his native tongue for a bit more before asking, “You wan tja hear a piece of trivia?”

An enthusiastic nod comes from the also considerably drunk Ulric. Uklag puts his arm around Catherine’s hips to have something that keeps his ass on the ground. It barely helps him and actually almost causes both of them to fall over but somehow they manage to remain sitting straight “In the…the…urgh. That book that one general lady wrote….Come on you know the one – with like the sword and like 200 years back and with that song and stuff. Whaatever. So she wrote that book ‘Estara Aesthetica’ you know? She calls your bodytype improper and unnatural *hick* because men aren’t, like, meant to hold weapons or powr according to her. Fucking authoress alsho said some redoncoulosss things about about orgasms despite being not even versed in baioligy.”

Ulric looks like he is listening with **** interest before exclaiming. “I have no idea what you just said.” Laughing he stands up and looks at Uklag with narrowed eyes. “Tiny warlock, giant words.” He says and chugs an entire bottle of wine.

Uklag wants to return an insult but finds himself unable to. Instead he lets out a giant yawn and has forgotten about it in its enterity the next second. He stares into the fire suddenly realizing his own situation. Drunk, how mind clouded, his thoughts in jumble and sitting around wasting time that could be spent amasing more power. The rage that is normally guided towards whoever dares to influence his mind now boild inside him without a target.

He stares into the fire for a few minutes. Around him people are chatting happily, congratulating each other for a battle well fought a heist well don. All those people content with being a henchemen. No ambition. No goals. No power. Those lesser minds.

“Disgusting.” Uklag pushes his hand into the fire.

Catherine, sensing that something is about to go terribly wrong, erects a shield of water around the other drinking companions. The shield proves mostly useless as the campfire turns into an incredibly bright blue jet of flame that shoots towards the night sky. A wave of heat washes over Uklag and burns away the fog on his mind. Well some of it anyway.

The shield falls again as Uklag stands up, his aggression unloaded into the world. “Enough of these games.” Uklag says, his voice cold as if the gire had taken all the heat in him with it. “I’m going to sleep, Catherine, Alratha.”

A halfway respectful nod towards Ulric. “I will leave after dawn. If you wish to see me go or not is up to you.” With the two women toe, who even in ther drunken status know better than to disagree with Uklag when he is that pissed, he limps away to his shag, leaving behind a stunned group and a normal campfire.