New situation at the Ragged Maiden with the arrival of our mysterious injured visitor. Not sure if this is going to jumpstart a plot of some kind but the guy came in from nowhere! That’s how it goes in Gilba Gilba. You get some Outland visitors once in a while and they have a whole story behind ‘em that don’t make no sense to the quiet town. That was this guy.

“A potion, innkeep!” gasped the man, still holding his side and bent over in a way that suggested no natural pose. “Or I’m liable to bleed out on your floor and then you’ll have two messes to clean up.”

“What’s your story, lad?!” shouted Gack as Blom rushed for some staunches and bandages and all sortsa magical cures for the ailments of the wounded man.

The newcomer was perched on one of the stools at the counter and didn’t answer Gack. Mayhap he didn’t even hear him, or chose not to, or chose not to answer. Whatever his reasons he was certainly in the right. Nobody wants to field that sorta thing when they got a stab-wound in the belly. For indeed that was the problem.

“Why’d you head this way, lad?” Blom said as he stuffed his healin’ stuff into the man’s wounds. “Better off makin’ for the church for your last rites, judgin’ from the gash across yourself.”

The man grunted and said nothing. Blom filled a tankard of his best and pushed it on down the way. “On the head,” he said. Not too often Gilba Gilba saw a situation of this sort but Blom knew the protocol, bein’ as he was not from the area and rather quite familiar with the severity and trauma of battle-hardened men and the emergencies they courted.

The back door of the Ragged Maiden, the one that led down to the cellars, slammed open and there stood Glen. Blom had no words except for “GLEN.”

“Aye Blom,” Glen said without preamble or postamble. His face brooked nothing. “The man needs more than a potion.”

“None of that,” Blom said, remaining calm but stern. “Glen I think you oughta turn yourself around and be part of a different situation.”

“Yes, some of that,” answered Blom’s younger brother and ignoring the rest. “I can save him.” For indeed the injured guest was sagging and losing his focus on the world. Glen walked in and produced from his pocket a glowing orange light clenched in his fist.

“By Vortha’s Folly…” breathed Gack and Hem Slonnigum at once.

Glen ignored the patrons in the common room and pulled the Wayward Spirit into plain sight and broke its slim, lithe body over the head of the desperately hurt man. The orange glow consumed him until he was naught but a pulsing light. He moaned, in pain or relief it wasn’t clear in fact. After mayhap five or six minutes the glow dissipated and the man groaned again. He slipped off the stool and clanged onto the floor.

Glen Blomgrin looked at the stunned crowd and muttered, “Ol’ fella would be dead now if it weren’t for me… and you know it.” He crossed the common room and exited the Ragged Maiden.