It had been nothing more than a minor rockslide, and, as he used to, Drizzt had sought shelter within a roof-less cave over which the smaller rocks bounded. However, this particular boulder had managed to strike the side of the wall, bounding off and falling down towards him. He had dived to the side, of course, trying to get out of its way. And although the boulder had not managed to fall far enough to crush his entire body, he had not managed to pull his arm back fast enough, and, with a sickening crush that told him every bone within the appendage was broken instantly, his arm had been firmly trapped.
Gritting his teeth, he braced himself against the floor and pulled as hard as he could – his previous attempts had already pulled his arm from its socket, so there was no danger of that happening again – but found that he could still not get loose. The only good thing was that the boulder had cut off all blood to the appendage, meaning that it would most likely rot away in a week or two, and the drow gave a harsh laugh at the morbid thought.
At least the scent of blood had not yet attracted any predators, he thought; although he had to admit that at this point, he would have been happy to see even an orc. Even though the thought of this scared him, it brought another fact to his mind, as the lack of predators in these hostile areas most likely meant one thing – the way to the cave had been blocked by the rockslide, and not only cutting him off from predators, but also from any kind of help that might reach him. And, of course, to top off his bad luck, he had, for once, left Guenhwyvar with Catti-brie, meaning that he could not even send the panther to fetch aid…
As the day passed, he had only the shadows cast upon the rock walls to let him know that the sun was crossing the sky, and he began feeling the first pangs of hunger and thirst. The pain in his shoulder and back had faded to a dull throb as he again and again attempted to wrestle his arm loose from the rock, but only managed to lodge the rock more firmly against the walls.
Night came, chilling him to the bone and drenching him in soft rain with the result that the bottom of the cave became filled with a few inches of water. Not enough to drown him, but enough to ensure that he was more miserable than before.
Then came dawn once more, but, not reaching him, only showed on the sky above his head and denying him the warmth and solace the sun could bring. As more time passed, he heard the first signs of animals moving about outside the cave, and easily recognized it as wolves, and heard them sniffing around outside as they tried to discover where the scent of blood was coming from. That none of them entered the cave told him that it was, indeed, sealed off from the rest of the world…
Night passed and dawn arrived again, finding the drow shivering against the rock that kept him trapped. Tears fell from his eyes as he once more brought the small dagger to his flesh, trying futilely to cut off the now slowly rotting appendage, but, due to the awkward position the rock had forced his body into, found more strikes landed on his torso and the rock instead of the arm. Already the blade had been dulled and bent, rendering it nearly useless – but the lack of room within the cave made it impossible for him to draw his scimitars without cutting off his leg in the process; not to mention the fact that the long blades would be even more cumbersome to maneuver in the small space.
It was painful, but instincts told him it was the only way out. At this point, no matter if someone showed up or not, he would not be able to keep his arm. A small part of his mind wondered how he would be able to continue fighting with only one arm left, but another part – the majority of his conscious mind – told it that his survival came foremost.
Sobbing, delirious with pain, he sought on the wet ground with his free hand, closed his palm around a small rock and leaned back as far as he could. Whispering a prayer to Mielikki, he brought the stone to bear, striking the small, free part of his arm with the rock. He howled with pain, but found to his dismay that the rock had not struck true, and the bone had not been shattered.
Again and again, he flung the stone at his own body, striking the boulder at time, at others hitting his torso or shoulder, each movement being accompanied with a wail of anguish. Only when his strikes grew too weak to even bruise did he allow the rock to fall to the ground and once more rested his forehead against the rock as he took a few steadying breaths. Bracing his free arm against the giant stone, he pushed of all his might. There came the sound of tearing flesh and sinew, and he kept pushing, his desperation lending him a strength he did not know he had. With a sickening noise of ripping skin and bone, he fell backwards into the brackish water, clutching the stump that was once his right arm.
He keened in pain as the foul water burned at the frayed nerves of his now missing arm, and barely managed to roll over as his stomach heaved; attempting to empty itself from the agony alone. Gasping for breath - very nearly managing to inhale the filthy liquid of the bottom of the small cave - he clawed at the rock with his only hand, trying to crawl to his feet, to make his legs work despite the lack of blood within them after the long time of inactivity.
But the ground was slippy, and the wall slimy, and he barely managed to gain his footing when losing it. Reflexes slowed from lack of food and water, and legs burning as feeling only slowly was returning, he fell back into the water with a sickening thud - his right ankle screaming in protest as it was forced the opposite direction of how it would usually go. The brackish water dulled the snap of bone.
Somehow, somehow Drizzt managed to drag his way through the brackish water, now turned to thin mud as his actions stirred age-old dirt below it, and leaned against the boulder that had already cost him an arm. Exhausted and delirious with pain, he could not even bat away at the flies that arrived, drawn by the scent of blood and decaying flesh.
The night came, plunging the world into darkness and removing what little warmth that had reached the small cave. The water, already cold, turned icy, and the drow noted with mild surprise that his breath was white mist. How long had he been there? He could not recall.
The rocks clicked against each other, and he heard a whine as a wolf outside the cave sought a way to what it would smell. The pain, thankfully, had dulled once more. His broken ankle, submerged in the icy water, was utterly without feeling. His arm... He could not even find the courage to look at, though he could smell the rot from it.
Day came, and stirred the insects that had come to feast on dead flesh. The drow, apathically, watched a small maggot crawl over the filthy leg of his breeches, where it had landed after falling from his wound.
His head spun, he slowly realised, though found he could not muster the mind to care. It was, currently, the only part of him that seemed to be anything more than just cold. He had shivered, he recalled, and knew somehow instinctively that he had a raging fever. Now, his body just did not have the strenght to fight it.
He closed his eyes, ignoring the shuffling of rocks as predators sought a way in, to pilfer the cave of the flesh they could smell, and slowly exhaled.
His eyes never opened again.