Nevin prepared to harvest the lizard quickly. His body was aching now, and the lines across his body were thrumming in anticipation. Every time he worked with new blood this happened, or if it was blood that he hadn't experimented with all the Essences possible. It was one way he knew whether or not something had a hidden aspect he could draw out. But this time it was triumphant, singing of all the potential possibilities that this blood carried within it. He had to work to flip the lizard over onto its other side to get started though – he wasn't normally squeamish, but he had no desire to go sticking his hands into the beast's braincase to get the blood he needed.

No, getting to the bloody furrow in its side that his crossbow bolt had left behind was the easiest way of getting what he wanted. So sixty pounds of dead lizard had to be lifted, and with his side and leg injured this was going to be... yes. Painful. He tried to do most of the pushing/lifting action with his weight on his uninjured leg, but even so Nevin couldn't avoid straining with his other leg as well, and there was no way to avoid stress on the wound on his side.

The effort sent a fresh wave of searing pain shooting through his body as he pushed the lizard onto its side. He half-sat, half-slumped down onto the ground next to the carcass, his chest heaving as he finally pulled his shirt up to actually take a look at the wound that was the real problem for him. It wasn't as easy as just pulling it up though. When the beast had jumped past him, raking him with its claws, it had pushed some of the fabric of his shirt into the cuts. It was an odd visual effect he presented there: utterly pale skin that had not seen much of the light of day for years, covered every which way by a criss-crossing mess of crimson lines – lines which were apparently bleeding into from the cuts, bloodflows that were entirely separate from the crimson liquid that even now was oozing from inside of him.

Tugging the shirt up and out of the way had pulled that fabric out of the wound – wounds properly, as there were three distinct gashes in his side – which had been plugging up the injury. More blood began to flow as the impromptu stuffing was torn free, and Nevin let out a long hissing breath of pain as he rummaged in his pouch. He had had at least the presence of mind to pack along some staunching herbal compresses, and he pressed one into his side as he sat next to the carcass, taking deep, steady breaths as he waited for the period of light-headedness to come and go.

Finally he felt... while not ok, at least well enough to work, and the magic that sang along his skin would be denied no longer. He pinned the compress against his side with one arm, and pulled out the empty vial. The cork was carefully worked out, and he placed the opening of the vial into one of the still trickling rivulets of blood that were running down the side of the lizard. He pulled on that crescendo of need and channeled it into pulling that intimidating acidic quality to the fore.

“Sanguine Acidum.” The words tumbled from his lips in a breathless rush of victory. He knew, in the back of his head, that words were entirely unnecessary for what he was doing – his magic was not something that required vocalization to work. It was really the same 'spell' being worked each time, just applied in a different way depending on what was in the forefront of his mind. Despite that, he did it anyway, as it helped him... focus, on what he was wanting to capture the essence of in the blood that he was working with.

The crimson fluid that was now spiraling into the open mouth of the glass vial began to shine – and took on an unhealthy yellow-orange hue. It was a strange visual effect, as crimson chased streaks of yellow-orange through the glass, mingling and yet seemingly remaining separate the entire time. The vial filled and Nevin had to cut the flow of his magic to the ability – there remained yet more blood inside of the lizard, and yet... he felt like he had captured all of the acidic essence he would be able to. Instead he shrugged and struggled to his feet, swaying slightly as the blood rushed to his head after being seated so long.

With careful steps he walked back to his crossbow, unstringing it and slinging the weapon around onto his back. The staff was pulled with a wet sucking noise from the head of the lizard, and he wiped the gore on the end of it off on the leaf-covered forest floor, then slid the staff back into its holster. Now for the fun part – dragging this carcass back to town. The compress was helping, but even so he knew it would be slow going to get this heavy load back into town safely. No choice for it though, but to get started - he was the one who had avoided asking anyone for help. His stinging leg and bloody side were reminders that while he might be skilled in some regards, direct combat was not one of them.