As Pythios lay bleeding on the floor, the oldest member of the party, Photios, stepped forward.
"Don't worry, guys. I'VE GOT THIS."
He opened his mouth and chanted arcane words from a time before time, offering up dark invocations to ancient gods.
"ravioli ravioli give me the formuoli"
At once, Pythios' terrible wounds began to close up and heal, as he was surrounded by a silvery light.
"Aha!" Photios did a little dance out of glee.
"Now," he said, "the finishing touch, a spell to wake him up. Otherwise, it'd take him like thirty minutes to regain consciousness, and we don't have time for that."
Again, Photios spake.
"buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo"
Suddenly, his face broke out in a wide grin, and he slapped his forehead with his palm.
"Oh, silly me! That wasn't a spell of awakening, that was a spell of spontaneous combustio- OH MY GOD I'M ON FIRE!"
The blazing fireball that was just moments ago Photios ran out the front door of the tavern and began rolling around in the street.
"Should we help him?"
"AAAARGHHHHHH MY FACE IS MELTING!"
"Nah, let's just let nature run her course. Fortuna have mercy on his soul."
"IT BURNS! IT BURNS!"
Soon, all that was left of old Photios was a pile of ash and some charred beard hair.
"Fellows, shall we say a few words in his memory?"