Toughness!
As the echoes died away, Joe took stock. He had a slice along the ribs and an arrow stuck in his upper arm, but at least neither of them had hit an artery. He wouldn’t have much time to bandage either, so Joe gritted his teeth, broke off the back half of the arrow transfixing his arm, and yanked out the front part while the agony was fresh. It bled, but didn’t spurt, so he slapped an orcish healing potion on his arm and side and screamed again from the new pain. But the bleeding stopped; it wasn’t better than stitches and some bed rest, but it’d do.
He then turned his attention to the four dead elves in front of him — no, three. One was still clinging to life, in the way they had. She saw him looking, and hawked bloody spit at him. “Sawayrch…” she hissed.
“You speak a civilized language?” Joe asked, trying not to let the slur bother him. He held up the remains of the healing potion. “I got enough here to keep you from dying, but I ain’t getting in knife range. Nothing personal.”
I love the touch that an “Orcish healing potion”, whatever it is, is something that is slapped on, and causes additional pain. Feels appropriate.
Every drop making the wound feel better is one less drop for the stuff making the wound be better.