Before he had left Rupert to rummage around with the goblin, Oscar responded to the little fellow. “From the color of It, I’d call it mage weed. And from the smell of it, I’d call it good.” The man was familiar with it, very much so, actually. He had heard of men sleeping eternally from its effects. “I don’t particularly mean to slumber on for years because of its effects, my concerned friend,” Oscar’s eyes drifted down to give the goblin his full attention. “To take more than a small puff would be dangerous, wouldn’t you say? To take any, with this orc on our tail, would be stupid. But we can talk more soon.” There was something he wasn’t saying to the goblin, something of relative importance. Why would a man with no assumed magical essence want such a potent smoking delight? The plumes of smoke from the goblin’s pipe burnt as red as Oscar’s hair, but the conversation was dropped as the swordsman’s attention was taken. 

He watched the winged woman pass before him as she made her way to the goblin, who spoke of leaving. He winced at the thought of the small fellow taking off before he could acquire the weed from him. It was of some great importance that the goblin part with it. Importance that he didn’t speak of, nor did he enjoy thinking of. 

He was not a doctor or a field medic, but Oscar knew something of wounds. The words barely trickled off the Alunei’s soft lips before he was in action, slinging the canteen over his shoulder. He knew he had little in his sack that would be clean enough to stave off an infection from the bacteria found on any of his clothes. But, he had liquor. Not the type of liquor that is enjoyed around a camp fire and raises the spirits of the company that one found in the evening. These were the spirits that a man drank when he wanted to leave the world behind and slip into a slumber that did not bring dreams. 

Quickly, he crossed the distance back to Rupert, whom he hissed at to grab the horse’s curiosity away from the goblin. He reached into the saddle, producing the bottle and a slightly faded shirt, which was stained with blood and already ripped at the abdomen. There was obviously a story behind it. 

The liquor seemed to glow inside of its container, a faint azure color that was misleadingly beautiful to stare at. Oscar did not have a proper name for it, but often heard it referred to as the Arcane Nectar. With both hands occupied, he popped the cork with his mouth and took a swig to clear any grime and bacteria from his mouth. He then tore at the cloth with the assistance of the hand that held the bottle and his teeth; clumsily making makeshift wraps for the woman’s wound. 

He took a second swig and could already feel the warmth running to his face and his hands becoming steadier. So much for a clear mind, he thought. The orc, which encroached from its far away post to being in their party, wielded his axe as he spoke gruffly to the wizard. All of that would be dealt with momentarily. He knelt by the woman’s side. He corked and dropped the bottle at his side after dousing all of the strips in its essence. He looked to the woman, speaking softly, “I know you are strong but the pain you will feel from this will be greater than the wound’s itself.” He glanced away from her to the goblin that stood above her, “You need to stay put for now my little friend.” Friend. A word Oscar seldom used for anyone but Rupert. Why had it slipped out so quickly? And without any sort of knowledge of the goblin’s deeds or character? 

Oscar’s free hand reached under the Alunei and carefully found a space beneath her folded wings, against the soft skin of her lower back. He lifted her up, most likely causing her significant pain, simultaneously moving to grab the first end of the strips. He took it and wrapped it to her midsection, and then brought the other end back over her mid drift, holding the loose end firm. He lifted her and continued wrapping her entire waist. The Arcane Nectar mixed with the blood of her wound, and fire broke out in her innards. He used all of the strips he had made, successfully making the worst wrap known to humankind; but, it would hold and the alcohol would keep any infection at bay. He tied and knotted the last strip. The alcohol cooled and would evaporate quickly, but the wrap, and wound would lack any disease. 

With an increased metabolism because of adrenaline, the alcohol that Oscar consumed had broken down quickly and it burned in his belly, creating fuel that lit his temper aflame. A hurt woman winged or not, did not sit well with the man. He knew the orc had not caused it, or so assumed, but that did not matter. So many were killed at their hand, so many of Oscar’s old buddies fell to the hands of orc bandits, that it did not matter whether this [i]one[/i] had or hadn’t brought harm. It wanted to. 

The difference in tone, stature, and gait would be evident to even those that had only met his acquaintance nearly five minutes before. "Dwarf!” Oscar snapped, “Get this woman to her feet.” The steps were decisive, as if the liquor did not dull his senses but awakened them, when Oscar strode across the distance between the orc and he, whose words were lost to the wind of the newcomer, who arrived in a spiraling gust, as it addressed the wizard. Oscar had forgotten about such things as the voice in the sky or the Farrgorm that beckoned them to his side. 

The beast dwarfed him by a set of shoulders. It would be fast, it would be strong, if it dared attack. He did not reach for his shield, though he probably should have. Oscar drew down on the orc, the blade slicing the air as its point rose. His wrist cocked and he stopped, his feet apart the width of his shoulders, slightly bent, one positioned nearly a toe behind the other, looking down the tip to the orc that stood on the other end of it. Determination danced across the swordsman’s eyes. There was no fear for the orc to feed on, no weakness that could be deciphered from Oscar’s dark face. Standing before the orc, between the wizard and it, he did not carry on with a frenzy of words and spoke directly, “You have intent in your eyes beast. Let it be known.” The words were calm, steady.