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    1. Bazmund 7 yrs ago

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6 yrs ago
Current Back at the guild after a long absence. Much changed since I was gone?
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Bio

Medical student living in Scotland, a lover of beer and steak mostly - but also writing, and politics. Because why not make myself even more divisive.

Most Recent Posts



@vietmyke Aye, as Stitches just said, this is actually my exam week at just the moment. Literally received our indicative content for the practical exams this morning and I'll likely be crunching study really hardcore for a while now. I'll try and add to my CS in the mean time when I'm on breaks and stuff, and in the end if you'd like me to upload the work in progress at any point then do let me know - but obviously until exams are over my hands are kinda tied.




Goodnight


The Chapel with Dr. Cassar






When Dr. Cassar nodded this time, it was different. Much more like an approval. He relaxed a little more, and took a deep breath in, trying to decide on his words in the same way a craftsman would choose a tool.

"Ok. I think it's good that you are being careful to not dehumanise people, that's a good sign, I think. But like I said, I'm not really the best person for that kind of talk." He gave a shrug. "Thank you for sharing that though."

Then he turned to Angie.

"Ah. So you're the amateur miracle worker." He gave a big, broad, honest grin. "I knew there was magic involved when I took a look inside our friend and saw that there was a little garden growing around his injuries. I did have to, uh, fix some things - but the work you did is probably why he survived. It was a good thing you were there."

As Angie explained more about her situation, how she could still feel him bleeding underneath her hands, Cassar kept quiet, and kept looking at her, the concern on his face growing almost-imperceptibly.

"I know exactly what you mean. I've felt this way before too. If you'd like, we can talk about it one on one, later today or another time - but I want to say that even though it feels cold, looking back on things, you did the right thing by moving on from the people you already knew had passed away. Being able to prioritise patients is an incredibly valuable skill that even many practicing doctors can struggle with at times, so you did well reacting the way you did."

After a few more moments silence, Cassar cocked an eyebrow and turned to look at the most silent member of the team - a scarred, combat-worn Moroccan woman, quietly judging the entire party at once.

Which he seemed to take just a tiny bit of an issue with.

"Actually, Audrey, I've been thinking that you might have a lot of really relevant experience to the kind of thing we're talking about right now. I'm sure we would all benefit a lot from hearing about it - is there anything you'd like to talk about, or any thoughts you'd like to share?"




Goodnight


The Chapel with Dr. Cassar






Again, Dr. Cassar sat and listened, first to Ellen and then to Angie. As Ellen spoke, as detached as she could make herself, Dr. Cassar regarded her with - for the first time in the entire conversation - a slight degree of apprehension. He looked down at the ground, then back up at her, his expression fairly neutral, his brow furrowed a little.

"Can I ask, why is it that you felt the need to know his name? This is a part of the job that I'm... completely unfamiliar with, I'm afraid - but, you know, I do want to understand where you're coming from.



@vietmyke Would it be possible for a light MAS to have a customised control system, which invokes some - but obviously not all - of the principles of piloting an exosuit? My boonies boi, I'm imagining, would totally be able to learn to control it like a vehicle, but would still prefer to have as much tactile, physical interface with it as possible.
@vietmyke Hyello. I'm one of the friends that Stitches mentioned. I'm currently in the immediate run up to my exam week so I'm working on a character sheet in my breaks from study and I'm not 100% on when it'll be done. I just wanted to check in and let you know that I exist, and also ask if there's anything you'd prefer we stay away from in terms of player worldbuilding; I'm hoping for my character to be a fairly veteran member of the 101st who was raised in an area of colonial space that I'd be interested in worldbuilding myself.

The broad idea is that his homeworld is a dangerous, highly rural place, where most of the urban centers are concentrated around resource extraction operations and associated natural deposits or facilities. He was raised out in the boonies as part of the sort of farmer-hunter countryside community, who developed and used a sort of powered exoskeleton along with high powered anti-tank style rifles to track and hunt local megafauna, both for threat control and consumption. These same people were then recruited for conflicts in the run up to the eventual Empire-Coalition war(s), serving in their exosuits in infantry roles before the day of the MAS. My guy in particular is a bit younger than some of the people who taught him this way of life, and subsequently served the UEE directly in a special recon sort of role - first in the exoskeleton, then in a superlight MAS, then eventually as a regular MAS pilot in either a light or medium MAS - before being selected for the 101st. I just wanna check if you're cool for me to write a bit about the culture and world he comes from.




Goodnight


The Chapel with Dr. Cassar






Dr. Cassar leaned forwards, resting his weight on his knees through his elbows, and gave his beard a pensive scratch as Angie spoke. As she grew closer to the conclusion, he nodded to himself, and gave a little look around the room as she finished.

After a moment, he held his hands out, palms up - as though he was physically holding out his reply.

"I really want to say this - there's nothing wrong with not being able to remember it. You know, when something bad happens to us there is a long list of things that our minds do to help us cope - sometimes, we forget the details, or the entire event, sometimes we analyse it and try to find the reasons behind everything, sometimes we just accept it, or even try to normalise it when it keeps happening to us. That doesn't say anything bad about you when you do it, because in the very same way that we all come from different worlds and had different normal lives before this, we all have different ways of dealing with the stress." He paused for a moment, letting the words disperse into the group, before continuing.

"The important thing is that we don't let the way we cope become harmful too - to us, or to the people we care about. There's no shame at all in needing people to talk to, there's also nothing wrong with not wanting to talk about it if you don't think it will help, and God knows there's nothing to criticise in just wanting to forget a bad thing and move on."

Another moment of pause, broken up by birdsong and the wind, as a breeze rose in crescendo through the bare branches of the woods outside.

"I think you're all really capable for having made it this far, you know. I really do think you've done well, all of you."

He sat back in the chair, regarding the group with deep thought and consideration as he took a biscuit from the tin and bit into it, chewing it over like it was something difficult he didn't know how to say.

"Which leads me on," he swallowed, "to what I really want to ask about. You guys did really well retrieving the medical supplies, but the fact that we also received a casualty from the mission makes me think that, ah, maybe some things didn't go so well." He gestured with the remaining half of his biscuit towards the military woman with the habitual frown, closely cropped hair, and ochre skin. "Audrey here has briefed me on the technical details, but I wanted to ask you how things went in person. What happened?"








Goodnight


The Chapel with Dr. Cassar






"Goodness." Cassar uttered as Ellen mentioned her sister. "I'm so sorry. I can understand why you moved, and especially when things weren't so good with your parents, there must not have been very much support. The travelling too - it can be very nerve-wracking to go to a new country where you don't speak the language natively, and then try to find work and new friends. I'm glad you made it through this eventful life of yours unharmed, and that you have some good memories with your sister to look back on when times are hard. My brother and I don't speak very much any more, and we haven't for a long time now, but I think about the time we spent together very often."

There was a moment after that, as Zephyr spoke, and Dr Cassar listened.

“Thank you, Zephyr.” Dr. Cassar nodded thoughtfully as the younger man finished telling his story.

“I’m sorry about your father. I’m very lucky that my father is still with us, although - understandably - I don’t get to speak with him very much right now. It’s very hard, dealing with the loss of a loved one - I think it’s good that you’ve found something both of you had a shared joy in, and that you’ve dedicated yourself to it in his memory.” Cassar paused for a moment. “It’s good to hear that meditating helped you with your anger. I’ve always found that anger can be a great obstacle to, well, to thinking straight, do you know what I mean? Of course, there are some things it is right to be angry about, but it’s also important to not let anger rule us.”

Dr. Cassar’s eyes lit up for a moment, his face lifted upwards with a great and momentous realisation.

“Oh! I think I’ve just remembered something.” He stood up, and went behind the desk-altar, opening one drawer and then the other, rifling through them until he eventually found what he was looking for.

“Aha!” he exclaimed, producing a burgundy tin of biscuits and cookies, holding it aloft like a trophy. “I knew there was something I was forgetting. Would anybody like a biscuit? There aren’t very many left, but they exist to be eaten, you know? I actually have been meaning to ask, as well, what is the ‘Awakening’ like?” He posited the question generally, as he headed back towards his seat and started passing biscuits out.









Goodnight


The Chapel with Dr. Cassar






With the general nods and murmurs of agreement, Dr. Cassar inclined his head in acknowledgement, and started to tell his story.

“I left my home in Malta to study in England when I was 17, and then I spent six years at medical school in London. I worked very hard here, and after I graduated and spent a couple more years doing my foundation training, I decided to follow my heart and in 1989 I joined Medecins Sans Fronteires - which you might know as Doctors without Borders - to do charitable work around the world. I had always believed that everybody in the world deserves to be healthy and happy, and I wanted to help with that.”

He cleared his throat for a moment, sitting back in his chair and reaching for a small water bottle he’d tucked underneath it. After a quick drink, he smiled and looked around the room again.

“Did you know that Doctors without Borders have an inflatable hospital? It’s a huge set of tents with inflatable structures in them, and it is always ready to be deployed anywhere in the world, all within twenty four hours of any disaster or crisis.”

The smile faded a bit.

“My first posting was not in this hospital, but I have seen it set up before - it even has a theatre for surgeries, it’s really very impressive. No, I actually went to work in Iraq, performing general medical duties, giving vaccines and helping with community health along with another group of volunteers. I was only a very junior doctor at the time, but performing eye care there was what made me want to become an eye doctor later. Eyes are very beautiful, especially under a slit lamp. Before I went out there, and while I was there, I was very nervous. I was worried that I would make mistakes, or that I would not be allowed to care for some people, because I was a man and Iraq was an increasingly conservative Muslim country at the time. I didn’t want to make people uncomfortable, but it’s also very important that pregnant women get medical care, and if my boss made me responsible for that sort of thing, I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

He took a deep breath in.

“I arrived in february. Five months into my duty there, I had gotten past most of these problems, and I was beginning to feel more at home. On the first day of August, we were having an clinic for expecting mothers, teaching them the benefits of breastfeeding, explaining what things to look out for if their babies became unwell, and telling them how they could expect labour to go - it was an evening class, so everybody was tired, a lot of the women there had been working hard during the day either at home, or at a job, but my colleague Joseph and I had worked a night shift just before and were expecting another one, so we had both woken up late and were feeling awake and alert. I…”

He paused for a moment, closing his mouth after a second when the words didn’t come.

“A small group of young men came in to the classroom, carrying AK-47s. They were furious with us, and believed that we were teaching their sisters and wives some sort of propaganda. Joseph saw them first, but I was closest to the door at the time, and I also had the best Arabic, so I turned and tried to tell them that they could not bring weapons into the hospital, and that they could not be here without permission. I knew that some of our students had very bad home lives, as well, so I was very scared that they might be hurt.”

He swallowed, keeping his composure with all the grace of a man who’d spoken about this before - probably in therapy.

“The leader of the group pointed his rifle at my head, and he told me that his country did not need our help, and that we were not welcome there. I told him that we weren’t doing anything wrong, and that medical care was very important for a baby, and then one of his friends shot me twice in the stomach, and I fell over.”

“I remember that there was a lot of noise, and that I kept praying that I wouldn’t die. ‘Please God, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, don’t let me die,’ I kept saying to myself in my head. We were only volunteers, there was no official MSF mission in Iraq at the time, so we had very limited resources, and I wasn’t sure if I would survive at all. Everybody was shouting and screaming, and I remember that the men who shot me kept looking down at me and yelling at my colleagues. Eventually, I fell unconscious, and I thought I had been killed. When I woke up it was in an Iraqi hospital, and on the news I saw that Saddam Hussein had invaded Kuwait. The first Gulf War had begun.”

He ran a hand through his hair, and relaxed at last, giving a heavy sigh as he looked at the assembled party.

“We left the country after that, and I spent more time in a hospital in London - the same one I had studied at, actually. I saw a therapist about what had happened to me, I eventually recovered from my injury, and I went into specialist training as an ophthalmology registrar after that.” He gave everyone a little smile. “Happily ever after.”








Goodnight




The Chapel






The chapel at Goodnight was a frequently overlooked space, being a fairly obscure and out of the way room that you could only get to through the disused and often-overgrown employee corridors hidden behind the wall panels of the commercial space - and the depression that the new mages were sinking into wasn’t exactly helping their motivation with regards to any religious obligations they might’ve had; if it wasn’t something they could do without climbing three flights of stairs and nearly getting lost in the maze behind Goodnight’s broken facade, it wasn’t something they were easily gonna do.

Of course, there were exceptions - indeed, now you were one of them.

Whether it was your idea or just something you got roped into, you found yourselves headed up towards the old manager’s office, replete with rotten blinds and greyed, decaying wood flooring, a dozen or so plastic chairs that were normally arranged like makeshift church pews, now rearranged in a small circle, crowding up the space of the room. The far side of the room - which was surprisingly big for a simple middle manager - held a great oaken desk, brought low by the ravages of time and finally repurposed as an altar, candles and all. A few prayer mats, rolled up and tucked away in the corner, completed the image.

A place for everyone to pray, left empty to gather dust in the face of the ultimate crisis of the faith.

When you got there, though, there were a couple of people already there.

Immediately visible because he took the back seat closest to the door was Brooks, arms folded and staring ahead. The glint of his pistol in its holster was a jarring contrast to the place of worship. Sat next to him was the military-esque woman from earlier. She looked over her shoulder at your approach - to have made it to the chapel before you she must have made a beeline from dealing with the unruly mage straight to the chapel. On the far side of the room sat Billy, talking quietly to a tall, skinny, darkly tanned bearded man holding what looked like a pocket Bible resting on his knee.

As you entered, the man with the copper skin laid a gentle hand on Billy's shoulder to shush him, and stood up to greet you.

"Hey hey, come in, take a seat. My name is Dr Chris Cassar. Don't worry, I'm not a psychiatrist." He added, with a soft smile and a faint accent. Spanish or Italian, maybe.

As he stood up, Billy stood up alongside him, looking between the Doctor and the newcomers with clear admiration for the former.

"I may have met some of you before, please forgive me if I've forgotten your names," he continued, taking a step forward to start shaking people's hands as they came through the door, "I'm one of the doctors here, so I see quite a lot of faces every day. We were very grateful for your work a fortnight ago, and I just wanted to thank you again, in person this time."




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