Member
Dane
Yankee
Scrawl Banditta
mickilennial
Neziul
cosmiccowgirl
Ohm
Expendable
AnyaPeanutBaby
The first conflict has concluded.
Gather information before deciding how to proceed forward.
The. Unfortunate. Grim. Reaper Staring through the magnifying glass, Soren looked at the leech, spotting its sudden inflammation to already know the blood he fed it was not purified, and hence it would die, his cure having failed. He took off the specialized glasses, pitching the bridge of his nose. He had slept just an hour or two for a week now, and he was starting to feel the effects. The urgency of the illness had made him sacrifice rest time, but the compounding consequences were catching up to him. He thought he had started to hallucinate something from sleep deprivation the other night. He wasn’t even thirty yet, but his hairs had started graying over his time with the merchant’s family. It did not take long for his mind to wander from the matter of the consequences of his work on himself though, for escape was much sought after. Soren thus mused on if he could figure out how to cure greying hair, but then had to shake this pondering away. It was a distraction, for a life was at stake. Pushing himself upright from his workbench, Soren slowly made his way to the room of the patient. Soren had grown quite close to little Oskar over the days. Initially, it was just a way to make collecting samples simpler. If the boy was calm and distracted from the pain, then it would be much simpler to get what he needed. But with every moment he spent with the boy, he saw in him a mirror of himself. He was a voracious learner, and while Soren initially thought the boy’s enjoyment would be predicated wholly on hearing about Knights and dragons his preconception was overcome after the third meeting. He didn’t want to just hear about the battles, no! He wanted to hear about the laws of succession that made them happen and the economic background that let one side or the other have better arms and armour. Truth be told, Oskar was more intelligent than most adults he had met, even if this was admittedly something that could be heavily credited to the tutors his father had paid for. Yet this did not diminish the potential Soren saw in him. The child’s mind was a single spark, a spark that could light a whole intellectual fire. So it was sacred to Soren, more sacred than the ink of philosophers and prayers of priests that this child would live to make a better world the same way Soren had sought out to. Coming into the youth’s room, the physician smiled, tools at the ready. Frail, sickly, and already tired in the new day Oskar still bore a determined energy in him, coupled with a dutiful stoicism. He already adjusted his network of blankets and clothes to allow access to Soren’s efforts before the man could even get his tools. “And how are we feeling today, Master Oskar?” Soren began, impressed yet also grim at how the boy had already been accustomed to the pain of the scraping for skin flakes, then dried blood-crusts, and shortly after incisions to get fresh blood. “I have made peace.” Soren put the material in the appropriate vials, making carefully sure he had not contaminated them with a single speck of dust. Then he raised his head. “With what?” “Death, darkness, so on, so forth.” The physician paused. “Why do you say that?” “Because I will die.” Soren wasn’t exactly sure what to say. But then, it came to him. “Aye, so will I.” He smiled at the boy, who smiled back. “But not today.” the man continued. “Yet, on the matter of what happens upon death, I shall suggest a few treatises of the great minds on epistemology, eschatology, soteriology, and others. The outlanders your father trades with are idiots that don’t understand why wiping their arse is good, and thus sometimes forget to do so.” Soren was glad to hear childish laughter at the potty-humour, lightening the mood somewhat. “And I don’t believe a single thing about their foul superstition. But in our studied world we often call them heathens, at times even Godless. Whyfore? Well, I will leave that to your studies Master Oskar.” Soren smiled, clasping shut his case as he stood, turning to leave. “Wait!” the boy called out, and thus the Doctor stopped at the threshold of the exit, turning his head back. At about two meters in height his vantage point was great, and the pained affair of the child distracted him, but he had to focus. “I have something for you.” Oskar murmured, his pale face reddening slightly. Soren’s lips turned to a soft, confused pout, prompting the boy to go on. “Just before I got sick, father said I was too old for them. That I ought be rid of them.” The child coughed, motioning to a chest beside him. There were a variety of stuffed animals in there, similar in make to the bear at his bedside. “He would be rid of them, or pawning them off. But between the amber in the eyes, the enamel in the claws and horns, they’re a pretty penny. You complain much about how you haven’t enough coin for what you do, so at least take them for your pay. Father won’t notice them missing, or better yet would be glad. But they would be a handsome addition to your payment, father being as stingy as he is.” Merely smiling, Soren patted the boy’s hand. [color=#A0C46A"]Keep them. Instead, remember my name, such that you may return me a favour when I come back here far in the future.”[/color] He did not wait for a response, and so returned to his small cell. Work continued for hours, leeches fed the different samples, his different cures attempted on their multitudes, dozens of them perishing from either the corrupted blood he failed to cleanse or from the medicine more harmful than the very ailment it was meant to end. He had lost count of them in his head, the progression only counted by the scratches he had made on his tablet. But eventually a leech lived. He already prepared the next one, not immediately cognizant that this one had lived. But he quite literally fell over himself when he realized what he saw. Double, triple and quadruple checking that he truly had made it, Soren made sizeable portions of the salve and ran to the boy’s room, tripping twice before he made it in his exhausted and sleepless state. But just as the boy’s room came into view, he saw the lad’s father step out. Master Beorn as he was known heralded nothing good by being here. Soren stopped, mouth running with half-sleeping drool and eyes runny from the pain of the bright light. It was morning. Yes, it was morning. The bright sun of dawn shining in his vision, that had to explain the water running down his face from his eyes. “He’s gone.” Master Beorn announced. Soren’s eye twitched. “No.” he announced flatly. The door was locked, presumably for the boy’s dignity to not be violated being seen as such. Soren couldn’t open it on the first try, but on the fifth or tenth or perhaps further on he managed. He wasn’t an exceptionally strong man despite his height towering over most other males even of well-fed noble birth. But still somehow he found the might to break through the door, even if splinters made his skin bleed and a few bones were dislodged from their proper place in his skeleton. “He’s gone.” Master Beorn repeated, but Soren would not accept this. He had studied, he had practiced, he followed every manual and textbook and axiom and lecture. The Doctor worked to bring the boy’s heart back to working order, while applying to medicine. "He’s gone.” The man didn’t know if it was exhaustion from his work or some other effect, but he felt himself dropping to the ground, his head getting a sound crack on the bedside as he fell. Blood pooled around him, but he ignored it. It was just torn skin, less than a minute of labour to amend. What mattered was that Master Oskar was dead. Soren had promised him life, and yet here was death. “He’s gone.” Soren pushed himself upright again, feeling his face as wet as if he had plunged into a well. Blood, sweat, tears, yes all of it. He started at the boy, and even as the life was gone from him, he saw the lesions on his skin shrink from the balms he applied. It had worked. It had worked, but far too little and far too late. Again he pushed himself aright, shoulders heaving as he dripped those same blood sweat and tears on little Oskar. So many things he taught him. So much that millions would fail to ever grasp, gone to the wind as they inhabited a corpse now. Soren fell down a second time, but at least he had the dignity to catch himself, and push himself aright. Master Beorn at least seemed ot have some sympathy. “He’s gone.” he said yet again. “What?” Soren, managed, eyes shut tight as if he was trying to dislodge an errant eyelash. “He’s gone.” “Yes. I know.” Soren muttered. It finally set in. He had failed. For all his reading and studying, it was for naught. The boy was dead because the man who prided himself so much on his learning hadn’t learned enough. The child was dead, and it was his fault. Blood ran, now not from the wound on his forehead but from his palm. He had forgotten to clip his nails, and so in clenching a fist tight enough to crush stone a trickle of crimson fluid poured unto fine stone. He was wearing fine leather gloves, but they dug through it well enough to pierce every layer and reach bone. “Fuck.” was what he managed, falling to a knee. Mere pride pushed him back to both feet. “He’s gone.” This time, the mantra was accompanied with action. A hand was extended with a pouch. Gold. Soren’s payment. The Chirurgeon extended his palm to receive it absent-mindedly, but he almost fell to the ground a second time. It wasn’t just gold coins there. Those were mere copper plated with gold, no this was far too heavy. He was paid with real gold. Soren was shocked. He had failed, the boy they had both come to love was dead. Yet his hand carried enough to live comfortably forever after. “W-what?” was all he managed, his vision blurring from the liquids in his pupils confusing him at the same time as fatigue started to push him out of consciousness. “You promised a cure. You made one, much as I wished you would have made it sooner. But you also brought a light back into his eyes. He was happy with you, much as I never thought the matters of your discussion were appropriate. But perhaps that is another failing on my part, that you grew closer to him than I could have.” Soren thought for a moment. But…. “He’s gone.” “I know.” the merchant replied, his finely waxed mustache trembling as if a metronome keeping exceptionally fast time. He wanted to cry and scream and wail but decades of performative stoicism had kept him from such a display. “Now leave. Attend to another father. Be more hasty this time, Sir Soren.” The Doctor winced. Sir. Had he been ennobled? He didn’t particularly care, he was born a bastard to a nobleman and this man giving him a title out of some sentimentality for his son changed nothing. Perhaps he was too principled, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t think straight now, falling back on habit was sensible. “He’s gone.” Beorn yet again said. “Take your things, and go. But if you wish a home here, it is yours. Just make sure no father must suffer as I have.” Beorn declared, before slamming shut the remains of the door that Soren smashed open. The Physician didn’t quite know how he acquired it, but in his hands he had the child’s basket. Every toy he loved. Every careful inscription of what each animal symbolized, of its name and the role it played in his mind games that Soren never learned. The boy wanted to be strong, to show himself smart and mature for this sudden new guest in his life. Soren didn’t care, he wanted Oskar to be himself. Yet by his presence, he stopped the youth from enjoying the last few moments of innocence in his life. Beorn knew this. He knew Soren robbed the child of childhood. But the deal was that in exchange for the childhood so thoroughly crushed, Soren could bring a boy a promised life as a man. Soren hadn’t carried out that end of his promise. He must have passed out somewhere along the way, but he was along the road of the town, feeling slightly rested. Either way, the town had a chapter-house of the physician’s association, and he realized he was on its doorstep, a teenage aide having asked him some stupid question. “...Just read it.” was all he offered, his memory not even registering what was said before. Then he felt a sudden weight, and looked down. “And make sure this gets to the town’s orphanage.” He added, placing a basket on the counter for the acne-riddle teenager. “Here’s a something to keep you honest.” Soren continued, slamming the pouch of gold before the teen, the weight of the coin threatening to snap off the hinge of the counter his papers were on. “He’s gone.” Soren murmured, getting to his cart and driving off. “He’ gone.” he repeated, falling into proper sleep. But no, it would evade him, with nightmares for weeks to come. Young Oskar had been glad for his physician’s company, Soren mused. He had failed to save the boy’s life, but perhaps at least he salvaged the last moments. | . |  Years ago, Soren tends to the ailing child of a wealthy merchant. ................................................................. |
Planning Ahead @Yankee@xAlter@13org@Theyra@Taka@Exit@Andreyich ” 'Right, let's cool with th' hostilities while we get our bearings 'nd figure out what th' plan moving forward's going ta be.” Brig huffed before looking first to Aslan, nodding to the man's explanation of the name. ”S'elvish.. probably. I don't think he 'd mind that name so let's go with that. Keep it fresh in his mind 'f you can, so he can remember.” She nods before returning her attention to the duo of outlanders she met in the snow bank. The remnant of Fenris stood somewhat centered amongst most of the strangers and familiar faces. These first knights didn't put up much of a fight, but what Sieg said about the ever increasing influx of western infidels in the north spelled worse things for the future. Her father had been talking to the dwarves and the Haldrian forces along the border for some time, but she had expected it was due to a future conflict. Now she was starting to wonder if that Kurt always warned about had started without them knowing about it, or worse, perhaps her father knew and just decided to withhold that information for her own safety. It soured the taste in her mouth and whether she liked it or not, created a unsettled and twisted expression upon her face. "You seem t’ be th’ warrior of th' two of ya’ … what’re you doing out here?” ”T- Uh… We were headed to Blackpebble in the hopes of acquiring some… protection, although it seems you may have absconded with the lot of them, or the best of them. May I ask why you are out here with the… ‘tough and tumble’ as it were?” We’re on our way t’ the dwarven outpost ‘long Haldr’s border. Some things ‘ve happened back in Stoncrowm, so ‘m taking these men ‘nd women with me for protection.” Brig’s gaze remained on the blue-haired stranger with squinted eyes glazing over with scrutiny. None of the folks she traveled with had been too badly wounded, the worst of them would be Eir and she seemed to be walking it off quite well. "These sellswords ‘re not for sale, so ‘less you plan coming ‘long for the journey East?.. ye’d be better off settling down in Blackpebble.” ”Then perhaps that is bes-” ”We’ll join you,” Aviti interjected. Illaria immediately turned to her companion alarmed. ”What?” ”If you’ll have us,” Aviti added, ignoring Illaria’s protests altogether. Illari’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as her soul left her body. Or she died and came back. At this point Illaria could not tell which. Aviti, however, was nurturing a spark in her eyes, one that brightened at any chance to go anywhere but ‘home’. An opportunity to travel further East, further than she had ever gone before, was not one she was like to pass on. ”Eh— ‘ts not about whether we’ll have ya’ or not. We seem t’ have marks on our heads, so while a’ do intend t’ lay low.. most of our interactions with southern or western knights ‘ll probably turn out like this.” ”That won’t be a problem,” Aviti said, smiling something prideful. ”Illaria will lend you her skills with the blade.” ”Yes, Lady Avi. Of course I will,” Illaria remarked quietly, sarcastically. Brig’s attention then settled comfortably upon Aviti. An arched brow pinned up along her forehead as she stepped past familiar and unfamiliar allies until the crunch of snow came to a halt and she looked to the stranger with a stiff, flat-lipped expression. Aviti held the same smile, welcoming Brigitte’s approach, but Illaria stiffened up. She made no moves, however. ”Neither of ya’ seem to be mercenaries, where ‘re you from?.. what’s your purpose here in the North? And if ‘ts to seek aid from Fenris.. you’re goin’ to be disappointed.”” The young woman points out a gloved index finger towards Aviti, specifically towards the top of her head. ”And what’s with th’ fucking horns?” Illaria’s eyes closed. Here was the moment she feared come crashing down on them like the angry waves of the Western shores. She could only hope they were ready. “A birth defect, unfortunately,” Aviti said, speaking first for herself. ”For what reason I know not, but I promise you, it is nothing sinister. But it does make travel rather difficult. People tend to cut first and never bother to ask the ‘what’ or the ‘why’. Those less brave at least.” Aviti eyed a woman who had dared themselves to approach so strange a person, spurned by curiosity, she was sure, rather than a need to remove an unknowable. She could see no fear in Brigitte’s eyes. No uncertainty or repulsion. In fact, when they were buried together in the snow, it was more of the same. Only a trace of excitement or a level of bloodlust that was measured at the time. Exact. It was as Ilaria and Brigitte herself had said earlier. ”Those less than dangerous.” Illaria was next to speak. ”We have been travelling the lands, taking inspiration where we can in the hopes of… well… Lady Avi here is… a cook,” Illaria was a bit hesitant but Aviti began nodding gleefully. ”I’m just here to make sure she does not meet her end.” ” S’a weird birth defect, but ‘ts not like I haven’t seen worse. There’s those fuckers witha— whatcha call it, with no nose, sicky skin ‘nd all that. Nightrot I think ‘ts called?” Brig snorted in disgust as she visualized a man that didn’t look too different from the puppeted southern man encased in the north knight’s armor. Horns wasn’t something she’d seen before, but then again, she sparsely left the northern territories even when things were calm. Perhaps some whimsy tribe had more folk like Aviti? ”A cook, and their escort.” A sneer formed, and a wry facsimile grin stretched across her chapped lips. She wasn’t buying what was being told to her, but the pair was not a threat, and time was of the essence. They didn’t know if another patrol of knights were coming, nor did they know if the entire eastern outpost was taken by Luxu forces. The candor of wiry doubt and judgment melted away, softening Brig’s features as she looked through the forest’s path where it serpentined away from the road but still trailer east. ”Whatever th’ case may be, we need t’ keep moving. And furthermore w’ need to decide if we’re keeping on th’ road or tucking tail into Weald.” ” Brig turned her attention back towards the group of compatriots that gathered around the puppet's corpse on the ground. She pondered what choice to make, whether safety or swiftness would be the better option for a growing group of wayward vagabonds. The thought of perhaps acquiring matching tabards to masquerade as small privately owned army of miscreants and hedge knights crossed her mind ... but that wouldn't really be worth the effort or aid any more than surface level camouflage. Finally she'd make up her mind. ”Holes! I'll help, but don't make 'm pretty.. deep enough that th' carrions won't find 'em. Scrape 'em clean of useful shit and then we need t' start moving. Once they 're all in th' ground we're going t' take to th' forests. We'll keep th' same general path but I'd like t' have Eir and Aslan scout 'head for us! Aslan can take th' hound too.. check for tracks, no information 's useless." "Last thing 'fore I forget. If th' Fenris Forward Camp 's taken by Luxun Knights, 'twould be in our best interest t' take it back. So prepare yourselves for somethin' less one-sided t' happen in a few days.” | . |  Eastruin Road Noon Meet & Greet Arguments Someone should secure the unconscious Goldtooth and prep him for Interrogation ................................................................. |
