ShwiggityShwah — Roleplayer Guild

@Athol

A continuation of their conversation, just before their dinner.

She didn't use Fire Dust, yet seemed to have a very keen knowledge of its capabilities.  Fire Dust was more than a propellant, it was an incendiary, burning hot and bright like oil in a moment in a fireball.  It was the filler of his Garda Eggs, his fire bombs.  This is something Pox took notice of as he nodded his head to her.  But while she spoke, he got closer and crouched down, a hand nestling under his mask as he just stared at her rifle, motionless for a second as he tried to intuitively figure out the make and mechanisms.  While he was no blacksmith, he did have knowledge of cause, reaction, and effect.  He knew there was a projectile, a bullet.  So there had to be a powder catridge and a bullet in a chamber.  The hammer strikes into the breech, igniting the powder.  Rifle goes boom.

"You're definitely right about that.  Fire Dust burns hot enough to melt wrought iron at those temperatures.  But with steel?  I don't think its something that sophisticated."  He thought aloud, his hand motioning with a index finger extended as if getting an idea. "Crazy idea, but if we had a chance to get another one of these things, we could widen the barrel, line the interior with steel, or even just a sheet of tungsten molded to the interior.  The chamber there could be filled with pouches of Fire Dust, and technically if ignited, all the fire should come out the other end.  It wouldn't go very far, but just imagine, you have to get up close to a crowd.  WHOOOM!"  He expanded his hands in the motion.  "Suddenly a ball of fire right in their face.  Great for clearing a room."

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Another two doses of Ice Breath coursed through the Apothecaries coat, offering a slight breeze to those behind him (too bad he was mostly in the back of the group)  He continued his usual duties, seeing that people drank their water and pitched their shades during rest, and bundled up in the dry cold Desert Nights.  Thankfully despite being such a stickler for regular help, his usual mannerisms didnt make him as annoying as one probably should for such minor things from a band of hardened warriors.  Regardless, he would often put a syringe into a port on his arm during their travels.  This was for the pain, and to keep up considering the weight he had to carry.  Everything changed when the tomb came into sight.

Pox then stopped talking, probably for the first time in two days, taking his position in the center of them, swiveling his head back and forth to keep everyone in view.  He unbuckled his pouches, vials and darts and syringes now coming into view for easy access as he unhooked and slung his crossbow into his craddling hands.  A jar at his hip opened on its on, Pox taking a bolt and sticking its head into the slimy puddy before setting it into the crux of the bow, and pulling on the lever to set the tension.  They were ready and then moved in, Pox being out of view before the majority stepped through the threshold.

The scene made the doctor lower his weapon slightly.  "By the Father's Mercy..." he said, a bit aghast at the scene.  He ran forward, going to the nearest intact body, but he knew that only death greeted them.  It was a massacre, and he felt a pang in his hearth.  "My lord Creator."  He put a closed fist to his forehead in prayer.  "Your children rest, wake them in brighter days."  He snapped out of it as he heard his name.  He looked back to the corpse, grabbing his glove and pulling it tighter.  "Even the dead can tell secrets."

Pox kneeled, laying his hands over the wounds of one of the fallen, then moving to another, unstrapping his kit from his belt, probes and scalpels, rubbing stones, and magnifying glasses, all came to him in a whirl before digging into the corpse without hesitation.  He seemed to move so fast, like his instruments were moving on there own to measure angles and gather samples.  He poked at holes, took out arrows and pulled at the skin.  He spent alot of attention on the rubbing stone, dropping other liquids and tracing the refuse with a knife to study its smears.  He looked very closely at one before coming to his diagnosis.

@RoccanIronclad

  "Hes right."  Pox claimed, wiping down a scalpel as he looked back to the group following Jenramo statement.  "Long curved blades made these wounds.  Falx Swords maybe.  Curved inward to catch and cleave limbs and hook into flesh.   And the wielders used them well.  Some of these blows took significant strength.  More than a green soldier could manage in pitched desert battle.  And it takes quite something to pierce stone, never mind the man before it.  More bad news.  These arrow points and thrown spears are tipped in poison. Considering the region, its no doubt cobra venom, most likely a refined version from the Duneshadow Cobra.  Its a postsynaptic neurotoxin that spread rapidly in its victim's bloodstream, causing respiratory failure and, eventually, death.  Good news is, its not a supernatural strain, so I can treat it pretty regularly, but I wouldn't let it go for too long, otherwise your heightened heart rate will spread the poison even faster.  You'll get weak, short of breath, and delirious before falling over, at which point poison would be the least of your problems if the battle gets close."  

He looked back to the dead. "Effective tactic to poison the enemy first before moving in.  The arrows wouldn't guarantee to kill through the armor, but most assuredly could pierce it partially enough to wound.  Poor souls were fighting uphill practically from the start.  Regardless, no sign of the enemy.  Any of their casualties were probably taken away.  If there were any.  I'll keep looking though."
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Good Diet, Sleep, Excercise, and Leeches

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