RP:Straight into It

Part of the Restoration of Lithrydel Arc

This is a Healer's Guild RP.

Summary: Thamalys finds himself into a rather tight corner, having to deal with an awfully wounded and positively raging young Elf. Luckily enough, Talyara answers the Avian’s plea for help: re-defining the concept of steep learning curve, the Witch not only is tasked with the soothing of the thrashing young creature, but she is also given needle and thread to mend a delicate neck wound. Skilful handiwork follows, while the merciless Thamalys devises a rather harsh scheme to remind the Neophyte a fundamental lesson any Healer should be acutely aware of…

Frostmaw: The Frosty Herb and Armor

Thamalys was seriously considering to knock his patient out. “Perhaps I should have just let you die, eh?” growled the Winged Beast, one hand holding needle and thread, the other one squarely pushing against the frankly quite battered chest of the young Elf presently thrashing on the wooden table. “You wish!” spat back the lad, a fountain of golden hair falling around his beautiful face - potentially the only part of him who did not feature a gaping wound. “I would have killed him, you know? Easily!” kept ranting the youngster, his pale complexion veering toward a worrying blueish tone already - he lost way too much blood already. “Yes, yes…” lied the Avian, meanwhile smashing the head of the elf on the wood and proceeding to deliver yet another stitch. Such a challenging task… the lad was literally covered in cuts; some of them fairly shallow, some others deep enough to expose soft tissues and more. The Blue found him lying in a pool of his own blood - the offender, whom the Healer identified as another young elf, run away from the Snowless Training Yards with the speed of a wounded deer. A girl, apparently, at the heart (pun intended) of the matter. It would have seemed that some amongst the young Frostmawian rangers would have still resorted to duels to settle such romantic debates. “What a waste…” muttered the Spellblade in an undertone, while taking stock of the situation. About three more wounds on the lad’s chest alone… one of which extended up till the neck, threatening to punctured the jugular. If only the young one would have stayed still… but he would not listen. “What a waste? What, me? How dare you! You have no idea who you’re messing with, you know? I…” and on the Elf went, an endless vomit of resentful insults. The Blue did not care much. If anything, he was quite impressed - the lad was dying, and yet he had managed to sustained that monologue for almost half an hour… but they - were - running out of time. The wooden slab below the Elf, kindly provided by Eleenin, was tainted with massive gushes of crimson, the blood of the lad dripping on the stony floor slowly but steadily. His rage did not help either, and the Blue could not let go of him for a second, thus preventing the Healer to devise a different strategy. To make things worse, the old Frost Giant had left to fetch some herbs - “utterly essentials”, he said - thus leaving Avian and Elf alone. This is why the Blue eventually kicked the tent hiding the innards of the shop open, with the very tip of his bare foot. Not much of a gap as a result, but it was enough. “Aaaaanyooonee?” howled the Avian at the top of his lungs, such a booming calling that even the bleeding Elf, for a instant only, ceased its lamentation. Without a shadow of a doubt the Blue’s plea would have reached quite a distance - and yet, not so many souls would have braved the prototypical snowstorm that was presently infuriating across the streets of Frostmaw… it sounded like a lost cause. Inside the Shaman’s realm, there it was quite a messy display. On the plus side, the room was rather large, with a tall ceiling and a monumental glass window at the end, usually letting in as much sunlight as possible, but in line with the mood of the Avian, the Frostmawian sky grim as hell on that day. As such, quite a few beeswax candles burned here and there, some dangerously close to both the endless collections of chemicals and herbs lined up in an awful disorder on the long workbench fencing the room, as well as to the many books and parchments crowding the tallest bookshelf one could have possibly imagined - it filled a whole side of the space. In the middle of the room stood the Blue, much of his tattooed skin covered by a long greyish tunic, marred with blood (and other less glamorous liquids…) and teared in multiple spots - bites? The knotty mass of his ivory dreadlocks was combed together into a massive ponytail - for a lack of better words - swaying across bare shoulder and silvery wings, the monumental extent of the latter neatly folded. Against the wall, a gigantic halberds and a few javelins. Two steps from those, the very head of the Elf, still thrashing about in a madly fit of painful rage. “By the Wind, I have no time for this…” complained to no one in particular the Winged Beast, by then almost on the verge of resorting to brute force to calm down the youngling.

Talyara was feeling elated as of late; not only had she been invited to join the Healer’s Guild but that her tincture of dandelion roots and blackberry brandy had successfully alleviated that harsh cold that had overcome many of the warriors at the fort. So much so that everyone was clamoring to know what was in the “Witch’s Brew” which is what the concoction had been dubbed. This had pleased the healers at the clinic and had successfully bolstered her own confidence. Unfortunately, this success of her tincture didn’t excuse her from more of the grunt work which included replenished the stock of herbs. So once more, Taly bundled herself up in her boots and cloak and hate and gloves and trudged out into the snow storm that ravaged the war city. It look her a bit longer than usual, what with the wind blowing the witch off course a bit. She suddenly halted when she heard an unusual sound coming from the direction of the herbal shop. Despite doing the smart thing and heading back to the fort she forges on and throws back fabric of the tent to reveal…a clearly injured young elf and a grumpy looking avian holding him down. “Hey!” Talyara yells at Thamalys, a scowl tugging down on the corners of her lips as she runs towards the lad’s side. “Are you okay?” Taly asks him in sylvan, brushing some of the blond locks away from his face. “What happened to you?” Then with a look over her shoulder at the avian she huffs. “What are you -doing- to him?!”

Thamalys had to conceded that to a just-arrived onlooker the situation may have appeared a tad bit dodgy. Nonetheless, his patience - if any - was running really quite thin by then. “He, is dying” flatly stated the Blue with close to zero emotion in his voice, much to the disarray of the Elf, the eyes of the latter burning with pure hate. “And I, am trying to avoid that, albeit I would have to confess I am very much tempted to facilitate his impeding doom… the idiot won’t stay still for the life of him, quite literally” continued the Winged Beast, sort of clarifying further his motivation by shifting his grip from the chest to the neck, so as to prevent the wound on the neck of the Eld to spread even further. Meanwhile, the Healer managed to get a glimpse of the newcomer. His cranium tilted slightly, his eyes narrowed a tiny bit. “Talyara, is it not? We met before, I believe. Sad times back then, and a dark day ahead of us now…” spoke the Blue with a hint of cruriosity. “why, Emilia herself very recently spoke rather highly of you… perhaps the Wind is playing with us all today… would you be willing to help? You will save this youngling a very much painful blow to the head…” inquired and commented the Spellblade, casting a rather disapproving gaze upon the Elf. The latter, on the other hand, just wouldn’t play along at all: “He is mad as hatter, he wants me dead. Kept stitching me for ages, smashed my head against everything in this room… please, oh please, help me out! I am doing just fine, I really am, I just want to leave - I have business to attend to! Please!” implored the young one, in sylvan, to the Witch, a masterfully crafted look of innocent disarray painted on that angelic face.

Talyara does not soften her expression when the avian cants his head to the side and utters her name. In fact, her brows furrow deeper. “Thamalys,” she repeats slowly recalling his name and giving her head a slightly nod of recognition. “Of course I’ll help!” she scoffs with a shake of her head, immediately pulling her hat off and freeing her abundance of chestnut curls before unclasping her cloak and tugging off her gloves. Turning back to the spell blade she wags her pointer finger in his direction. “You! Need better bedside manner! You can’t go -threatening- them just because they are being difficult! And you!” Taly turn to face the lad who is giving her his best, most innocent expression. “You need to relax,” she tells him in sylvan, gently touching his cheek. “I’m going to help him take care of you so you can get back to what you were doing, okay?” Talyara looks across his body as if assessing his injuries herself. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Under her breath, Taly would begin to whisper a calming spell which would hopefully ease the elf lad’s pain and fight. “You are peaceful, you are strong though the dark may seem so long. For day must follow every night, everything will be alright. Here you will be safe from harm, I call the Goddess to hold you in her arms.” The witch continues this chant and as the lad begins to share his tale, Thamalys might notice he is struggling less, the fight seemingly being leached from his body.

Thamalys canted his cranium, a few dreadlocks following. “Manners?” he asked with a genuinely surprised voice - or so he would have seemed. “What have manners have to do with life, and with death especially?” He blinked. Once - not a good omen, but in his Avian mind there was nothing unclear about how to proceed, and so he did. To be fair, he actually waited for the Witch to showcase her spells - he did remember a rather powerful magic running through those deceptively graceful features. The lad was not immune to any of that. Upon the very first of her words, the Blue could feel the fight largely abandoning the Elf, and as such the Healer took full advantage of that long-awaited break. “Now - this - is of use to me… please keep it up, would you?” acknowledged the Spellblade facing for an instant the chanting girl. On he went, working skilfully with those long, bony fingers, thread and needle dancing in an out the bleeding cuts. Where the depth of the wounds threatened to lead to infection, he sealed them with his ink, transforming in blazing blue fire the moment it left the skin of the Winged Beast. A sickening smell of burnt skin raised, to which the lad reacted badly. He was indeed trying to put together a meaningful recollection of the fact for the Witch - with scarce success; perhaps a concussion? He did not seem able to articulate beyond the hate for his opponent, and the absolute certainty he would have managed to find him and end him soon after. So much rage, even the craft of Talyara might have been put to some test indeed. “What… what is he doing to me? Make it… make it stop!” stuttered the young one, petrified by the sight of tongues of blue fire leashing out on his chest. At last, the wound of his neck only did remain. The Winged Beast turned his face, smothered with blood, to the Witch, while producing from the shelf nearby a fresh length of thread - and enveloping the needle in his right into a merry burst of azure flames. “He may live after all. Largely depending on… well, you. If you would…” mercilessly went the Blue, offering needle and thread to the probably bewildered Talyara. “Start from the part of the cut closest to the vein, minding not to puncture it. Can you stitch while you sing? I would love to see that…” casually noted the Healer, already - if the Witch would have actually accepted his impromptu offer to step up as in-house surgeon - stepping towards the wooden shelf to fetch a small collection of vials.

Talyara :: The spell worked in such a way that Talyara did not need to continuously utter the words to be affective. Somewhere along the way, the witch had taken up the lad’s hand, holding it in her soft one as she listens to him recount the story. “He is cauterizing your wounds,” she tells him with a small smile. “I carry similar ones myself,” she assures him with a smile before rolling the wrist of her free hand where blue flames begin to dance on her palm. She can tell he his becoming agitated again and quickly extinguishes her own fire in favor of picking up the chant once more. “I know Thamalys can be…rough around the edges but he is a good healer. Just relax…” she says before picking up the chant once more to alleviate some of his anxiety. Still, when the spell blade mentions that his survival relies most only -her- and hands over a length of thread, Taly blinks her doe-like emerald eyes in his direction. He wanted -her- to stitch this wound? She had stitched wounds before, of course, but never to this magnitude and severity. “I, uh, don’t you think…” she starts but he’s already moving away. Right. She couldn’t let the elf lad know that she had never done this before. “Okay, well, it looks like you’re stuff with me now,” she says with a smile, looking down into the young face. “Just keep very still, okay? I’m going to fix you right up.” Shaking her head out of her face she leans down closer and, with a steady breath, sticks the needle into the part closest to the vein just as Thamalys had suggested. “Why don’t you tell me about where you’re from? Sage? You don’t look like a high elf so I doubt Rynvale. Or perhaps your from a land away from here?” Before she could think on it too much the witch had already places several, perfect stitches in the wound.

Thamalys did not turn to witness the handiwork of the Witch - not yet. He did listen to her attempt to calm down the Elf, though, which the lad struggled a bit with, but that was a good thing, as it kept him busy. “Sage, yes. And Leji as well…” he was digging deeper now, weaving a tale of sorrow, a game of three which culminated only a few hours earlier into a bloodshed. The Blue ceased to pay attention; he did acknowledge the fact that Talyara managed where he failed - in calming the poor thing, that is. However, he did remain alien to those feeling: distractions, nothing more, to his Avian reasoning. One step to right, then, to pillage some more from the Shaman’s stashes - oh, he would have had to listen to some reprimand later on… one thing at the time. Eventually, the Spellblade turned, holding three vials of similar size - very small - and material - looked like glass - in his hands, and gently laying those down, one hand from the now fairly still head of the Elf. “You have skilled hands…” simply stated the Blue, carefully judging the work of the Witch. “Do not be afraid of using your magic in these cases - we can only rarely afford the luxury of proper antiseptics… while fire cleans all, and quickly. Now…” he would have continued, at this stage, most likely, the horrid wound being mostly taken care of, “… here are three flasks…” went on the Blue, pointing his index finger, right hand, toward the triple selection of the Shaman’s finest - or not. “One of these contain a fine hemostatic mixture of rare herbs… which is what this young one needs. The other two, rather lethal poisons, probably enough to kill a Frost Giant. Can you make a choice, Neophyte? If so, go ahead and feed it to him…” There was no sarcasm in the voice of the Blue. No hesitation, no merriment either - just the bare truth, and the horrible risk. Of the three flasks, from left to right: on the left, a rather viscous substance, blackish in colour, opaque, probably sticky. It would have smelled like rotten fish if opened. In the middle, a golden liquid, fluid and wavy, containing shards of what looked like glassy fragments. Smelled like musk and pine trees. On the right, a bright purple powder, finely grounded - smelled like vanilla.

Talyara in truth, does her best to ignore Thamalys as he prowls around the tent doing…goddess knows what. Truthfully, she felt a little thrown to the wolves with needed to address this mortal wound, on her own, after being in the guild for only a few days. But she wouldn’t complain, she was stubborn like that. “You can’t always rely on magic,” she counts to the spell blade as she continues her stitching. “There are some who are adverse to it and using it will cause more harm than good. I would like to be proficient in non-magical healing as well.” Taly finishes up with her stitching, finding the conversation having effectively distracted her from her nerves as well as the patient’s and turns towards the avians when he approaches with the vials. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” she says incredulously. Did this man want the child to die?! In truth, he might. It sounded like he wasn’t a good patient before she had arrived. With a scowl, Talyara grabs the vials, rather aggressively from Thamalys’s hand. First, she opens up the purple vial and sniffs at it reminds her of when she bakes, like vanilla. The second one, the gold hued one, is likewise opened and she is immediately reminded to the forest. Lastly, she takes up the viscous, black vial and stoppers it almost as soon as she gets a whiff. But which was the right concoction? The witch takes her bottom lip between her teeth and chews, examining the vials in her hands once more before holding up the gold one. “Pine essence restores health.”

Thamalys nodded, slowly. “It is very true - magic can and will betray you… conversely, though, non-magical healing is perhaps even more daunting a skill to master, as it does requires a massive amount of self-discipline. And confidence, and courage - but I see no lack of those two in you…” thus spoke the Avian, with some intent indeed. Not easily recognisable as a compliment, but the Witch may have gotten through his lines already - not much to be harvested in the Blue in terms of emotions, but that little that surfaces spoke of hope and pride. The Guild desperately needed talent, and while Lythridel had much to offer in that sense, the same could not be told with respect to integrity and commitment. And yet, Talyara simply press forward throughout that messy ordeal efficiently and with rare calm. As such, the Spellblade stepped forward, snatching - not really quite gently, in fact - the golden vial from her hands, nailing his solid blue eyes into those of the Witch. “Emilia rarely fails to judge talent when she sees it in somebody. I believe she may be right. However, where there is talent lies the ultimate bane of the Healers - the one part of us all who constantly nudges at our vanity, for the sake of pleasing ourselves, thus forgetting who we are truly supposed to help. Pride - which we are going to start fighting as of now, in fact…” continued the Blue, quickly putting the golden flask away, soon after followed by the purple powder. “What you held in your hand would have thorn this young creature to pieces from within, in a matter of seconds. Your guess was an excellent one, but non-magical healing is an exact science: either you know with extreme precision what you are dosing your patient with, or you are taking a lethal risk. Ask, Talyara - always. If you cannot… ah, well…” sighed the Winged Beast, a positively sad look painted on his face, “… you - will - have to take a guess on your own, knowing that the price to be paid for such a choice could live with you forever. But if you - can - ask instead… do. It took me… a long time… and a very painful lesson to be learned before I eventually managed to let go of my pride. My eagerness, my will to help as well. All of that is useless. We are Healers, and as such we shall deliver, with absolute precision and without fail - if we can. You’ll do the honour, then?” went on the Blue, offering the black gel to the Witch. If she would have gone ahead, and assuming the Elf would have let her, the bleeding would have massively reduced within seconds. But yes, that concoction not only smelled like rotten fish he tasted as such as well. The Winged Beast would have watched in silence, till the last drop would have gone, only to conclude, “… if you find that you can truly accept my words for what they are, then the Guild would have found a fresh talent - and of that, I would be grateful. If a part of you is raging against my lesson, that I would expect from you. If you feel that you will happily lying to me for the sake of climbing the Guild ranks… there is only pain down that road. You!” suddenly went the Avian addressing the Elf. "You may not be wishing to thank me, but you should probably say something to her, before I’ll bring you back to Sage… it is going to be a rough flight…” reckoned the Avian by getting a quick glimpse of the awful weather outside. “Perhaps we can rest a bit longer in here till…”

|| Eleenin || “By the Flippin’ Silvery Queen! Thamalys, what have you done in here? This is no butchery, Sven’s sake! And who’s going to pay for - that!” bellowed the old Shaman, eventually returning from his quest.

Thamalys shook his head. “You are late, Old One. Luckily enough, I was not to take care of this alone… but I am grateful for your help and the space as well. I shall send some gold, of that you may be certain”.

Talyara is very adept at making her face blank, keeping her expression void of emotion. It is how she composes herself then, when Thamalys rips the golden vial from her hand and begins his lecture on her inability to ask. Her first instinct is to become defensive, to prickle at the accusation that she was too proud to ask when in actuality it was a misunderstanding on her part. But the witch bites her tongue and merely accepts the more offensive vial and tips the thick, foul contents into the elf lad’s lips. “I know,” she coos consolingly to him, continuing to angle the glass so he is forced to drink the treatment. Talyara says nothing to Thamalys throughout the entire ordeal, even after Eleenin makes his reappearance and beings to chide the avian for the state of the tent. Silently, the witch reaches into her pocket and pulls out a pouch, heavy with coin. “This is should cover the damages and clean up. Oh, and I’ll need a few herbs for the clinic back at the fort.” She had become a regular at the Frosty Herb and the shaman would recognize the green-eyed witch by now. Finally, turning to Thamalys she dips her chin in a little bow. “I should have asked,” she concedes. “You’re right, non-magical healing is a science that I am only beginning to scratch the surface of…” By that point, a grumbling Eleenin had collected the appropriate herbs and handed the parcel over to Taly. “The fort has plenty of rooms for you both, you might want to wait out the storm.” Without bothering to clean off the blood that stained her clothes and hands, Talyara would begin to dress in her layers before moving towards the exit.

Thamalys appreciated, above everything else, the utter calm by which the emerald-eyed Neophyte managed to stay silent for one thing, and simply carrying on with the practicalities for another one. It had been a while since he felt such hope brewing into him. Meanwhile, the Elf would have muttered a stingy, if rather sincere, thank to the Witch, once more resorting to sylvan - a language the Avian never cared to learn too well. “I believe I will abuse of Eleenin’s hospitality for a bit longer…” pondered the Blue after having had a proper look at the young one, which breathing was still quite laboured. Despite the potion, he lost so much blood he could have used some food - the Shaman was already thinking about that, surely. “Talyara. Before you leave…” he went the Winged Beast, even taking the effort of bringing himself only a couple of steps away from the shadowy figure of the Witch. “Thank you - not many would have managed what you have accomplished today, from mending a wounded to embracing your own pride. This much I would say, and I would never use these words lightly: the Guild welcomes you - with its winding path of sorrow stretching ahead of you. And the certainty of not having to walk it alone. Till soon… ah, wait…” added the Avian, challenging the grumpy stare of the Shaman while stealing yet another glassy vial from the Old One’s collection - this one looked identical to the very same she dosed the Elf with. Was it really, though? “… for you. I am confident you’ll be able to list each and every of the seven ingredients contained in here. All of those, can be found in Emilia’s greenhouse - feel free to put yourself to the test anytime soon, chances are I will be around as well. Till soon, Witch…” not a single note of contempt, or derision within that labeling. No, a very rare emotion was engulfing the Blue by then - he would have had to talk to Emilia soon…

Talyara pauses in the doorway, her bloodied hand on the canvas of the tent as Thamalys’s words pull her up short. The witch turns to face the avian once more, her brow arched curiously as she waits for him to say his piece. At his gratitude her lips twitch into a ghost of a smirk and she lifts her shoulder in a singular fashion. “Thank you for throwing me in the deep end…” She reaches out to accept the vial of black liquid and slips it into her pocket. “I haven’t had homework in a long time. This should be run.” Taly’s emerald eyes land on the elf and she calls out to him. “Say thank you to Thamalys…he saved your life,” she tells him in sylvan, raising both brows at him when he makes a face. Begrudgingly, the lad turns to the spell blade and utters a quiet “thanks” before looking back up at the ceiling. “I’ll be seeing you soon,” Talyara says to the avian before slipping out into the snow.