RP:The Ice Devil is Armed
Part of the The Ice Plague Cometh Arc
Frost Chilled Basement
Synopsis: Josleen goes looking for Ezekiel after his disappearing act and finds him in the ruins, as expected. Unbeknownst to her, she was followed by an Ice Devil. Ezekiel manages to teleport them to safety, but at a high price: his arm. Josleen manages to cauterize the wound through song much to her own surprise, but that alone won’t be enough. Shamans tend more professionally to Ezekiel.
Ezekiel found the eerie solitude of the basement relaxing, oddly enough. It was his safe, quiet little retreat he could head to when feeling stressed, or needed sleep. By needing sleep, he really meant by collapsing on the spot, often times pushing his body to extremes by sheer exhaustion. This time though, he was simply returning from the barracks that he chose not to take. He didn't have the heart to tell either of the two no, to their offered help, but nor did he feel comfortable in the room. So he took a day to travel back to where he slept best, home. Off to one corner of the massive basement, a fire burned. The mage fire that burned never died, and never consumed the wood it clung to, a little gift from the mage's tower in Xailous. There were a few other items: a roll of blankets laid out, several books, blueprints, tools, parts, and crates littered the surrounding flame, but extended no where past its light into the darkness. He was using about one tenth of the space, really. It wasn't luxury, but it was suitable for the solitude-seeking mage. He sat tinkering with something on a nearby crate.
Above Ezekiel, someone’s light footsteps crunched the freshly fallen snow. It took two nights before Josleen realized that Ezekiel wasn’t ‘probably out on errands’ or ‘went for a walk’ or ‘tinkering in some lab somewhere,’’ but truly gone. She can’t say his disappearing act surprises her, but the light sting she felt when she realized he was gone did surprise her. “Ezekiel!” she whispers, her voice directed away from the basement. Bad beasts and sleepy spirits lurk these ruined towers and she isn’t eager to rouse them. “Ezekiel, it’s me!” Footsteps patter closer to the house, but without speed or confidence. She has no clue where he is.
Ezekiel didn't hear her, her whispers were lost in the howling winds blowing past the entrance to the stairs. The ferret did, in all his mechanical scrappy goodness. He popped its head out of a crate, tiny azure eyes glowing brightly. He raised an eyebrow at its sudden show of interest and watched as it bound across the basement floor towards the stairs. The toy he'd been tinkering with was put down and the blanket he hid under laid back. Someone was here. Quickly, he'd stuff his feet into untied boots and grab his coat before hurrying up the stairs to intercept the artificial creature before it slipped outside. It may not have been aware of the dangers lurking past those steps, but Ezekiel was. He peeked around the entrance carefully, goggles pulled low over his eyes to aid him in the dimly lit area. "Jos.. Josleen?" He whispered back, raising an eyebrow from under his left lens. "Hey! Josleen," he whispered louder, trying to get her attention in the same manner she'd been using to get his.
The howling wind complicates communication for Josleen as well, but not nearly as effectively as her ear muffs. When Ezekiel surfaces, she stands several feet away with her back turned towards him. His whispered calls fail to pierce her muffs, but in her search for the man, the bard scans the area of her own accord. She turns back towards the ruined house and to her horror finds a gangly creature with round, protruding, shiny eyes, and an unkempt mane. Josleen let’s out a reflexive yelp, stumbling away from Ezekiel and falling backwards, her hands catching her before the ice bruises her tailbone. “Ezekiel!” she hisses. “Why are you sneaking up on me?” She pushes back onto her feet and bats snow off her many layers. Her voice remains hushed as she approaches him, her expression mildly annoyed. “Scared me half to death. You know they say an illusionist in the tower in Xalious made himself so ugly that when he looked in the mirror his heart popped?” A completely unsubstantiated but well circulated rumor that’s as old as the mage’s guild. It’s been proven false, but since when do rumors die in the face of fact? Her expression softens a shade; no harm no foul, just a slightly bruised ego. “What’s with the goggles? No, forget that, first, why are you back out here? You’re going to catch pneumonia and die.” Suddenly, the clockwork ferret pops up into her periphery. The easily startled half-elf jumps in her skin for a second time, her foot popping out in a punt towards the ferret before she even has a good look at it. Poor ferret is sent careening towards a crumbled stone. “WHAT IS THAT THING?! EZEKIEL!” She darts behind him, her newly elected human shield. So much for keeping a low profile. Her stare darts over Ezekiel’s shoulder in the direction of the ejected mystery critter.
Ezekiel was more startled by the woman's terrified reaction, yelping in retort as he flailed and stumbled backwards into the not-so-soft snow. It had been packed into ice due to his constant coming and going, but when the two seemed to finally calm their nerves, he'd rise back to his feet. He was looking more scraggly than ever: his hair was out of control, his stubble was on the verge of becoming a beard, instead of just a five o' clock shadow, and his undershirt was half unbuttoned. He wore no belt, and his top most button was undone, and the shoes he stood in were untied, the tongue folded out as if it had been dramatically shot and left to die in the arms of useless shoelaces. All in all, it looked like he'd just woke up. He was about to answer her too but again, he flinched and covered his face when she screamed, punting the ferret with enough force to put a dent in its side. The creature though, sneaky as it was, curled up into an armadillo of a ball before bouncing off the stone. It unfurled in the snow, shook the snow off its body and scurried back down the stairs. "Hey hey.. stop, no n-" he paused to turn his head, following the creature's airborne adventure. He cringed, "It's ok.. it's mine- Hey, come back here!" He left her standing there while ducking back down into the stairs, chasing after the frightened creature. If she followed, she'd find him knelt on that pile of blankets.
Josleen is usually not this jumpy, but she’s in Ice Devil country. Eliason put The Fear in this one. Everything beyond the gates WILL kill you. But she came across something that apparently won’t kill her -- the one exception to Eliason’s over protective rule? Although she no longer fears for her life, the ferret’s shiny hard body leaves her stunned. She’s never seen a self-propelled automated toy. She’s come across wind-up toys that chatter for a few seconds, sure, but nothing that can compare to a robot. She follows Ezekiel into the basement, trusting his ease as indication that it is safe down here. The bard feels horrible, her shoulders slumping in shame evidence that much. “...I’m so sorry… I didn’t know.” She joins Ezekiel at the grungy blanket, politely refraining from commenting on the rank bachelor smell that wafts from the man and his sheets.
Ezekiel demanded a little bit more a chance than that. The blanket was hardly grungy, it was a quilt borrowed from a friend, hands stitched with love, not stank. And he himself, just because he looked the part, didn't mean he smelled it. Mostly. Ok, so he might have passed gas a few times down here, but who doesn't when they know they're in the privacy of their own home? But all jokes aside, he'd managed to take a bladder of fresh water, rationed out by the guards since the lake had been poisoned. He may have been a grungy looking insomniac, but he was mindful about personal hygiene. "It's fine, I can fix it- what are you doing out here?" He seemed comfortable with wanting to chew her out, but when the time came to show it, he backed out. Fitting. "How long have you been out there? Does anyone know?" He dug the ferret out of the crate it hid in, and let it unfold in his lap. It had a silvery-bronze look to it, plates of thin metal covered a complex body of inner workings, all entirely composed up of clockwork mechanics. He just tipped its tiny head at Josleen.
Josleen is still prejudice against other people’s sheets and bachelor abodes. And let’s not pretend farting is the only thing people do in private, solitary settings. Though in Ezekiel’s case, who knows! The man certainly isn’t like most. And while we’re exploring the mysteries of private living spaces, why do pillows get that light yellow stain? Is that from natural oils in our hair? And why is it that the yellow stain washes out of pillowcases, but not the pillow itself? Mysteries! “I came looking for you…” She studies the ferret, his cute artificial behavior warming her heart. “No one knows I’m here.” Beat. “Does it have a name? It’s kind of cute.” Fingers wiggle in response to the tiny nodded greeting.
Ezekiel relinquishes his hold on the ferret to let it does its own exploring. For being kicked across the air, it didn't seem to harbor any grudges, only that it ran from potential danger, but no longer saw Josleen as one. It crawled forward, stopped- looked at her with a head tip -then crawled towards her more. It stopped at the foot, eying it suspiciously before laying a single paw on it as if to say, 'Claimed'. "Sorry, I mean, for not taking the offered room. I," again with the back of the neck, let it go Eze, "I didn't feel comfortable saying no. Besides, I have more than enough here." He started to tidy himself up somewhat, figuring company was the only acceptable reason. "You.. can stay if you would like? It's.. eh. Probably not, yeah." He warmed his hands by the fire. Ezekiel says, "It doesn't have one. Never gave it a name." He shrugged.
Josleen assumes the ferret is happy-go-lucky because its clockwork permits no other behavior. She accepts the ferret is self-propelled, but self-possessed? That’s a level of witchcraft beyond Josleen’s unfocused imagination at present. As such, she feels no need to continue engaging it or reassuring it that it is safe. It’s a neat toy. It does what its gears tell it to do, nothing more as far as she is concerned. Josleen mimics Ezekiel, warming her hands as well. “Well…,” her tone stays gentle, “I wish you had. Eli doesn’t know you’re gone yet, but he may be a bit miffed when he finds out.” She preemptively shakes her head to any hemming and hawing. “I’ll deal with it. It’s fine.” Her eyes roams the basement’s walls and ceiling. “This doesn’t seem structurally sound.” Between planks she checks for mold.
Ezekiel created that ferret years ago, how it actually worked with his magic, he didn't know. If she were to look carefully, Josleen might see the azure ball of swirling energy, peeking out from between the plates around its metal ribs. It was the same azure light that shown in its eyes, the same energy Ezekiel had infused it with to give it life. It may have been clockwork, but it moved entirely on its own will; he had given a lifeless object that. "You know that only means I'll be more hesitant about going back to face him. I have a feeling he doesn't care much for me anyways." His tone was quiet and unsure, as always with the insecure mage. "It works, I haven't had trouble here yet. Even the ghosts keep to-" he caught himself, pausing mid sentence as if having spilled the beans to a massive secret he wasn't suppose to share. Only, it wasn't a secret, it was something Josleen probably didn't want to hear right about now.
Josleen dismisses Ezekiel’s concern with her easy words, unsupported by anything Eliason has ever said or done. Indeed, the room was granted to Ezekiel mostly as a favor to her, unrelated to the recipient. “He likes you.” The words ring hollow. She follows up with meatier comfort. “At the very least he doesn’t actively dislike you.” These words ring more true. Hooray for not being on the naughty list? She freezes mid-plank inspection at the word ‘ghosts’. Her eyes roll towards Ezekiel, but her head stays frigid. Who knows why people react this way to news of hauntings. Is there some mass-conscious belief that ghosts can only see you if you move (anachronistic aside: like the T-Rex in Jurassic Park)? “I knew! this place was haunted,” she hisses. One finger jerks up towards the ceiling. “That’s where Eliason found me, and the entire time I was hiding in the ruins, I knew there were ghosts. I knew it!” Ferocity edges into her hiss, not directed at Ezekiel, but at those sneaky ghosts. She’s certainly uncomfortable with the idea of ghosts, but real fear doesn’t infect her. Whatever she’s grown to know about these ghosts, it doesn’t inspire her survival instinct to action. She’s just a couple deep breaths behind Ezekiel’s comfort with the ghosts. Eventually her body relaxes and she nears the mage and fire once more. “My dormitory in the Cenril Music Academy was haunted. They say a tuba player blew out her lungs. Every Thursday at 3am you could hear someone practicing scales on a tuba, then suddenly. PPHHEEUUNNG!” She poorly imitates the sound of a dying tuba note. “Her lung goes!” Rumors, stories, urban legends, myths, Josleen is a storyteller at heart and she’s always ready to spin a tale. “No one ever believed me, but I saw her once on the secondary stage. Just sitting there, staring at the audience. She looked real sad too. I think she just wants to perform.”
Ezekiel flinched at the imitated sound of a dying tuba player, never thinking he'd be in a situation where that would be a thing. Guess there was first time for everything; that worried him. "I think they're ghosts, at least.. I see them, as if they were here, but" he paused to point where one passed. Ezekiel saw things others didn't, mostly traces of magic and magic based auras. He saw them like tracers, as if he were tripping on LSD and chasing after a mile long glow stick that hadn't traveled no more than a couple feet. He saw them, studied them, followed them. They led him to interesting people, some aware of their magical potential, others not. It was how he found Frostmaw and more importantly, the battery that changed his life. He kept comments about Josleen's color to himself, but the ghosts, they were beings of energy, silhouette's of creatures or people that had once been. "Look there- see anything? Hurry hurry- no, it's gone. Oh! There, see it?" He was trying to find one that would sit still, but for some reason they were avoiding him; further inspection showed they weren't avoiding him, but the two as a whole. Ezekiel started to get to his feet, a chill ran down his spine. They were all fleeing. "Where are they.. did you do anything?" His hand slowly dropped to his side and Josleen's answer, if she gave him one, went unheard. His eyes were fixed on the top of the staircase, his heart stopped. "Josleen.." he whispered.
Josleen does not see ghosts as if they are here, and thus his confession sends a chill down her spine. It proves beyond a certainly of a doubt that the supernatural is with them. However, she is no stranger to tales of mediums, psychics, and the like. She takes the news as casually as possible, forcing a thin grin. “That’s a talent!” she says politely. Ezekiel may notice a thin, feathery tether of golden light extending from Josleen’s chest out towards Frostmaw. It moves every once in awhile, as if something on the end of this spiritual leash moves as well. He may have seen it between Eliason and Josleen in the East Hall a couple days ago. The glow is brighter when they are apart, as they are now, so it is possible it was too faint to see when they were beside each other. As far as Josleen’s magical aura, it oscillates. It isn’t something cultivated, but she has some potency innately, albeit weak. Her attention darts behind Ezekiel’s exclamations, but she sees nothing. “Where? I don’t think I can see ghosts!” His sudden focus behind her causes her to still as well. The thrill of a haunted game excites her, and she grins wildly at Ezekiel. “What do you see?” The severity of his stair quickly snuffs out her joy. “...What?” Like a startled hare, she begins to turn her chin over shoulder to see what lurks behind her.
Ezekiel had noticed the tether between the two, both bard and paladin, but chose to keep it to himself. Telling people you saw strange colors leaking from them never ended well. Too many times has he been told he needed to sleep again, or that he was on drugs. Sometimes, he wanted to believe them, at least it would be a logical explanation. The tether between the two was more the reason he chose to end their meeting so quickly, too. He felt strange enough around people, he didn't need to be a third wheel, supernatural or not. But back to the situation at hand. Ezekiel hadn't seen the creatures that attacked, he'd only heard of them. His only run in with anything of this nature, was the ice he'd shattered the day he found the bard. "That-" He pointed again, much like he did with the ghosts. Unlike the ghosts, she could see this one almost as plain as day. The winds that whipped and howled out side grew, pushing the layer of frost and snow at the top of the stairs, downwards towards the two and his hidden place of rest. It wasn't quite the sneaky assault they were known for, but flicking in and out of existence was the tall, gaunt shape of none other than an Ice Devil. As the winds changed, the fire flickered, threatening to blow out completely even with the assistance of magic. Step by step, what use to be a fairly warm and mostly dry hide out froze over and gave the monters room to advance. They had followed Josleen, who roamed the frozen land above; she'd led them straight to Ezekiel. "H-Hang on to me.. I'm getting us out of here."
Josleen lets out a panicked shout at the sight of the Ice Devil. They don’t need ice and snow to attack, and soon as the coy game of cat-and-mouse satisfies the sadistic beast, it will strike. The Ice Devil cracks his frozen whip. They like their meat soaked in fear. Josleen doesn’t need to be told twice. She’s seen him flee a scene once before, and she’d love to hitch a ride. Personal space and anxieties be damned! She full-body latches onto his side like some lichen. Her arms wrap around his middle, and legs hop up, knees bent in front of and behind his thighs and hips. “Someplace without snow! Go-go-go!!” Eyes shut tight against the horrors; face buries in his shoulder. He better go-go-go fast, because as soon as the Ice Devil makes sense of their escape plan, it’ll wrap that razor-sharp ice whip around them and keep them here. Any flesh the whip comes in contact with will immediately frostbite in addition to being badly lacerated.
Ezekiel needed to focus, he needed to think clearly and think quickly. Where could he drop them that wasn't covered in snow? The frantic mind of the mage flashed pictures of troll dens and wyvern nests, frozen lakes and peak-side cliffs which he'd fallen from. He was to panicked to think of anywhere particularly safe. What's more, was her clinging to him like so didn't help, even in his frightened state of mind, he was too uncomfortable to focus clearly. He never had a chance of getting her out like this, and it gave the ice devil a perfect opportunity to strike. He lurched forward and lifted its arm back. The whip cracked like lightning and lashed out at the two, but what came next was unexpected. Instead of activating the runes embedded in his palms, he lifted his left arm in order to shield the two. He was pretty much expecting to die right here right now, not stop the attack with a shield made up of pure arcane energy. He was still exploring his talent as a mage and had plenty to learn. It was true in the past he'd created javelin's of pure energy, so frantic was he at the moment, to save the a drow he'd met in the Nameless, but nothing like this. This was new to him, a kite shaped shield of pure azure energy attached to the back of his arm. It successfully blocked the crack of the whip, but because the energy was dispersed, the two were blown back a couple of feet. He'd hit the wall with her fall onto the pile of crates while the Ice Devil was knocked back.
The explosion of energy from the arcane shield almost sends her flying off Ezekiel. Her legs lift away from him, but her arms maintain their death grip around his chest. The smack against the wall sends searing pain jolting through her recently fractured rib. She wails out in pain, her voice strong and tortured, but subsequent cries are choked back and repressed by adrenaline. One hand cradles her ribs, the other grabs his hand, not realizing the encumbrance that imposes on Ezekiel’s ability to teleport. The Ice Devil lets out a haunting roar, his goat hide rattling snow off as he flickers closer. Josleen’s mind races towards a place they both know: her mystical, probably-divine, definitely-not-snowy couch. Through clenched teeth she suggests to the mage, “My place, the couch! ...Is it not working?” ‘It’ being his power to get them out of here. The Ice Devil snarls, cracks his whip once for show, and twice for capture. It aims for Ezekiel’s shoe, hoping to ensnare its prey alive. Ice Devils make sport of their meal, and it’s always better when the prey can squeal.
Ezekiel laid there on his side with the woman attached to it. He blinked to clear his eyes of the bright flash, confused at what had just happened. He had just constructed a shield of pure energy, much like the spear he made roughly a year ago to save Serris, the drow he met in the Nameless desert. Only, that time the spear was thrown to stop an outlaw from killing the drow; it exploded afterward, literally turning the guy into pink mist. This ended a lot in the same way, once it had absorbed the fatal crack of the Ice Devil's whip, it exploded sending the two humans (and the creature) back. This was what Satoshi was trying to test, putting him under ample amounts of stress and adrenaline so that his natural ability and use of the magic would come out freely, not forcibly. So far, anything remotely resembling a natural display of power was the physical manifestation of real world objects. He'd summoned or created a javelin in the Nameless, and a shield here in Frostmaw. He didn't get a moment to celebrate his small accomplishment before the crack of the Devil's whip sounded out again. By this time, the fire had been blown out, and the only light here in the basement was that which fell down the stairs. Ezekiel sat up on his knees bringing Josleen with him and lifted his arm once more. He'd only 'accidentally' teleported another besides himself once, he would reconsider if the threat weren't so pressing. "Hang on!" He left her to cling to him tightly while he lifted his other arm. His right hand started to glow brightly, the rune embedded in his palm was pulsing with energy, burning and hissing away as small tendrils of smoke rose from his flesh. He desperately tried to recreate the shield, but failed to do so; the whip snapped not around his leg, but around his left arm instead. More specifically, his left wrist. The razor barbs cut in violently, and the frostbite effect set in almost immediately, he was able to put one last pulse of energy into the second rune in the other palm. The two were lost in a brilliant flash of light while the Ice Devil was left behind. For Josleen and Ezekiel, the world turned into a flash of light, blurred in every sense; it felt as if they were falling, but in multiple directions. The travel was brief, almost instantaneous, but the effect left it feeling far longer than intended. Where they landed was not on the couch, but on the floor, smashing down on the small coffee table she owned. Ezekiel landed first, leaving her to crumple on top of him, or roll to the side. Either way, he'd managed to get them out of there. Almost. He screamed in agonizing pain as he rolled away from her buckled under the weight of his right arm. There was blood, lots of blood- too much blood. Most people leave their keys behind, or even a cellphone, hell, maybe their wallet. Ezekiel left his arm wrapped in the whip behind, entirely.
An Apartment in Frostmaw
When Ezekiel commands Josleen to hang on a second time, she tucks into his side much like last time, only now her eyes stay peeled open, glued to the blue glow emanating from his hands. The smoke wafting off his flesh perturbs her, but so long as he wasn’t panicked about the smoke, she continues to invest 100% of her fear in the Ice Devil. Without warning, that same hand at which she stares is severed from the shoulder. --- Flash. Limbo. Drift. Where am I? How long have I been here? I’m floating away from myself. Crash! --- Her forehead snaps against the coffee table beside Ezekiel’s ear. His tortured shouting continues to fuel her adrenal; she doesn’t even realize they crash landed. Her frenzied movements have a singular purpose - to help him. She scrambles off the mage, shoving back towards his bleeding shoulder. Without hesitation but full of panic, she lifts him onto her bent knees to keep the wound above his heart and pointed skyward. A hand clamps down on the stubbed joint to stymie the spewing of blood. “No-no-no-no-no!” she blubbers, her face bent over his. Blood sprays everywhere, on him, on her, her tear-streaked cheeks, and tears falls on him to return the favor. Clumsy, panicked fingers dig into the shoulder to try and clamp down, pull out, and tie off the main artery there. With an injury like this, there is no time to get him to a healer. A panicked cry grips her when she can’t even find the blood vessel. It’s all so slippery. She can’t teleport. She can’t summon. Who knows whether or not Ezekiel can fix this with his awesome magic, but in his current condition how can he train the mind on any task? It’s on her, or he dies. That magical aura to which Ezekiel is privy, though he may not have the strength to open his eyes and see, grows brighter and larger, but it seems caged within her, still stunted. She starts to sing. It’s a strange instinct in a time like this, but one that feels intuitively right. She has practiced healing through song, but never healed much more than a few scrapes and a headache. Her heeled-boot claps a beat on the hardwood floor, the sound muddled by pooling blood. Her crying never ceases despite the uplifting mood of her song. “Got you a ticket for a long, long life. || That one way carriage leaves today. || And I sure would like some sweet company. || Will you join me? || Will you stay? || Come with me. Ride with me. || You’ll regret if you don’t go. || I have a sweet seat right beside me. || I’ll show you places you don’t know.” Ezekiel would be able to see that aura literally pour forth from her lips and her tapping heel, like two energy faucets untapped. The bright power bakes into Ezekiel’s shoulder and cauterizes the wound. This process hurts worse than the injury itself; it’s so painful Ezekiel risks going into shock. She isn’t a trained healer, and she’s never focused this energy before. Her single-minded desire to stop the bleeding consumed her so totally that pain management and infection prevention had no room to surface, and thus her untrained power only stops the bleeding. At some point, he may need to get the stub cleaned out.
Ezekiel kicked and writhed on the floor, scattering broken wood while smearing his blood even more. The pain was intolerable, his mind was a shattered mess of confusion and doubt, while the pain at his left shoulder was unlike anything he could describe. He tried again to sit up but the lack of an arm to help made this impossible; you never truly understood what you had till you lost it, and losing an arm was an experience in itself. His brain told his body to make the motion, and even in his mind, he could have sworn it felt like he'd done it, but in reality there wasn't anything there. He was already going into shock and on the verge of going unconscious. "Healer.." he mumbled, his voice hoarse and ragged, "H-Healer-" It wasn't until she started singing that his mind began to fade in and out, reality blurred the lines of dream, and darkness. Was he corrupted again? This felt strangely similar to the last time they met. She sang while his mind slipped away, he'd have a hard time trusting her again if he were to be taken over again. Luckily, that wasn't the case. When the song finished, the blood had stopped, but the overwhelming fear of getting it professionally taken care of hadn't. "J-Jos.. help me w-walk."
Healing Room
Josleen trembles violently post healing. The effort has left her bones rattling. She visibly shudders, jerks, jostles. She can’t keep her body still or dedicated to a singular movement. Speaking is impossible. Her tongue feels like soft lead being poked a thousand times, her lower jaw knocking her teeth around beyond her control. Legs wobble as she crouches near Ezekiel’s right arm, lifting it over her shoulders so she can support his side, and arm wrapping around his back. She helps him outside, but there is no way that Ezekiel can get to the healer in this condition and she can’t carry him. She implores a passing ice giant pushing a warehouse dolly to please take them to the healer. Her request relies on bad pantomiming, but given their bloody condition and Ezekiel’s flirtation with unconsciousness, the Ice Giant figures it out on his own. Getting to a healer is the only sane request, no matter how insanely pantomimed. Josleen walks alongside Ezekiel’s dolly, holding his remaining hand. Josleen tips the Ice Giant for his favor as shamans rush to transport Ezekiel from dolly to cot. They sedate him, take him under. When he wakes, he’ll find himself washed and robed, the shoulder bandaged, the arm missing, but the most maddening itch on his phantom left elbow. Josleen sits in a chair beside him in fresh scrubs, also bathed and pink, and holding a mug of herbal tea in both hands. “Hey, sleepy head.” It’s dark out. The sky without a moon.
Ezekiel blinked for a few minutes, letting the room come into focus, slowly but surely. For a moment, he couldn't even be sure this was real, he'd reached with his left hand to rub the sleep from his eyes, but nothing came. Confused, the man gradually looked down to find nothing but a bandaged stub; not panicking at first, he gradually looked to his right. Good, it was still there, and so was Josleen. He'd later thank the shaman for whatever sedatives they gave him, because waking up to this reality would been a nightmare, more than it already was. Actually, for someone had just had their arm torn off, he was taking it pretty good, so far at least. "...hey." His voice was barely a whisper, he had so many questions- as always -but the only thing that came out was, hey.
“I have bad news,” Josleen reports in a campy, grave voice.