RP:Xicotl Frostmaw Battle - The Triage

Synopsis: The first Xicotl battle ends with saving civilians and warriors after the wreckage. Rogue thralls still remain, but a group of rescuers with a mix of Warrior's Guild healers help get people to safety. Some civilians, unfortunately, are lost within the attack.

Part of the Dissonance Theory Arc

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Frozen Hunting Grounds

Penelope (1 of 2):: An early morning courier knocks on the premises of the Halifax Cottage. The sun had barely risen, but it appeared matters were more important as a sealed letter was given to the tired woman on the front porch. A letter from the healers of the Warrior’s Guild requesting Penelope to travel to Frostmaw for camp set-up. The woman makes haste as she gathers belongings–necessities before finding her way to the hut to recruit Ruari Erickson and packing first aid and medicine. The two set out on horseback where they travel through to Xalious up the mountain to heavy snowfall. It was only when she reached the outskirts of Frostmaw that the quake hit which caused avalanches behind her to fall before steadying Dee, the horse she was on, as the horse was in full panic. The horse ran through the tremors of the ground before she pulled the reins tightly up to get the horse to stop. “Delilah!” The quake stops, but before her was the crater in the city from afar, but she is still quite a bit away from traveling on horseback. Her gaze turns to Ruari. “We have to get there, now!” She calls fiercely before pressing the horses on to locate the camp while dodging the obstacles of the crater below. The closer she was, the more the haunting cries and calls began. The two healers look down on a hillside when the series of healing camps come into view. The large crater below. Ruins. The horror began. People falling into the crater being wrapped within the tendrils of plantlife. The absorption of bodies to feed the large plant below. Explosions in the background of flame and ruthlessness of action–anything to stop the destruction. Thralls swarm from the crater and attack civilians and warriors without a second-thought as there is only one goal in mind. Xioctl. “I think there is a safer route to the west,” Ruari observes before the two agree to move down to help.

Penelope (2 of 2):: Penelope slows down the white creature before sliding from the back as some of the triage tents fall into the crater. Moss eyes are wide at the scene as innocent healers and rescuers fall into the pits of Xioctl’s clutch. Shrilling screams. People crying out for their families and loved ones. Ruari and her are both a distance away before they begin to run to some healing tents still standing. People are being pulled through the Frostmaw snow covering the white ice and powder crimson with the damage from thralls. Multiple healers are doing the pulses of chest compressions to revive the people who could be saved from the madness. The air smells of decay and plant matter the closer one would get. Once she approaches, others around her would notice the white bow that is wrapped around her torso–a quip of arrows reside on her back and a medical satchel lingers at her side. She is equipped in stealthy, moveable brown leather. A light grey fur-vest rests over her leather armor to keep the petite human warmer from the Frostmawian chill, as well as fur-lined boots. Although small in stature, she had the quick wit to keep up with the situation at-hand. Eyes dance on the battlefield and then glance at Ruari. “We have no time for debriefing, we need to save as many people as we can. Try to see if you can pull people from the crater!” Penelope did not know it now, but the closer to the crater edge, the more there would be a catastrophic mental pull at the civilians near it. An illusion of mental corruption that Xioctl was using to pull victims in. Each person captivated by this mental distortion would see or feel something different. Some people are willingly jumping into the crater before them, while others are screaming in terror for their loved ones to stop. An impulse of sorts. The Ardelian is on the move as she sees a man spitting up blood as a thrall had just gone in with claws towards his gut. Penelope whips out her bow to place an arrow in the rest to pull it back to stun the thrall where it falls back into the crater. She then runs up to the man to try to tug him through snow to start working on him. “Internal bleeding,” but Ruari is not with her at this point as he is busy fighting off another thrall who his charging after -him-. Eventually, due to incredible impact, Xioctl disappears into the ground leaving the rest of civilians in their physical and mental trauma.

Krice :: A region-wide earthquake announced to citizens in at least Frostmaw and Venturil that something was -very- wrong with the ground underfoot. Though most would not see it, the quake had been caused by the movement of a mammoth tree, which subsequently stood at the epicenter, its large roots writhing and piercing innocent passersby and still those who wandered into its clutches, compelled to do so by an unseen force. The magic was oppressive, the evil was oppressive, but warriors converged on the gargantuan Arboreal knowing that they were potentially sacrificing themselves to protect the citizens of the city. (⅓)

Krice :: Mental energies pervaded the thoughts of those who weren’t a safe distance from the epicenter, encouraging them toward the primordial plant-beast until it could impale them with its roots and control them in its mindless army. Warriors rose to meet the challenge; some were lost, others were injured, as countless thralls--giants, elves, humans--both fresh and rotting emerged from the bowl of the crater to join the fight. Along with a rush of Frostmawian soldiers and guards, there were fighters from the Warrior’s Guild. The battlefield was so expansive, and Xicotl at its center so huge, that many of them would not cross paths or even be able to see each other during the fighting. From the back of an airborne wyvern, where he left in relative safety a chestnut-haired healer, a silver-haired warrior lept toward the ground with swords in hand, using his longer white katana to thrust crescents of compressed air at the heads and necks of the thralls below and then around him once he landed, decapitating and rendering the bodies useless. He also moved among the mindless ranks and chopped at Xicotl’s roots to lessen their numbers, as the roots were the point of control for the primordial creature. At his side of the battlefield, Kreekitaka the crab-man grew far larger than his regular size to help battle Xicotl and the various thralls. It was a mammoth engagement that took many warriors, even some healers at the fringes, and at one point an undead dragon joined the fray. Krice engaged it, trying to keep it distracted from Kreekitaka and his alchemical explosions. Suffering a gash to the face as caused by the sudden protrusion of bone-like spikes out the back of the winged beast, Krice lept to the ground and distanced himself so that Kreekitaka could explode the dragon and surrounding thralls with one of those bombs. (⅔)

Krice it was a lengthy battle full of loss and victory, culminating in substantial damage to Xicotl’s tree-like body which caused it to retreat into the earth once more. Soil and ice cracked and shifted around its mammoth body, breaking to allow it submersion. A deafening scream, obscuring the cacophony of suffering around it, announced its departure and, too soon, the target was gone. With blood pouring freely from the gash in the right side of his face, trailing upward from neck to temple, Krice stood at the edge of the crater. Staring, watchful, poised for further battle, the warrior did not relax until prompted by the sounds of survivors calling out for help, or giving voice to their injuries. It would appear that Xicotl was gone for now. His instinct was to give chase, to pursue the beast while it was injured and possibly too weak to win, but the situation left in its wake ensured that his attention was drawn elsewhere. He couldn’t see any of the faces more familiar to him, only non-descript fighters both alive and dead, decorating the massive expanse surrounding the epicenter of the crater. A flick of his katanas dismissed excess blood from the blades before he gave them each a quick wipe across his thighs, then sheathing them against his back. This freed the warrior’s hands to assist those still possessing their wits to cry out for help. He helped several soldiers and a couple of healers from the edges of the crater, their injuries not so great that they couldn’t retreat to the surviving triage tents at the fringes of battle. Of course, healers rushed in once the danger had passed, though mental energies still lingered to play with the minds of those with weaker constitutions. Krice worked grimly through the battlefield, pointedly ignoring a place where four civilians had been cleanly beheaded among numerous thralls. Still some civilians wandered mindlessly toward the battle, victims of Xicotl’s mental manipulation even after its departure. Krice rushed to meet them, retreating a decaptitated head from the ground--poor giant; it wasn’t his fault he had become fodder for the tree-demon--and holding it out toward them. “ Back!” He called, and his hope that fear of death would overcome their mindless approach worked. They snapped out of it, some a little slower than others, and turned screaming from the battle - some into the waiting arms of loved ones who had tried to keep them from leaving the edge of the city. Krice retrieved a particularly rigid Xicotl-root from the ground and squished the severed head atop it, a pike a warning to other civilians who might wander too close. He hated the grotesque signage but it was the most efficient way he could think of to protect the survivors. The warrior stood a moment, huffing out a breath as he steadied his thoughts and wiped at the blood on his face.(3/3)

Talyara wasn’t comfortable being that high in the air, even if she had complete trust in Gylworliath who would most likely give her own life to protect her. But she was a witch whose main element was earth and being so far away from it, made her feel disjointed in her powers. The opposing thralls appeared distorted in their attacks, thanks to the shimmery golden bubble the little witch had cast around her and Gyl as a protective barrier. It wasn’t infallible, however, and the more the pair were targeted, the more cracks appeared. Taly did her best to scan the battlefield, trying to keep a certain silver haired warrior in her visage but there were so many people it was nearly impossible. “Gyl, this isn’t working!” Talyara yelled over the cacophony of noise giving the wyvern’s neck an affectionate pat. “I’m better off on the ground!” Gyl gave a screech of protest and Taly knew what she was trying to say. “No fighting, I promise,” she assured. “Look I see tents down there,” she pointed towards one on their left. “I bet that’s for triage. I’m better served as a healer.” Gylworliath seemed conflicted–Krice had left Taly under her protection, but she respected the witch and her choices. “I’ll be okay, I promise.” Another wave of enemy thralls flew in their direction and Gyl was forced to dive and swerve to avoid their attack. This took them lower and lower until eventually she conceded, intentionally flying towards the tent where she could deposit Taly safely. Once they were mere feet from the ground, Talyara grabbed her bag–full of tinctures and salves and bandages–and slid from the saddle. “Be careful, Gyl!” Talyara called back as Gylworliath beat her wings and took flight once more; however, she didn’t dare fly as high in case the little witch was in need of saving. Taylara hefted the bag up over her shoulder and ran towards the tent, pressing the sleever of her shift against the wound on her head as fresh blood trickled down her face. “How can I help?” she asked no one in particular.

Noah (1-2) The night prior had gone alright, as Noah had publicly dined with Penelope and Ruari. The trio parted ways as the moon had risen and the man had sailed peacefully back to Rynvale. Thoughts of the healers filled his mind and he couldn’t help but chuckle, because he hasn’t made a friend in many years. They had engaged in light conversation before touching on more serious topics and although Nel had grated on his nerves a few times, he would be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed their company. The peace that he felt had died down the second he entered the manor. Angela Graham, fondly referred to as ‘Gram’ has been his housekeeper, office receptionist, and adopted grandmother for the past two decades. The woman wanted to know every last detail about his dinner with the pair of healers and she kept asking questions about Nel, as she had been annoyingly pressuring him to hurry up and get married for the past few years. Noah retired to his quarters with a pounding headache, because the last thing he needed was any serious attachments or distractions. He’s a man that’s wed to his work and prefers to keep his secret past locked up tight! Noah had bathed and was just getting into bed when Gram slid a letter beneath his door. It was a reply from Kasyr Azakhaer regarding the Warrior’s Guild.

Noah (2-2) Noah sits upon the back of a wyvern, digging his calves into the two-legged dragon's sides. He’s a bundle of nerves at being up this high, with some strange rider guiding the beast through the air, as the sudden drop in temperature sends a chill through his body. Unbeknownst, he’s about thirty minutes behind the arrival of Penelope and Ruari. Thankfully, the ride isn’t all that long, but he finds himself dropped off in a place that looks as though it had seen better days. An obvious crater in the earth with a massive tree dead center takes up most of the foreseeable space and the atmosphere bears the sickenly sweet stench of blood. People are screaming, either sacrificing themselves or defending themselves from the thralls. His instinct is to dive in and help those in need but years of extensive training have taught him to know the important details before entering a battlefield. A place of death and dying isn’t quite what Noah had in mind for his first mission, but he walks through the snow towards Krice, who happens to be the first person to catch his eye. The letter he received said that both his medical expertise and combat skills would be needed, and so the man had packed simply and dressed as he saw fit. Noah wears thick fur lined trousers, a superior wool sweater, water-resistant snow boots, and a long overcoat that’s been lined with goose feathers and furs for extra warmth. His attire has been tailored to fit his frame, yet still allow exceptional movement so he’s not hindered in combat. A leather harness with two steel shortswords, crisscrossed, rests against his back and he holds a satchel that contains medical items necessary for emergencies. Standing before Krice, he makes a formal introduction, “Dr. Noah Atwood, at your service… Are you Mister Kasyr Azakhaer?” He extends his right hand in polite greeting and glances briefly around the area, “May I request a short debriefing before I step into action?”

Tsuola didn't claim to own Frostmaw's wilderness, but her black, frigid hand oftentimes rested upon its pulse. Sensing. Seeing. Discerning. What the Ghost sensed, saw, and discerned in the peculiar behavior of the creatures that lived among those trees with her lately gave her ample reason to feel emotions so rarely felt. Worry. Anger. What devilry has been brought north from warmer climes? What caused the wonderfully still, white snow beneath her feet to tremble most violently? It is with a rare swiftness and urgency that the dryad weaves her way past beloved, frigid trees and snow-covered bushes, Bone Chiller not waiting passively upon her back as it so often did when she bothered to tote the weapon. The rune-inscribed bow is clutched tight by black fingers as she emerges from the trees, bare flesh save for blackened hands, feet, and patterning on her skin a stark white as the snow her feet barely leaves imprints upon as she strides forward. Clad in not but a white chiton, her footsteps come to a halt in the distance, black eyes watching. Waiting. Searching for an answer to who or what brought this crater, this strangely repulsive tree, and the massacre left behind. These woods knew the chilled grip of death and the bright stain of blood, but not like this. Not in some time. She possessed the hands of a healer. Wove snow and ice to her whims. Would her help be a hindrance? So many dead and dying... A familiar voice that the dryad is most fond of stirs her from her stillness, causing an abrupt turn of her head and blink of her eyes... Shadow, which presumably meant another that she is most fond of, his dear one Talyara, may be somewhere in the midst of this. She hears the witch's voice as well, much to her relief. She will help. Bone Chiller is stowed away within the snow itself after she gingerly sets it upon that pristine, white surface. At her will, the snow captures her weapon and pulls it down, burying it until Tsuola returns to the same spot later to retrieve it. Her footsteps lead her first to the grey-haired warrior, almost in time as the stranger introducing himself as a Dr. Noah Atwood. “Shadow,” she says, both in greeting and a correction to the stranger. If lives weren't at stake in that very instant, Tsuola would request an explanation. Instead, Frostmaw's Ghost levels her gaze on the warrior. “Where am I needed?”

Penelope (1 of 2):: As Talyara calls ‘how can I help’, a man hollers. “O’re here!” The tall man is in his late thirties, and already getting that salt and pepper look from weariness of battle. His skin was wrinkling at the younger age he was. Healing on the frontline was wearisome. On one of the cots in the triage tent below, there is a screaming woman who is blinking through tears who was impaled with a root in her upper leg that had been cut from the mammoth tree to save her life. Though, there was a double take from the man as he noticed the witch was bleeding from her head. “Ne’r mind. We need another medic!” Obviously gesturing to Talyara’s injury.

Penelope (2 of 2):: Penelope, on the other hand, had gotten the man who was bleeding out to a distant location from the madness of people in-shock. Her hands cover over the wound to apply pressure, as she has confirmed they are short on the healing front due to the falling of healers through the battle. She pulls out gauze from her satchel as she tries to stop the bleeding, but the blood is fast from the wound from the stomach. “You’re okay, it’s going to be okay,” but that did not mean the man below her would be saved. Blue eyes from the man below look at the Ardelian before… looking up. Blankly. Lifelessly. A last cough of blood from the mouth. The damage was too late, and there were too many civilians to worry about to dwell. What she does, however, is wipe her hand in the snow before placing her hands over the eyes of the man to close them. “Peace… be with you.” She inhales sharply before moving on in the heat of the chaos. The sounds of panic swarm the area from the situation that just happened. People running rapidly in distress. “My niece! My niece!” She hears in the distance and her eyes pull towards that direction where another rogue thrall is reaching for the little girl. Then, the Ardelian charges impulsively. Ruari Erickson, in the meantime, finishes off a rogue thrall who oozes swamp-like slime that smells horrid before moving to the next civilian who might appear too close to the crater that looks in distress. Other leftover healers and warriors surround the area to help where they can... getting people off the battlefield, finding loved ones, tending to the injured, and going against the straggling thralls in the area.

Krice was not Kasyr, confirmed by a shake of his head. “ Krice,” he said to Noah, who received the most transient once-over that he might not have noticed. ‘Shadow’ drew his eye and he expressed surprised in arched brows. It had been a very long time since last he saw her. “ Ghost. It’s been… forever. You’re needed everywhere.” He gestured with his blood-covered left hand to indicate their entire surroundings. He wished he could catch up properly with her, but the suffering of hundreds still scattered throughout the battlefield ensured that their conversation was very short. Back to Noah, the warrior said, “ Doctor, is it? Big bad tree came up from the ground, killed everyone, retreated. No time for more detail. Just help where you can.” The warrior’s gashed face didn’t seem to be bothering him too much, despite the free-flowing blood that itched at his jaw, for he turned a moment later to retreat from Noah and Tsuola and grab at a fallen elf a few metres away. a screech overhead drew his eye to the sky. Gylworliath banked so he could see her back, absent a certain witch. Trusting that his wyvern wouldn't be up there alone if Talyara was injured somewhere, Krice's panic was only momentary as he looked around, scanning the expansive area to locate the witch in question. He was relieved to see her no more injured than when he'd found her in her damaged cottage. Hoisting an injured elf up against his left side, Krice stepped away from crater and began the agent up its long, shallow edge, toward Talyara and the Triage tent closest to her. If Noah or Tsuola were closer, he'd relinquish the elf to their care upon their insistence, but his mind was singularly focused on helping people on his way to Talyara. Talyara didn’t waste any time in making her way toward the man who called for her to come help. The little witch was already approaching the cot and letting the bag fall from her shoulder. The healer did a double take when he saw Taly’s head but she waved him off. “I’m fine.” Approaching the head of the cot, the little witch smiled calmly down at the woman. “Hi, my name is Taly and I’m going to help you feel better, alright? Can you tell me your name, please?” While she spoke no enchantments, Talyara’s voice and demeanor managed to calm the woman enough to stammer out, “F-Fleur…” The witch fished in her satchel for some fresh bandages which she placed on either side of the branch and pressed down. The woman immediately protested in pain but Taly was quick to keep her talking. “What a beautiful name that is, Fleur. You, sir?” she directed her question to the other medic. “Can you grab the small jar of dark purple liquid in my bag? I think it will help Miss Fleur here feel a bit more comfortable.” The man eyed Talyara wearily for a moment before doing what she asked. “Unfasten it and let Miss Fleur have a taste, not too much.” The medic pursed his lips but followed suit and Taly nodded her encouragement. “It doesn’t taste all the great, I’m afraid, but it’ll help.” Fleur nodded her head and took a few gulps. She grimaced at the taste but before she could vocalize her complaint her eyes were beginning to droop. The medic looked at the bottle and then to Talyara and back again before carefully closing it as if he were afraid. “Belladonna tincture. When taken in small doses, it’s a very effective sedative. I assume you can take care of this?” she gestured towards Fleur’s leg. The man nodded and Taly relieved him of the bottle as another medic came to assist in the removal of the root and Talyara turned to see where else she could assist, grabbing her bag off the floor and swiping at the blood on her face.

Noah (1-2) Noah is talking to Krice when Tsuola appears from out of nowhere, and the man feels that he should take a giant step back. The woman is an albino with severely frostbitten hands and feet and she’s wearing simple clothes that don’t afford her any protection from the elements. Clearly, Dr. Atwood is a newcomer to these lands and has never seen a race other than his own; human. Is she one of the victims that fell into that giant crater? Has she lost a loved one and been struck with madness? Hazel eyes that are more brown than green in the stark white surroundings narrow on ‘Shadow’ and he waits for Krice to sum up the debriefing before he extends a hand to the albino, “Come along. I will escort you to the triage area.” He doesn’t threaten her with amputation, but surely, that’s where she’s headed with the blackened skin. As Noah stands there conversing with the warrior and frost dryad, a thrall advances from behind. The act of a gentleman is dropped as he swiftly drops his satchel and unsheathes the two shortswords from the harness, dodging quickly out of the way of the thrall that tries to latch onto his arm. It’s clear that the psychiatrist is a seasoned fighter from the way he delivers blows and side steps through the snow, as if he was born with a blade in his hand. The flurry of metal against his foe comes to an abrupt end as the thrall disintegrates into a pile of ash that stains the snow a dark shade of gray. It’s his first kill in these lands and this sobering thought has him quickly sprinting around the area to kill another three thralls.

Noah (2-2) Noah’s steps bring him to the edge of the crater and he feels the pressure on his mind, urging him to step over the edge and hurl himself into Xioctl’s unmerciful grasp. He’s never come close to having suicidal tendencies, though he’s treated many a depressed patient over the years. The hold on his psyche lessens as if the tree realizes that its efforts are futile, and so Noah kneels at the edge and pulls a girl of about sixteen from the hole. She wraps her bloodsoaked arms tightly around his neck and her nonstop shrieks and screams cause his eardrums to painfully vibrate. Noah lifts a consoling hand to gently rub the middle of her back as he rises from his crouch and tries to get her to stand; before realizing that she cannot stand on her own two feet. The ex-mercenary rarely allows one to capture a glimpse of the heart within his chest, as though his feelings are bothersome and he loathes vulnerability. Noah cannot shield the pity from his expression as the teenager clings to his frame and sobs uncontrollably, as her left leg from the knee downward is missing. Time is running out and the blood pours faster with each breath she takes, leaving him little choice but to sweep her into his strong arms and carry her over to the triage tents. Noah retrieves his satchel along the way and slides the recently departed male from the cot as he rests the girl upon it, and snaps orders to all the other healers that are in his vicinity. “We need to staunch the blood. Stat! Get my thread for sutures and plenty of bandages.” He looks up and barks at Ruari who isn’t too far from the tent, “Apply pressure! I need to sharpen my blade and slice off the jagged parts of bone before we seal up the wound.” Will the girl live? He honestly doesn’t know, as this isn’t his area of expertise in the medical field. Noah exits the tent and proceeds over to a large boulder where he works on sharpening his sword, the sawing sensation sending small shockwaves up his arms. After a few moments the blade meets his satisfaction and he turns to head back into the tent only to spy a petite woman running amuck on the battlefield. “Miss Halifax…?” He clearly doesn’t have time for this, so he’s not in the best mood when he sprints over to Nel and taps her on the shoulder, “What the hell are you doing here?! Where is your female chaperone!?” He shakes his head, “Come with me. I have a girl that’s bleeding out and requires extensive healing in the tent.” A hand clasps around Nel’s wrist so that she cannot protest and he leads her towards the tent, passing a witch with a head wound, “You’re healing others with blood dripping from your face? And where is your chaperone?!” A woman’s place is definitely -not- anywhere near a battlefield in Noah Atwood’s eyes.

Tsuola – “It has,” is the Ghost's hushed reply to the Shadow, accompanied by a subtle dip of her head in acknowledgment. Everywhere. She can move everywhere. The warrior's gashed face is looked upon only briefly with concern. He still stands, so his mending is not priority. The others, however... Her head turns as she reaches to brush white hair from her eyes, listening to screams seeking out those that she could sense nearest to deaths' frigid hands that she may help spare. To her surprise, the doctor offers a hand, misunderstanding his offer as help to lead the way and not the amusing mistake that she is one of the injured that lay scattered in the snow. “Azakhaer possesses the ears of a cat and the wit of a fox. He is no Shadow,” she decides to inform the doctor, while her smaller, cold hand settles within his for the very briefest of moments. It recoils at his sudden movement and successful kill, and she takes this as her opportunity to trail the stranger toward the crater, stepping silently into the fray. Without her tree near, the numbing, healing chill might call to coalesce in either palm will merely numb pain, staunch bleeding. Give those that are too far gone a death with a little less pain. She cannot set broken bones to properly mend or stitch wounds, but she can provide time for those who possess those skills to save lives. The girl he hoists from the crater and carries away has her once again turning to follow, right hand lowered to her side clenching into a fist to gather its frigid chill. Within the tent, she approaches the cot as Noah passes her by to leave for...well, she doesn't know, as she doesn't turn back to look, and kneels by the girl with that summoned cold filling her palm. Her bedside manner is non-existent. She merely presses her black hand to the wound to bring the bleeding to a crawl whether or not the girl shivers or cries out from its unpleasant sensation, ultimately to a halt in time for others to return to help her, and perhaps grant the others more time to save the poor girl. Once the poor girl is deemed in better, safer hands than her own, will Tsuola leave the tent and tend to others.

Penelope (1 of 2):: Penelope sprints up to the little girl who is pressed into the ground by an elven thrall, and once the clinician approaches, she presses a glowing orange hand forward which starts to burn the corrupted soul–the arm beginning to flow into ash before Penelope steps back. A distraction tactic to avoid hurting the little girl. Go for the human who has lived longer instead, was Penelope’s mentality. The thrall then turns to Nel and reaches out for her head where her face is slashed with the force of a sharp nail and chases after the druid. Her cheek bleeds–nothing gruesome. “Run. Go!” The Ardelian forces out before the thrall is reaching for her again, Penelope strides through the snow before another warrior comes in with a large sword to slice through the elven thrall. The ooze smells putrid as it wafts through the air, but she seems to be in the clear, for now. The freckled girl breathes heavily as the icy air makes her lungs feel tight. She then moves to find another wounded who is stuck beneath the body of an already dead troll thrall from a time ago. “Help… help me…” the person underneath appears to be crushed. “I think my ribs are broken…” A warrior who is breathing slowly underneath the body of the oozing thrall. Penelope is petite in stature, so moving such a large body might be almost impossible for her size. “It’s going to be okay,” she reassures the young warrior beneath the large troll. The girl unwraps her satchel in order to place the strap around the head and torso of the dead thrall. The woman is about to pull up on her satchel to pull the top of the dead creature up and roll it off the warrior below, but her wrist is then grabbed. A man is screaming in her face, and she does not recognize the face through the adrenaline until she is realizing that she is being dragged through snow. A chaperone? Wait… What? Her vision focuses where she finds that she is being pulled away by–she blinked… Noah? The closer she gets to the tent, the more she is resilient. “Get the hell off of me!” If he does not let go of her wrist, she would make him with a little magic. A little heat from her fire magic. “A warrior was dying back there and you just pulled me away! You’re insane and don’t think of anyone but yourself! Who made -you- king of this battlefield? How about you make -yourself- useful!” Eventually she pulls her hand away in rage. “This isn’t a courtyard in one of your high-end fantasies, Doctor. This is life or death. So you want me chaperoned, Doctor? Then help me pull the body off of the soldier.” She then pivots sharply off whether Noah followed or not to return to the scene with the helpless warrior who is in utter shock of being squished under such pressure. So many who were dying on the fallen snow. Now was not the time for ancient, old-fashioned games.

Penelope (2 of 2):: In the meantime, warriors and healers surround the area to help the others trapped by thralls or who hang off the cliff’s edge despite the risk. The rogue of thralls were lessened by numbers that were left to defeat the creatures. A lot left were the injured, the dying, the ones in shock. Many were being pulled to the tent. Many were left on the ground while loved ones cried over the bodies. The madness still consumed others on the edge of the cliff. Numbers of civilians and warriors were dropping from the impact. The room in the tents were limited as triage tents fell into the depths of the crater prior-to. Either way, for a battle, it was important to use what was on the spot on scene for most. So people were relentless in saving people from the wickedness of despair.

Krice glanced over a shoulder as the sound of a nearby thrall drew his attention. He watched only a portion of Noah's actions to render the thrall inert, perhaps because he expected some kind of battle prowess as told by his possession of weaponry. Also, he was nearing a middle-aged woman who was on the ground, reaching out for help. A pair of male healers intercepted him to take the injured elf from his care and he nodded his thanks for their dedication, a third healer - injured, himself - helping that woman. In that time, Noah had advanced upon the Triage tent and thus was now ahead of him, interacting with Penelope - who seemed entirely unimpressed with the stranger’s forceful guidance. He furrowed a brow, unaware of the dynamics between them, but focused his attention on the woman. “ Penelope!” He called, his voice steady and stern but not harsh. “ Calm down.” She was a healer, and right or wrong in relation to Noah’s manhandling, she needed to stay tranquil for those around her who were panicking and suffering. On his way closer to the tent, now only metres away from Talyara, the warrior noted a thrall approaching and quick-stepped into its path, so fast that lesser-trained eyes (or simply eyes that weren’t watching him the whole time) would think he disappeared. Just a second later, the warrior was in the thrall’s path, a spray of snow announcing cessation of movement--it may have even pattered to rest against the boots of anyone nearby. Katana in hand, the warrior didn’t stop to take in the sights of the much closer healers - Talyara, Penelope, Noah - because there were other thralls to dispatch. Only a few, some missing limbs enough that they weren’t fast or even effective on their feet. With a tight swipe of his black katana, he relieved the thralls of their heads and their bodies fell harmlessly to the ground, keeping the healers at this tent safe from further attack.

Talyara is not normally the prickly sort, but who does this man think he is?! Barging into the tent like he’s in charge, barking orders at everyone else, and having the nerve to ask where her chaperone is. “Excuse you?” Talyara spat as she whipped around to face the man. “And who the hell are you?” She took another step towards Noah when Mikah, a fellow healer at the Frostmaw clinic, caught her elbow. “Talyara,” she warned, giving the witch a little tug. “Pay him no mind. Come help me over here, it’s a little boy. You’ve always been the best at helping the children calm down.” Talyara narrowed her eyes at Noah once more before allowing Michelle to pull her towards the opposite side of the tent. Noah was still getting chewed out, she could hear Penelope’s familiar voice (although granted, she had never heard it -that- angry and loud before) putting him in his place. He was being an arse, acting like he was in charge when the witch hadn’t ever laid eyes on him before! Mikah didn’t trust her not to go back to the misogynistic doctor and she practically drags Talyara over to a young boy (thus making it so she doesn’t hear or see Krice), about five by the looks of him, sniffling and holding his arm at an unpleasant angle. “D-do you know where my M-mama is?” she asked Talyara. Her whole demeanor softened as she sat on the edge of the cot and reached up to brush her fingers through the child’s curly, blond locks. “No, I’m sorry I don’t,” Talyara said apologetically. “But I’d be happy to sit with you until we find her. Would that be okay?” A few tears ran down his chubby cheeks but he gave a small nod. “My friend Mikah here is going to look at your arm, okay? I know it probably hurts and she can help.”

Noah (1-2) There’s so much chaos going on that the psychiatrist doesn’t have the time to deal with -another- spirited women, least of all one that sustains a head injury. It’s probably some sort of brain hemorrhage that has her speaking to him in this tone, he wonders, as he motions to an empty cot. “Dr. Noah Atwood. I will inspect you for any sort of cranial malfunctions when I return.” She’s not the first person with mental health issues that he’s met, but he’s sure he can right any damage she may have taken on the battlefield. Noah’s face floods with color as Penelope is unwilling to help him with the poor girl that he just carried to help. She’s going to bleed out and her young life will have meant nothing! The healer is screaming at him and it’s then that he notices that she’s hurt, and that’s what has him dropping her wrist. “Miss Halifax. I assure you that I am -not- thinking only of myself! How dare you have the audacity to make such a statement! It’s not proper for a lady to be on the battlefield! It makes extra work for the warriors to have to play the role of protector as well as help the wounded and take out the thralls!” He speaks calmly, despite the fact that he has to shout to be heard over the screams of the wounded and the heavy winds. Krice, the warrior that he met earlier, shouts at Penelope to calm down. Even though Noah agrees wholeheartedly, he doesn’t have the mindset to grin, because they are literally at war with thralls and death is everywhere. The woman scoffs and storms off the way they had come, to try and pull the warrior to safety and Noah shakes his head in disbelief. That woman is something else! If she wasn’t the only healer that he trusted, he would have waved her off and did the best he could with the poor girl in the tent. Instead, he clenches his jaw and trudges through the snow to trail after the bad tempered healer. The older warrior is eyed and in his mind, he feels that they are wasting time. Doesn’t it make sense to save the -younger- victims, as they have long lives to lead? “Women have no place on a battlefield… And by chaperone, I simply meant…” He grunts as he motions for Nel to tug on the rope while he uses all his muscle to leverage the massive troll thrall up and off of the wounded warrior. The man has more than broken ribs, likely internal bleeding, but he allows the know-it-all to make her own assessments. “I’m from a place where an unmarried lady isn’t allowed to travel far from home alone. She must have another female chaperone. I know you and Ruari are just co-workers but he is definitely not a female… It’s important to be attended so that you aren’t hurt or abducted and so another fellow doesn’t take such liberties with your, um, innocence. I don’t think a respectable healer like yourself wants her reputation soiled.” Noah whistles and two warriors stop to help drag their wounded brother to the tent while murmuring words of thanks to the bickering couple. “Now. Will you please assist me with the girl that I rescued earlier? I know you think I only care about myself, but this has delayed us greatly. I hope she’s not dead.” He frowns and there’s a flicker of emotion in his eyes, “I’m going back.”

Noah (2-2) Noah returns to the tent, either with or without Nel, and he’s relieved to see that Tsuola and Ruari have managed to stop the blood, but he also knows that the teenager has lost a lot on the journey from the crater to the tent. His brows crease as he grabs her wrist to check for a pulse and he nods, locking eyes with those surrounding the cot, “She’s still alive.” A curt nod of thanks is given to the albino and the healer, before he lifts his blade, “We need to file the bone before we suture the wound, correct?” He figures that sealing the wound is the best case of action so that infection cannot settle in and so she won’t lose anymore blood. It’s also easier to fit a prosthetic on a limb that’s not jagged, but he waits for the others to offer their input. Noah doesn’t want to induce pain on the young girl unless it’s absolutely necessary, nor does he want to make things worse in her already fragile condition.

Tsuola heard arguing while she waited, standing by the cot with her cool hand pressed to the poor girl's forehead in effort to soothe. The interpersonal relationships of the healers gathered were none of her business, so she'll remain silent over the spat she overhears. Instead, her attention remains on the girl. “You will live,” she calmly assures her, only lifting her hand from her forehead at the arrival of others better suited to mend the child than herself. The doctor grabbing at the girl's wrist is afforded a curious look, but her attention then settles on the other healers within that tent. She can't sense anything that might indicate any of those gathered are older than they appear, so the dryad decides to follow the warrior Krice's instruction, and be everywhere she is needed. To her, that most definitely meant outside the tent, tending to innocent and ending thralls alike. “Death evades me,” a half-truth, uttered aloud to those healers within earshot. If one found her tree and felled it, she would pass on. It isn't her place to tell these people what to do, but she presents her suggestion all the same. “I will bring you survivors. You all should remain here, out of the cold to care for them.” The thralls were nothing to fear for her. Before parting, the Ghost lowers herself down to a crouch to press her forehead to the injured girl whose blood she helped slow. “You will live,” she repeats a second time, in hopes to help ease her worries. A promise that hopefully the better healers gathered will not break. Standing upright once more whether they listened to her or not, Tsuola silently drifts out of the triage tent and into the snow, hands splayed with palms facing downward to gather more frost, more snow, and will it to harm or heal depending on whose path she may cross. As it appears that Krice is deftly handling the thralls, the dryad ensnares her first wounded person; an elvish man by the looks, his arm twisted at an unnatural angle and limp at his side. Thankfully, he's able to warily stand, though she notices a limp – perhaps a sprain or a full break of an ankle, so with his unbroken arm slung over her shoulder, the petite but surprisingly strong dryad leads him into the tent so a healer can take him off of her hands and she can fetch more victims.

Penelope (1 of 2):: Penelope finds her name being called within the crowd of healers. A calmer, steady voice. Eyes shift, although she is still ablaze with frustration due to the acquaintance before her. Krice. A face she had not seen in quite a time. One who trained her. He meant well, despite his words. She sucks in her cheeks, but continues onward without another word. People needed her. The silver-haired man was right, but also, did he see that Noah was gripping her away to pull from an important situation? People needed her, but how would she be able to help with Noah grasping her arm like that? The girl inhales sharply despite the mayhem to collect herself. A time ago, she would have been a mess on the battlefield. Helpless. Panicked. Once Noah is there to assist the situation of pulling the thick troll off of the warrior, Penelope tries to bite back her tongue as she pulls on the rope. Her muscles tense and she grunts before falling back in the snow for the troll to be lifted. It takes the pressure off of the older warrior below. She then floods red when Noah goes into detail on men taking advantage of her. In her culture, there were no such rules to be chaperoned by a lady. “I wish not to speak of it anymore. Where your from is fine, where I come from…” She paused as he goes on the rant of her not being hurt, abducted, taken advantage of which causes her to flush… the list goes on. Moss eyes look to the side to see the patient who is groaning in pain, but no blood is spilled. She squints, and there is a hesitance to answer the doctor at first before she regains her tranquility of who she is. Poised, witty, together despite the brief flash of uneasiness with his words. He had no idea. “This is a different place. Different backgrounds. A mix of society with different stories. Stop bringing me into your history, as I come from my own with different tales.” She is stern when she says this, although underlying pulsing with frustration despite the ease of her freckled features. Now was not the time for backgrounds. When Noah stands to ask to assist the girl at the tent before, Nel looks down at the warrior. “Hold tight.” She then looks at Noah, “You are aware that two other healers are working on the girl, yes? That’s two less than the rest of us. People died here today, Doctor Atwood. Healers.” She feels defeated, however, “But… I know her injuries were critical, and she is young,” so Penelope follows to do what is best to give the milk of the poppy, stop the bleeding, make clear incisions for a… not-so-easy suture of the leg before her. A gnarly, nasty wound. Ruari really would have not needed help with this one, but Penelope becomes enwrapped in her element after the word battle with the stubborn therapist. It would make for time to pass, and during that time, she would not pay another word towards the mercenary who joined the scene. All she would do would go from patient to patient after the young one below.

Penelope (2 of 2):: While time passes, however, the rest of the evening is spent with healers and warriors surrounding the area. Most of the thralls have been defeated or thrown back into the plummet into the ice. Some of the bodies from the Triage are sent on medical wyverns to fly down to places like Venturil Clinic, Kelay, and other towns for recovery of the damage done today. Smaller wounds are mended on the spot. Deceased bodies, who do not make it, and what is left of the corpses, are transported away from the scene away from the crater, at least. Away from loved ones. It would be a long night for some of the healers and rescuers as the group would do anything in their power for the people to survive. It would be a long next chunk between this attack… and the healers knew now that eventually, there was going to be more to come in the future. Xioctl was not nearly ready to submit from today's attacks yet.

Krice noticed Tsuola out from under the tent a moment after he dispatched the last nearby thrall; the remaining enemy units were still well away that he didn’t need to focus on them. “Take care. Be mindful of others. If you need help, let me know.” He just needed to get into the tent for a moment. He could hear Talyara talking alongside Penelope and realized that the situation was more than just the latter woman losing her cool (regardless of reason). While the healers inside worked, he hoped to catch Noah’s eye, at which point he’d state, very coolly, by tone and temperament, “ Listen. I don’t know where you came from but pocket the chivalry and work alongside the girls. They’re equals here. Talyara’s with me so she’s not alone. Penelope’s with all of us so she isn’t, either. I’ll vouch for her too if that makes you feel better. But just focus on helping the injured and the dying. The girls know what they’re doing and they’re very capable.” Assuming he had been able to deliver these words, he’d move toward Talyara at around the time she moved from the child to another patient, hoping to catch her between victims to slide his hand into place over her nape, beneath chestnut curls, and draw her in to press a kiss against her forehead. Stay level, stay calm. He kept the right side of his face turned from her so that she wouldn’t see the gash there, but the blood was obvious; it covered him along with the ash of fallen thralls. He was filthy from battle. Turning, assuming Talyara didn’t hold him in place, Krice would exit the tent once more to search for other victims who needed help. At times, he’d be close enough to ask Tsuola’s help in comforting someone suffering close to death. At other times, he was begged by fallen warriors for their lives to be ended so they didn’t die slowly and painfully. All in all, it was a traumatic day that he would work through his stoicism and inherent introversion to process and recover from. By nightfall, a fresh convoy of healers and warriors from deeper in the city came to relieve those too exhausted to continue. Krice took this opportunity to converse briefly with the Winter Dryad before he’d enter the tent once more. Wherever Talyara was, Krice would find her and insist that she come home, reminding her that she had been working for hours and she herself was injured - including a head injury, no less. Gylworliath had landed several metres away, waiting in relative discomfort as the aura tainting the land made her uneasy. Soon enough, assuming his elven companion agreed to depart, the warrior would walk her to the wyvern and lift her to the saddle, climbing into place behind her. To Tsuola, he would call, “ I’ll come back soon to talk, alright?” There was a hint of apology in his tone but otherwise, he wasted no more time and Gylworliath took to the skies, taking with her the warrior and the witch further westward.

Talyara continued to talk consolingly to the little boy, keeping his gaze and attention on her as a means to distract him not only from the discomfort of Mikah resetting his arm, but of all the traumatizing imagery surrounding them. Whether it was adrenaline wearing off or true exhaustion, the little boy’s (whose name was Renier) eyes began to droop. Taly quieted her chatter, but continued to talk to him and run her fingers through his hair until Mikah was done casting his arm and the pair were sure he was asleep. “His mother jumped,” Mikah murmurs in sylvan, on the off chance Renier is still somehow managing to hear them. Taly winced and looked down into his cherubim face before shaking her head. “He should be transported down the mountain to a clinic far away where he doesn’t have to see this when he wakes.” Mikah nodded and moved off to make the necessary arrangements. Talyara continued to move amongst the patients, the other healers encouraging her to stay with the young ones who only wanted to be seen by her once they saw the way she interacted with the others. Soon she was intercepted by Krice, filthy and bloody himself, but she didn't hesitate to return his embrace when he pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “What happened?” she asked, gesturing to his head. If he didn’t let her treat him this time, she’d nag him every time he came around the tent. The witch would check in on Nel and offer her assistance, but made a point to ignore Noah. Hours passed and Talyara continued to tend to those in need until Krice insisted she take a break and go home for some rest before returning. It took several other healers assuring her that they would be okay for her to agree, trudging after Krice and climbing on the back of Gyl. It was only then that she saw the familiar face of Tsuola. Talyara flashed her an exhausted smile and a weak wave before the couple took flight on the back of their wyvern.

Noah locks eyes with Tsuola and nods, “Thank you, White One. For everything.” The albino had helped him tremendously through the past hour and she had made certain that the teenager wouldn’t bleed to death while he was bickering with Penelope on the battlefield. The ‘death evades me’ line is met with a confused blink, before the doctor offers a reassuring smile to the teenager on the cot, “You’re in good hands, Sweetheart.” Krice catches his gaze and the man pulls him aside to speak of the women and their work. Although he doesn’t understand these lands, he knows better than to argue with the silver-haired male. He has proven himself on the battlefield and seems to have knowledge of the area and the women involved. Noah sighs and replies, “Everything is so different here…” It’s partially the reason he had relocated to the lands, and partially the reason he wishes to leave. “I won’t interfere with their work.” He reassures the warrior before he returns to tending to the teenager’s side to distract her while the more experienced healers focus on her injury. The team works on the girl and as promised, she will live. Every so often Noah’s gaze trails from the task at hand to glance at Penelope, and her words resound in his mind. She doesn’t care about where he’s from nor does she wish to discuss the local customs with him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have manhandled her, but seeing that young girl bleeding out and in immense pain struck him harsher than he would have thought possible. He hasn’t been on the battlefield in quite some time. Just shy of a decade! Penelope hates him for being himself, and the woman with the bloody head seemed ready to slap him, also. There’s a feeling stirring in him that he doesn’t quite understand, and he feels that he’s outstayed his welcome in the healers tent. It’s the first time since he’s come to these foreign lands that he’s felt like he doesn’t belong. But, that’s what he wants, right? A life without attachments. A final glance is given towards Nel, though he doesn’t offer any parting words. She made it clear that she strongly dislikes him and they are all under a great deal of pressure. A pat on Ruari’s shoulder is given as he departs, and should he pass by Krice or Talyara on his way, they will earn a slow nod. The remainder of Noah’s time is spent sitting with those that are grief stricken, reportedly up until the break of dawn. The depressed souls that wish to speak of their losses have formed a circle around the psychiatrist and he listens to their stories, offering comfort in the form of handholds, hugs, and words. It doesn’t ease the burden on their hearts but it seems that they are grateful to have someone that’s there solely to listen. Sometimes the hardest battles aren’t fought on a field, in the middle of the frozen wilderness, caused by Xioctl. Sometimes the hardest battles are fought in the mind, the recesses of the heart that once were full of love, caused by loss.

Tsuola didn't tire. Death's gentler brother Sleep was rarely a necessity for the tree spirit, evading her often as well. Though she did relish those moments when she could curl up somewhere and clutch onto a dream. Before vacating the tent, she acknowledges the doctor's thanks with a nod. “You're welcome.” While she paid little attention to what argued words were said between him, Penelope, and Talyara, she's sharp enough at least to notice there is tension. For that, the dryad produces a rare smile for him. “And thank you.” She doesn't repeat his name. If their paths cross again, he'll need a new one. A shorter one, much like Shadow's. Focused on her task of numbing the wounded she found with her frigid touch to haul them back to healers in their tents, the Ghost speaks little, spare for a greeting to Talyara if their paths manage to cross, inquiries on where to set someone she carries over, or acknowledging one of Shadow's requests to grant someone too close to the brink a gentler end. Whenever her task is deemed complete and she is no longer needed, white flesh, chiton, and equally white hair are stained with blood from survivors and fallen alike. Others required sustenance that she didn't consume herself, so before she vacates the area for good, the dryad drifts into the treeline after retrieving her precious Bone Chiller from its hiding place to slay a few hares and return back with them, skinned of their fur and strung together with a thin, black vine she coaxed from the dirt beneath snow. Hopefully the others were wise enough to light a fire and knew how to spit the tiny creatures for a meal, as she rarely risked conjuring that element with her fingers. She'd remain if needed to mind a fire and cook for the healers hard at work as well as survivors that might be able to eat. The warrior's words are heard, and she merely nods. Unless stopped along her path, the Ghost eventually wanders away just as quietly as she arrived, leaving little evidence of her presence spare for difficult to see footprints in the snow leading westward, back into the wilderness but near enough to witness the warrior's return when the time came to reemerge.