OOC: AGHHHHH IT'S A FREAKING JOB THREAD KILL ME
"I'm bleeding!" the man screamed. "Oh god, there's so much," he whimpered. The woman who brought him here began to pray to the Immortals beside him, as Alistair and Damien operated as quickly as they could. He wrapped bandages around the areas that were bleeding the most heavily, applying pressure to attempt to coagulate his blood. He had already bled so much, though - it was a while of bleeding before he had made it to Alistair for aid. A question one could ask was: how did all of this happen? How did Alistair get chosen to save this young man's life?
This man was a Knight, son of the House of Furdan. He had been employed by the House of Venora to investigate a rumored cult of aspiring Necromancers that had sprung up in the south near Lamonte, the 'city of love'. Lamonte was renowned for its drug usage, the party heavy lifestyle that accompanied such an artsy place, and also - less popularly - for its base of cultists who, through drug abuse and psychological grooming, went from fully respectable young men and women into fully-fledged ideological zealots within months.
This man, Willem de Furdan, had been sent to the suburbs of Lamonte to discover the source of these rumors and to put them to rest. He had been sent to gather information, nothing more, to his lonesome as an operation of due secrecy. But what he did not expect was that the source he had employed as a focal point of information and intelligence was indeed a member of the cult, and a die-hard one at that. He was a young and explorative man, and being of Venora, actions sexual and joyous in nature were considered acceptable on the job as long as it was completed. He engaged in the carnal act with this source of information, and while doing so, her "friends" burst in from both the window and door and pinned the man to the bed.
He had the icon of a skull carved into his chest, and was left to die. But he fought - crawled his way to his mother's handmaiden, who helped him battle death as they made their way to Alistair's dwelling in Lamonte. And with great fortune, he and Damien were here, for if not this man was certain to die. They had damaged his ribs with violent bashing, injured his head with a kick to the skull, and had ultimately caused violent bloodloss with the carving of his chest.
Worst of all: Alistair and Damien, his Lich mentor and occasional assistant in doctoring, could tell that one of the cult members was indeed a real Necromancer . . . for they had corroded some of his veins. His internal bleeding was greater than his external, and so they could only wrap up some of his chest with bandages, not all. They would have to open his chest and try to... somehow... cauterize the internal damage to prevent his hemorrhaging of blood.
"Woman, I need you to leave the room," Alistair told the handmaiden. She so boldly asked why, and the Surgeon gave her a dangerous glare. "Because if you don't, he's bloody going to fucking die. Leave, you cretin." She practially squeeked and frantically exited the room, shutting the door behind her. The man sighed.
"Damien, he's unconscious," the doctor said. "I know. You want to use magic to save him, don't you?" The Venora nodded. "It's the only way."