23rd of Ymiden 719
Given the recent troubles in the Order, they were more than welcoming when Rakvald showed up one night, drunk off his gourd and thus showing his typical sense of enthusiasm that always came with an overabundance of alchoholic intake. He was still drinking, when Rue and a few other Order members draped a large green cloak over his shoulders, and presented him with his medical kit.
He was directed toward the break room, where he could sleep off his night of carousing, and there he did sleep. His rest was interrupted at times by gnats and the summer heat. Nevertheless, he got a bit of shut-eye, and was able to recover from the night of revelry.
Recover being an inflationary word to mean that he didn't die or throw up all over the Order outpost.
When awake he did, his head was aching. He swept aside the fabric of his green cloak, and frowned at it, as it followed him around. Having taken the cloak for a blanket gifted to him by those medicine women, he didn't expect that it would be attached to his shoulders. His hands lifted to the clasp that kept it on his body, and worried at the broach. Soon enough, it dawned on him.
In last night's drunken stupor, he'd joined the Order of Adunih.
His motions had attracted some attention from without, as a blue-cloaked young girl came into the room, and acknowledged Rakvald. "Welcome brother! Are you ready for your first lesson?"
"Uh..." Rakvald murmured, nailing his mental state in one syllable.
"Come on, don't be shy..." She said, taking him by his large hand, and leading him over toward a corner, where some books and a few medical kits were kept. "Sit."
Sit he did, and waited while she explained something of what would happen now that he was an order member. She went over the rules, the benefits of working for the order, as well as some of the responsibilities. It didn't seem too bad, all told. Just some token efforts in the Order's benefit were expected, and then there was the potential for advancement later on.
"Do I get to learn more about how, uh, bodies work?" He ventured, scratching his beard.
"That is exactly what the first order of business is to be, and what I've come here for. I'm to teach you the basics of medicine and surgery. I'm Juel'rie, by the way."
Rakvald nodded at her. She was very young for a teacher. Yet the Lotharro wasn't about to get choosy about who would be teaching him. So long as they knew what they were talking about. Juel'rie smiled at Rakvald, "Now, what is the best way for you to learn? Do you learn well from books, practical experience, or just talking...?"
"Uh... I learn by doing stuff, usually."
"Alright, then it just so happens we're understaffed. We can use your help in caring for those in the sick rooms, while you observe."
The Lotharro nodded to her, his head still pounding from the exit wound that the drink left in his brain. He wondered if they had any hangover remedies in this outpost. He'd have to ask them sooner or later.
So he followed her for much of the rest of the day, into and out of sick rooms, and taking mental note of how things were done here. Those who were worst off were given treatment first, naturally. Medicine, it seemed, was as much an exercise in logistics as anything else. Triage is what Juel'rie called it; knowing who to treat and when, and prioritizing treatment of one patient over others who were fairly stable.
Finally, their day came to a close, when she led him into a sick room, where a few beaten up locals had been waiting for first aid. "These people were caught in the crossfire when the raid on our Outpost happened a few days past." She noted, then continued, "They are not too bad off, but a few scrapes and bruises and cuts that will need treating."
So saying, she handed him a cloth and a bottle of alcohol. "This will help clean the bloody bits. If you see anyone in need of stitching, with a wound over an inch long, just let me know and we'll get to stitching it shut."
Rakvald stared at the bottle of pure alcohol in curiosity. Had he been drinking alcohol so long, never realising that it was actually a medicine? He gave the bottle one last dubious look, before beginning to attend the residents gathered in the sick room.
He stopped by an older man, whose knees were scraped, and his arms cut up. He appeared in well enough spirits, but had suffered some bad damage from the raiders on the outpost.
Without delay, he applied the alcohol to the rag she'd given him, and began cleaning his wounds. The old man seized up, wincing as the cloth made contact with his open cuts and scrapes. Rakvald lightened his approach, but did not let up, taking a bit of water from a basin and washing the debris clean of the man's wounds.
Having thoroughly cleaned the man's cuts with the water and alcohol, Rakvald then began using the power of his magic to close the man's wounds. He laid hands on each cut, bruise, and scrape, and willed them to shut. They being small wounds, it was a simple matter to seal the wounds.
By the time Juel'rie came by to check on his progress, she was astonished. "W... where are his wounds? Did he not need needlework? Or was he covered in someone else's blood?"
Rakvald turned to her with a grin, "I don't need needles to close a wound, dear girl."
He showed her his hands, wiggling the nine fingers at her playfully. "I've got the magic of flesh sculpting."
Juel'rie didn't seem amused by this at all, yet it appeared she was unaware of what he meant exactly by 'flesh-sculpting'.
Nevertheless, she watched him carefully as he attended to all the other people gathere at the sick room. He continued the same process of disinfection, cleaning, disinfecting again, and then closing wounds with a wave of his magic hands.
Juel'rie watched intently as he sealed up their cuts and scrapes with nothing more than a touch, and grabbed him by the shoulder, her fingers digging in there. "Are you blessed of Moseke?!"
"Mosekwho?" Rakvald lifted a brow, and shrugged, "Uh no, I have magic."
Juel'rie hummed in consternation at herself. Rakvald was left to wonder what she meant by the sounds she was making, but guessed it might not be good. "Best not let Rue catch you doing that." She finally said "She prefers conventional healing over magic. Magic is dangerous, and not really our way."
Rakvald shrugged. Didn't matter if it was not their way. It was his. Besides, there was little in the way of risk by his closing those wounds with a bit of ether. The burden of magical corruption would be on him, in the end.
"Alright, I think you've got the hang of this now... Just... be careful with that, magic of yours." So saying, Juel'rie curtseyed to Rakvald, and excused herself from the sick room.
Meanwhile, Rakvald was left to care for the rest, much in the same way he had. As he'd been taught, he prioritized those who were worst off or in poorest health before those suffering lesser wounds.
When at last he was done with the final closing of wounds, he swept his cloak aside, and left the sick room. Outside, Juel'rie was speaking with another Order healer. When she spotted Rakvald, she approached him, carrying what looked like a side satchel. Inside, were all manner of medical supplies and resources. This she gave over to him. He adjusted the strap on the satchel, and then hung it over his shoulder, pinning his cloak into place.
"Thank you for joining Rakvald. We're very shortstaffed, so we can use men and women of diligence and who are capable of treating our patients with care."
Rakvald grinned, and bowed fractionally, sweeping his arms to the side as he did so. "My pleasure... Now, you folk don't happen to have a hangover remedy, do you?"
She laughed lightly at him, and then nodded. She brought him into the garden, where there were all manner of herbal remedies for just such an affliction. Once he'd availed himself of these products, he bid her farewell, promising to return soon to resume his work for the Order.
