[Global Event] Heal Thyself....

It is said that when the Immortal Treid was slain, his heart was buried in the shadows of the ice, cursed by the Immortal Audrae. His people built a city atop the frozen wasteland in hopes of one day finding it and resurrecting their fallen leader.

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[Global Event] Heal Thyself....

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After the events in the last post of the "main" thread. Once the attack here is dealt with.



It was not a place for glory.

It was not where heroes were made.

It rarely, if ever, featured in stories and songs of great battles.

Yet here, in the healers' tent was where so much of the battle was decided. The outcome, the aftermath and the lives of those involved happened here. It was the beating heart of any great battle and, like a beating heart, it was usually overlooked. Taken for granted, even. Until, that was, something went wrong. Then, like the beating heart, a problem was noticed quickly. Like a beating heart, also, a problem was often fatal.

Here in the tent there were a lot of dead, dying and injured. Far too many for the healers who worked here. All were welcome, no matter what their skill level because the people who were here were desperate. They were limited in terms of supplies, restricted in terms of time and unable to do more than hold some people's hands as they died. But others, they could save. They were making a difference, albeit a small one. Maybe that difference would only be to the individual but to that individual, the difference was everything

So, they were working, this disparate group of heroes, each one of them working on a patient when the noise of the place stopped. It didn't hush, it didn't lessen, it just stopped. Because there, walking into the tent was a sight which a few of them had seen before. There, walking into the medical area was an Immortal who was, arguably, known to the majority of them. It was like time froze and then, there amongst them she walked.

Moseke.

But as Moseke walked in, as she touched one of the patients who gasped in fervour and fever both, those who noticed such might see the pallour which tinged her face. The sheen of sweat on her brow. These trials were difficult, even for the Immortals themselves it seemed. The Immortal in question, though, looked around and she spoke, her voice gentle and soothing and exactly as it had been in the Great Meeting, for those who were there.

"Where am I needed?"
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Medics here please!
Just a few rules for how we're going to do this:
1. Please respond to my post - not the posts of those who have posted before you.
2. One post between my mod posts please - even if other mods post Immortals (which they might) then just one post.
3. Most importantly? Have fun! PM me with any questions.
4. I am going to reply here again on the 28th December 2016. That gives you four days to post, I believe.

oh!

5. Happy holidays! :D

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[Global Event] Heal Thyself....

As the healer quickly outlined the triage system to Moseke, Jachiel took the chance to clear away some of the - debris - of the rough surgery he'd been helping with. His nose had finally gone numb to the smell of blood three patients ago, so he hauled a bucket of - offcuts, the darkly humourous part of his mind named them - out to add to the piles of dead. He winced at the word. Though he supposed it was technically accurate, it brought up all the nauseating imagry and associations that he had been trying not to think about. He took a deep breath, and at once wished he hadn't as the cold air bit into the back of his nose and throat.

Jachiel turned slowly, scanning the area for options and resources. There didn't seem to be any clean snow left within easy reach. It had all been trampled into filthy lumps or bloody mud, which meant no easy source of clean water either. He let the breath out slowly as his gaze rested on the wandering edge of the battle. It still went on then, so he should still go on fighting the other front. The fight of keeping alive as many as possible. It wasn't as glamourous or as good song fodder as fighting with weapons, but it was a fight nevertheless, and no less hard or bloody. He ducked back into the tent with a wry smile on his lips, remembering all the less glamourous parts of being a soldier. No one wrote ballads about digging latrines or cleaning armour either, but you had to do it. An irreverent marching ditty bounced into his mind, and he let stay there.
...The jacodon's chomping away at its toes,
But the girls of Venora are sweet as a rose.
Sweet as a rose, mate, and almost as pretty -
But the call's come to march, so we march from the city....
It gave him one more tool to keep both the despair and the endless rows of death from overwhelming him. He'd pay for it later, but for now he needed to be able to carry on. Another wave of battered bodies arrived in the tent, and he hurried to put his meagre skills back to work.
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The work was never ending. Lei'lira was no stranger to hard work. Living on a farm meant getting up before the sun, working until the sun set, and usually seeking her bed soon afterwards. But nothing she had ever experienced had ever prepared her for this. The patients were brought in faster than the healers could see to them. Lei'lira did her best to mark them based on the severity of their injuries. It seemed heartless not to treat them all immediately, but that simply wasn't possible.

Many of the ones that might have survived died of their injuries before a healer could get to them. And no matter how much work Lei'lira did, it never seemed to make a dent in the amount of work that remained to be done. After a while, it became easier to just go with the flow. Just think of the task immediately at hand. Don't think of what that task meant, or how much more needed to be done. Assess the patient's injuries, mark them with the appropriate color dye, and move on. And above all else, do not think about what the colors meant...especially black. Or red for that matter, since most of them were likely to die from their wounds before a healer could find the time to see to them.

When Moseke's voice penetrated the numb haze Lei'lira had fallen into, she paused, looking up numbly to consider the question. She knew that voice. It had spoken to her an eternity ago, before she had come to this tent filled with the dead, and dying. The voice belonged to Moseke, and she had spoken of Lei'luna. Lei'lira glanced down at her spirit companion, as she tried to process the knowledge stirred up within her memories by the familiar voice. But the desperate moan of one who was doomed caught her attention, and the moment passed.

She bent down to get a better look at the man who had cried out. His eyes were glassy with fever, and there was no recognition of his surroundings in his eyes. He called out to people Lei'lira didn't know; people who could well be waiting further down the line of patients who needed to be checked. Or dead; that was equally likely to be the case. His wounds were severe, but he didn't seem to be in any immediate danger of bleeding out. But a glistening white bone protruded from his chest, and some of his wounds had a sticky green substance mixed with the sluggish blood seeping out of them. Lei'lira had come to learn that such wounds were caused by a poisoned blade. She closed her eyes for a few trills before giving the poor man a black mark.

Poison meant that an antidote would be needed if he were to have any hope of surviving. Even if they happened to have the right one, it would take a healer too much time to figure out which one was needed. That, on top of the man's other injuries meant that he was one of the lost. Lei'lira glanced down at him. He pleaded with his eyes for her to save him. She could see his terror, and his pain, but she could do nothing. She tried to say something soothing, perhaps promise that a healer would see to him soon, but it would be a lie, and the words did not come. Instead, all that she could do was move on.
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[Global Event] Heal Thyself....

Tei'serin sang a lullaby softly as she held the hand of a woman who was lost in wound fever. She tossed, and turned restlessly in her sleep, but when Tei'serin sang, the woman's nightmares seemed to lessen. It was all that Tei'serin could do for her. A healer had been by to examine the woman several breaks ago, but he had simply shook his head, and moved on. There was nothing he could do; the woman would either survive...or not, depending on how strong she was. And given the way she had been weakening steadily since the healer had left, Tei'serin was pretty sure that she wasn't going to make it.

The woman wouldn't be the first patient she had seen die. Nor would she be the last. Tei'serin could do nothing to save them. But if her presence could give them some degree of peace, then there was at least that much she could give.

Moseke, please...help this woman pass quickly. She has suffered enough. she prayed silently.

Almost as if in answer to her silent prayer, Tei'serin heard Moseke's voice. It was a voice that she would never...could never forget. Eyes wide, she turned in awe as Moseke asked what she could do to help. If Tei'serin had not met Moseke in the past, and gained a blessing from her, she probably never would have dared to speak. But she had met the Immortal before, and there was a chance that she might remember her. That, combined with the woman's need gave Tei'serin the courage she needed.

"Is there anything you can do to help this woman?" she asked tentatively.

Tei'serin wasn't sure that she had the right to ask. Nor was she sure that there was anything Moseke could do. The woman's injuries were severe. One leg was gone past the knee, and there were few places on the woman's body that were not covered in bandages. Several of the wounds were showing signs of gangrine. But even if the only thing Moseke could do was end the woman's suffering, it would be enough. Had the woman been awake, and aware enough to ask Tei'serin to do it, she would have. But even after everything she had seen, Tei'serin could not bring herself to end the life of another without being asked for that mercy. Some of the patients preferred to fight until the last breath, and Tei'serin wouldn't rob them of that choice. Without being asked, she couldn't know what the woman truly wanted, and that kept her from acting.
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[Global Event] Heal Thyself....

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Following the Naerikk attack, a lot of healers were themselves, wounded or killed. They struck with savagery slaying any in their path and those still walking moved over the blood-soaked ground, pushing through their own pains to help those more in need. Rita slithered into one of the remaining tents, grabbing bandages on the way in, beginning to tend to her own wound and making her way across to a female healer.
“Let me help you with him, then I’ll need you to check my ribs.” A young male lay groaning on the table, barely out of his teens, armour lying discarded at the foot of the ‘bed’ with the man badly cut.
“Of course, Rita, was it? Check his leg for me, I’ve tied it off but dealing with the chest and arm wounds, so haven’t had a good look yet.” With a pair of scissors what was left of his left trouser leg came off freely, taking one look at the injury Rita swore and removed a cloth and scalpel from her pouches.
“We’re gonna have to amputate.” Pausing for breath as her brain caught up to what her mouth was saying. “Have a look, though, he’s your patient see what you think.” The other healer looking at the wound and gesturing with her head for Rita to take the wound she was sealing. The pair swapped places and the woman nodded.
“Yeah I agree, complete decimation of muscle tissue on the upper shin and kneecap is torn off. It’s too messy to clean up and the risk of infection is too great.” Rita finishing up the stitching on the cauterised artery “Let me see those ribs before we begin.” The Ithecal nodded, letting the woman work off her armor and shirt, pressing gently on Rita’s rib cage up to the sternum. “No break that I can feel, mostly bruising… Nope nothing there” Pulling the shirt back down.
One of the male physician's wolf whistled, not in a way supposed to make light of the situation. Rita had already butted heads with him before the fighting broke out and no one liked him.
“I was wrong, snake, you don’t belong in a kitchen, you belong in a cathouse.” Those within hearing range scold at him, he was not the type to care
“Jordan go sit on a bargepole you bigoted smeghead. Now is not the time to demoralise and insult, plus I am on far too much adrenalin to be dealing with you. “ Turning back to the male and beginning to work on the amputation, choosing to remove the whole lower leg since the bones were only held by muscle.
“What you going to do about it, you half-breed freak” One of the other Ithecals dropping his scissors, Rita almost making a mistake. The other healer taking the ithecals working hand and whispering,
“He’s not worth it, focus always on the patient” Even the best needed to be reminded of the basics sometimes. Blade passing cleanly through the man's skin, a good distance from where the amputation was to be made. The procedure went cleanly and Rita moved onto the next patient, then the next and the next. There was no time to rest between procedures, working quickly to save as many as they could.
Rita was next to the opening when two assistants brought in a recently wounded woman. She took control as blood dripped onto the floor and they almost dropped her.
“Strip her down and get her on the table, blade wound upper left hip,” moving in to help, using her own hunting knife to cut free the straps, plate dropping to the ground followed by a shirt of chain, moving the woman onto the table and cutting open the shirt. Rita was correct in her observations, among other things the cut to her hip was the worst. Using whatever she had on hand putting pressure onto the arterial bleed, blood covering her dark skin. “Get me a cauterising iron.” The assistants rushed off.
“Ha… that bitch got me in the back. Came out of nowhere.” Rita was surprised that the woman was concise, or at the least lucid. “Right through the kidney doc’. I’ve bled out too much already.” Looking to see where the assistance had gone too.
“Hey there, now I’m going to help you okay. Just keep breathing, that’s all I need you to do. I can fix this okay.” Pressing down with the bloodied rags, unable to do anything till she could stop the arterial bleed. If the warrior was correct then it would be incredibly difficult for Rita to save her, but she wasn’t going to stop trying.
” hahaha,” blood forming in her mouth “I like the enthusiasm doc’ but… I’m… I’m not gonna make it… ha… Never see the stars again. I like the stars.” Her head dropping back, still breathing but not long for this world.
”I Need help here!” A desperate cry pushing hard onto the wound, everyone too busy with their own wounded to help the ithecal. At that moment a hush fell over the room, all eyes trained on Rita. No. The entry behind Rita.
”Where am I needed?” The voice was calm and powerful, that of an immortal. Rita looked over, unsure of how she would appear covered in blood and dripping tears, she did not know the immortals name but recognised her from the meeting. She was unable to speak, only watching what the immortal did next.
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The presence of an Immortal, any Immortal is one which is worthy of story and song, many would say. Would they commemorate this trial with songs and festivities in the arcs to come? In many ways, the answer to that was dependent on each individual and on them as a whole. The one thing they didn't have, of course, was the time to worry about that right now. Because the dead were piling up and the injured were in need of their care. They were running short of supplies, which they hadn't had masses of to begin with and, all in all, things were not looking good.

And then the Immortal came to them.

As Jachiel walked past her, Moseke smiled at him, her face determined yet gentle. But he got just close enough to see that the sheen of sweat on her brow was not just there. The Immortal was sweating, profusely. But she smiled at him as he did the menial, and very necessary job. Lei'lira glanced down at Lei'luna who sniffed the air, uneasy. But the smell of death was overwhelming to the wolf and whilst Lei'lira knew of the familiar's discomfort, it was hardly surprising, was it?

It was Tei'serin who spoke first to the Immortal and Moseke turned to her with a gentle smile.

"Of course," she said, soft voiced and she stepped in next to the healer. The hand which Moseke lifted was shaking, and Tei'serin saw her sway slightly on her feet as though overcome by a dizzy spell. The Immortal looked down at the woman though and her smile was sad.

"There is no more that we can do for her, except let her pass in peace."

Rita, meanwhile had stayed quiet and watched. Whilst she did, the woman on the table grabbed at her arm and then simply died without another noise or movement. Too much blood loss, too much and they didn't have the equipment they needed. Watching the Immortal, though, from the angle she was at Rita saw, on the back of Moseke's arm a patch which had once been a wound but which looked, to her medically trained eyes, like it was gangrenous.

Moseke, meanwhile spoke again to Tei'serin. "What is your name, child?"

Around them continued the chaos and there were more, always more injured.
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Apologies for delay ~ Holidays over back on track!
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Moseke's sad words confirmed what Tei'serin had feared. She nodded. As she glanced at the woman, she hoped that she would simply remain as she was; sleeping as peacefully as was possible until she succumbed to her injuries. It was as if the woman had heard her thoughts somehow. Her breath grew labored, and after a few tense trills, she sighed, and her chest did not rise again. Tei'serin stared at her, uncertain how she felt. She was sad at the woman's loss, and for the grief her family would feel if she had one. But at the same time, she was glad that the woman's suffering was at an end.

After a while, Tei'serin turned back to Moseke. Something troubled her deeply. Moseke's hand shook when she raised it. She looked worn, and as she had examined her patient, Moseke had swayed, as if dizzy. When Tei'serin took a better look, she noticed that the Immortal was sweating profusely.

If she were a mortal, Tei'serin would have said that she was sick with fever. Despite knowing more about herbs than she did about treating patients, she had seen enough cases of wound fever to recognize a fever when she saw it. But...did Immortals even get sick? There had been talk of someone stabbing Xiur. If it were true, then it was proof that they could be hurt the way mortals could. Illness was different, though. Or was it? Tei'serin didn't know, and before she could ask, Moseke distracted her with a question.

"My name is Tei'serin Nji'ryn." she said softly.

Did Moseke remember her? Their meeting had changed Tei'serin's life forever, giving her something to cling to even in the worst of times. She was one of Moseke's, and she drew strength from that when she was at her lowest. Sometimes, when Thorin was in a rage, it was the only thing that kept her going; the knowledge that at least one person saw some worth in her.

"Moseke...are you ill? Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked.

If the Immortal was ill, or injured in some way, Tei'serin didn't know what she could possibly do to help. But in many ways, Moseke had saved her. And for that, there wasn't anything that she wouldn't do if she could be of use to her.
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I don't like this place, Lei'lira.

Lei'luna's voice was plaintive, and troubled. Lei'lira couldn't blame her. The healing tent stank of death. To Lei'lira, it seemed like a place for dying rather than healing. How much worse must it be for Lei'luna, whose sense of smell was so much sharper than her own? And yet...

I don't like it either. But we were called here for a reason, Lei'luna. We're needed here. Even if I can't begin to imagine why, the Immortals themselves need us to be here. Until that changes, we can't leave. she told her familiar.

Even if I do feel useless... she thought to herself.

Lei'lira continued to perform triage on the incoming injured. If someone had a minor injury, she tried to deal with it herself. But she couldn't do much more than clean out an injury, and bandage it up. Even then, she wasn't sure she was doing it correctly. One of the new patients was heavily pregnant. Her wounds were severe, but Lei'lira thought the woman might have a decent chance of surviving if she was seen to in time. The woman had a head wound that bled freely, but she was conscious, and coherent despite complaining of feeling dizzy and light headed. Her leg was bent unnaturally in three places, suggesting a bad break, but no bones were protruding from the skin. Nor did she have any wounds that were likely to cause her to bleed out. Since Lei'lira had learned that even a seemingly small head wound could be dangerous, Lei'lira gave the woman a red mark.

She was about to move on, but the woman groaned loudly, drawing Lei'lira's attention back to her. The woman grabbed her wrist in a surprisingly tight grip.

"I think...I think...my baby..."

Lei'lira's eyes widened in shock. Was the woman going into labor? Here of all places? Or had there been some kind of damage that she had failed to see in her inexperience? Was the woman having a miscarriage instead? How would she know the difference? Perhaps it was because she was pregnant herself, but Lei'lira was determined that if the woman was going into labor, the child would be safe.

All of the healers were busy. Lei'lira tried to remember what her healer had told her about giving birth, but her mind was racing too quickly for her to grasp onto any one thought. All she could really do is offer her support, and try and get help if anything looked like it might be going wrong.
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She smiled at him. Her skin shone with sweat and his own skin crawled on his back. What did immortals think was polite conduct? He surely didn't know, he hadn't been brought up to worship them, but they were clearly and obviously powerful, and he didn't want to accidentally insult one either. Oy, you, whatsyername, mop your face before you drip in someone's wounds didn't seem quite right for the situation though. He ducked his head politely and wordlessly instead, and skittered off towards a new cluster of patients.

One of them was bleeding badly from a leg wound. Jachiel looked quickly round, saw no cloth to spare for tourniquets, and drew his belt knife. The woman flinched, and he shook his head. "Easy, I'm just cutting cloth, not you." He slashed the length of her already torn trousers, baring the wound, then slashed again, roughly parallel to the first cut. That gave him a long strip of cloth to work with. He eased it under the leg, then had the woman hold one end while he looped a one-handed slip knot around the static end and yanked it tight. The blood slowed, then as he used an abandoned sheath to twist the makeshift tourniquet tighter still, it all but stopped. The woman sagged back and closed her eyes. Her breathing rasped lightly in her throat as he moved on. This would save what clean cloth there was for bandages. Tourniquets, not being actually on the wound, only needed the cloth to be strong, not clean. He did the same task for two seperate arm wounds and a soldier with both feet shattered by something axe-like. He wasn't going to sacrifice his own clothes, but if the wounded could provide their own cloth, he'd take it. They needed every scrap of material they could get, and doing this might just save another life - or two - or three...

He didn't pray. He had no words left and no comfort to offer except a grim embattled hope that looked in the face of despair, spat defiance, and refused to give in. He doubted they'd want comfort from him anyway, not now in the face of death and disability. That might come later, when those who survived looked around for a reason to live and saw him living and coping just fine with only one usable arm. Life didn't stop for disability. You picked yourself up, dusted down what you still had, swore a bit - a lot - and kept right on going. He was not going to lie down and give up on life when there was work to be done. Or fun for that matter, but here and now, it was work that needed him, so it was work he did, moving steadily from patient to patient and wound to wound.
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The immortal looked down at her with a sad smile, speaking softly"There is no more that we can do for her, except let her pass in peace." Rita nodded solemnly, turning back to the patient and stroking her head. She grabbed at Rita's arm, smiling as she succumbed coughing blood onto the ithecals ebony skin before going still.
"Damn it!" Lashing out at a metallic tray, flying off and clattering on the ground, tense with frustration and burning off the adrenalin still flowing through her veins. Turning her back on the patient that was alive not moments before, and facing the immortal that evidently could not save everyone. Rita took a deep breath steadying her emotions and cooling off before the next patient. Bowing her head, blocking out the noise around her and breathing deeply like she had been taught so many arcs ago. "Oh we all, we all become one." She muttered to herself, only loud enough for those paying attention to hear. Standing up straight and breathing sharply, turning back to the dead patient and writing out something on a note she pinned to her clothes.
"Thank you for coming her ma'am." Addressing the immortal as she finished up with the dead, " We need all the help we can get. Low on supplies, most of our senior physicians and surgeons are dead, plus the increase of patients from the gorilla attacks. Quite simply it is a mess." She addressed the immortal as if she would anyone else, just another person here to help, nothing special about her Turning to face her... and stopping mouth half open. Sweat was dripping off her brow, her eyes were dull and hazy. Watching more Rita noticed the slight sway the immortal had, looking her over with a long silence before her eyes fell on the gangrenous arm.
"You have got to be fucking me." Muttered quietly so not to spoke her. "Ma'am, I need you to sit on the bed behind you," Pointing to the empty bed "Just need to look at that arm wound okay?" Smiling politely but firmly. Turning her back to the immortal so she couldn't hear, Rita thought so at least, talking to the other healer. "Her arm, left arm wound just above her elbow on the outside. It's gangrenous and she's showing signs of fever, along with the possibility of her being slightly delusional. Keep an eye on her and keep her calm. " Slithering off to grab clean blades and whatever other medical supplies she could get her hands on. Passing a badly wounded pregnant woman, taking note that she would have to see to her later. She was struggling to find wound mix.
"Anyone got any honey left?" She called out, another Ithecal giving her a jar that was almost empty, "Thank you." Darting back quickly to the immortal. The wound needed treating and if the immortal was uncooperative then Rita would just have to work around that. Smiling politely as she approached.
"Okay let's see what we have."
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