Tag: sos

You were kidnapped before the fighting even began.”I know he’s a strong healer who will turn the tides of battle for us.” Were among Dawnseeker’s words to you. This wasn’t your place among the Imperialists. Wearing your white Dawnmender’s robes, you were a sore thumb amid the dark colors and fel greens. Netherwatch promised your safety and that you would return home. Dalheim noticed you didn’t belong.

When the battle began Dawnseeker became your shield. You blessed the man so he wouldn’t die in battle. When a rescuer from the other side found you your throat burnt from fel smoke, grass and blood stained your robes and the air around you was filled with searing fire. You had grown so used to the Guard, being behind a Sunspear or having other menders for backup.  But if other menders had come out onto the battlefield you did not see them. But as wounded and dead began to fall you see why the Light brought you here. You failed the first time but the second you succeed and impose your will over Dawnseeker. You force him to go to safety.

---

In the chaos those that were severely wounded would die. They couldn’t make it to Falconwing Square and the Imperialists? Forgotten or to be imprisoned and healed later. So you focus your efforts and as fighting kept moving closer to the Imperialist King and his spire you stayed to heal the worst.

Slowly, it seemed, the Loyalists pushed and made the Imperialists move back. Further and further back they went. There were no other menders, it seemed. Not outside of the makeshift infirmary at the Square. So you move to the bridge when someone tells you of the dying. A knight in Imperialist colors, metal breastplate shredded and bleeding out his lifesblood. The Light’s warmth rushes through your hands to heal, mending what was damaged. There was no time to numb his wounds and for the briefest moment you regret that.  He wakes up and despite the invigorating feeling of the magic you had used you can feel the heavy cost of such quick healing. The imperialist’s eyes open and as his look up at yours you can’t say if it’s gratitude or shame in his eyes.

But he would live.

---

There’s an illidari who is gathering the wounded and dying. He sees you healing by the bridge and he brings you more. They wouldn’t make it to Falconwing Square and you can’t heal all of their wounds. But you can heal them to get them stable. Enough to be moved.

No other healers are near you. The Illidari has found so many dying and severely wounded. Your mender’s robes are stained with dirt and grass and blood. But the blood seems to weigh your arms down.

The Light is with you, you promise yourself as you feel its warmth and love fill you. The faces and wounded become a blur. But the Light whispers to you as you switch your focus.  You remember Captain Amren’s face and her wounds, the Scion looking emaciated. You whisper promises you’ll bring them to safety.

---

Healing so fast takes so much from you. You’re using a waterfall to fill a single bowl instead of dipping it into the river.  It’s become a hand squeezing your heart with every exhale. No matter how invigorating it feels to channel the Light you are just a man. You only have so much strength.

Gifts from the wounded and those bringing them back come to you in the form of potions and their own magic. They restore your strength as it wanes and it helps you stay up past what you could normally stand. If you had any thoughts or worries beside this battle they do not exist. It was fortunate for you that  another Loyalist stood guard over you. Xeyr? Xelyr? You try to remember the name offered up to you but it slips from your memories like water between your fingers.

The stuttering makes it hard to talk as your voice cracked and your parched throat speaks. But Catriah takes the wounded with her as does the rogue. You’re grateful. So so grateful. But  the chance to express that does not come as more wounded arrive.

---

The wounded have finally slowed.

Vesryn brings you a familiar face and you stare down at Firioneil. Slashed across his face and drained of his strength. You spare a moment to offer Vesryn thanks. You helped one Imperial leave but… you don’t bat an eye as you decide to help another. Hoping Orinthion was close by you help Firioneil up.

Velard comes by, riding his horse. He wants Firioneil sent over once his wounds have healed. The Light speaks in your mind. You don’t trust him. Something feels off. Orinthion must have been waiting closeby.

Firioneil is given over to Ornithion. Better than Velard.

---

You make sure the wounded are sent to the inn set up in the Square. The Scion is taken with you as you turn around and head towards the Dawnspire. When he’s set down you set the handful of mana crystals you were given by his side to treat him. If only all of your patients were treated so easily tonight.  You offer a prayer to the Light for him before you finally consider your shift ‘done’ and seek out a bed.

Done. It’s just one word in your mind but it seems to trigger everything the given magic and potions had held back. Your hands tremble badly and you know you’ve pushed yourself too hard. But you can’t ignore how the world is narrowing and fading any longer. Whether it was Thanelor or another that helped you into your bed you cannot recall. Your time was over and the day was finally done. There is relief in that.

As darkness takes you vision and sleep claims you, you wonder if all of  the blood spilled and death was worth it.

@cynfuldax @firionbloodsworn