[PAST] MENDING FRACTURED SOULS

Rhosyn’s heart thrummed anxiously within his chest, his palms slickened with a film of perspiration courtesy of the residual body heat that resulted from the tireless wave of patrons that frequented the established infirmary. Arlathan, in its’ infantile state was besieged by innumerable wayward souls, each seeking out a place to call their own. Truthfully, the elven mage had been no different, weary of the ceaseless travels and migrations his Clan seemed predisposed to. But that wasn’t the sole factor that wore upon him, no, it was also the hushed whispers, the estranged nature of his status within their ranks – he was tolerated by virtue of the skills provided to the collective whole.

The reason? His unduly familiar bond with Eros, the spirit of curiosity to whom he’d sworn a pack – a specter, of whom he frequently conversed with in hushed whispers. Rhosyn, why does your heartbeat so erratically? You have apprenticed as a healer in some capacity far longer than most your age. You may not be the most skilled, but you possess a wide berth of knowledge… , Eros’ affirmed whisper resonated through his psyche, its’ presence a welcomed balm that inoculated him against the subtle coppery tang that perforated the air, its’ depths mixed with the subtle sickly-sweet bouquet of rot and decay.

Most of these injured souls, do not know me, nor understand our relationship – I can only pray they are more open-minded than our clan. Rhosyn whispered beneath his breath, his dusky verdant-hued orbs temporarily transfixed on a patient with a dislocated shoulder. One of his sun-kissed calloused fingertips grazed their wrist seeking out a pulse, an indication that the blood flow had not been compromised. His expression visibly soured at its’ absence, the tepid cooling of the limb and the faint discoloration of the tips of their fingers. I apologize, this shant feel pleasant. Rhosyn said as he’d placed his hand upon their shoulder, ignoring the grimace as he’d directed them to lay upon their stomach on the cot, their afflicted limb dangling off the edge.

You, while I tend to your injuries, I need you to pull softly on his arm for a period, you should feel it shift or pop audibly when it has returned to the position – hold it there for me until I say to release Rhosyn directed as he’d guided the second individual who appeared to have several lacerations from a beast that had scabbed over but appeared to have grown infected. Without a word, he’d knelt his hands hovering mere inches from the wound as he began to incant beneath his breath. Tendrils of amaranthine drifted from his hands towards the wound, its’ phantasmal nature flowing inwards as he began preliminary attempt to treat for poison and if that didn’t yield results, he’d consider attempting purification. He was hesitant to employ a healing aura, if for the sole reason, there was the risk that the wound itself would heal but the infection would be trapped.

Certainty, it could have been resolved with potions or poultices, however, those were a commodity even with alchemist attempting to brew and harvest what was needed to treat the influx.