[PAST] MENDING FRACTURED SOULS

Megara’s innocuous query served as a catalyst, unintentionally dispelling the momentum he’d built within his incantation – the tendrils of amaranthine that wove themselves from his fingertips to the wound quivered in a manner akin to an archer’s bated breath as they prepared to loosen their arrow. His tongue felt leaden for a fraction of a moment, the arcane syllables temporarily abated, stalled just long enough to provide a curt nod of his head. His efforts redoubled, words reinforced by intent as he’d reigned in the spell craft before it further destabilized, and its’ recoil assailed either himself or the patient.

Megara’s knowledge of the logistical challenges faced by the minted healers of Arlathan hinted of a regrettably intimate relationship with bloodshed. It was only after his chant concluded and the arcane energies stabilized did, he speak. “Yes, that would be most appreciated, it would undoubtedly do wonders for my focus – not having to ensure he doesn’t overcommit to the pressure on the dislocated limb. Despite his familiarity with his craft, he had not yet reached the pinnacle of mastery that would permit his mind to wander – an undoubted shame indeed, a more skilled healer could still be engaged with triage and calculate out their intended warpath against death itself.

A soft sigh of relief escaped from between his parted lips, “That brings me some semblance of peace of mind.” Rhosyn affirmed with a soft whisper that scarcely rose above the din of pained groans and cries that resonated through the Infirm. His expression remained unsullied as Megara provided her input about the methodology he’d employed, reinforcing that he’d made the right decision. See, you must not doubt yourself so Rhosyn, your methodology is sound, you’ve kept yourself grounded with the tides of despair and acted as you’ve been trained… Eros whispered softly, its’ anamorphic head craning to the side, its’ arms spread wide, eternal shackles clinked softly in the back of his mind.

Truthfully, Rhosyn pitied the man that Megara tended to, knowing that once the joint was back within its’ rightful position, he would be overwhelmed by a sensation of relief – it was getting to that stage that was trying. “Thank you again, Lady… Rhosyn’s voice trailed off, hinting that he wasn’t certain how his fellow healer wished to be addressed. “ Once I’ve drawn out the infection, would you like me to prepare a cravat or a makeshift sling for his arm to ensure it does slide out of position yet again? Rhosyn inquired softly as his foci shifted back to his patient, noting how the amaranthine tendrils he’d summoned forth began their return passage, its’ depths were now marred and tainted by a tangible presence of rot and decay – its’ coloration akin to rust.

His expression tightened as those motes of sickness began to dissipate into nothingness, the enflamed borders around the wound began to steadily deflate and the regular coloration came back. Meanwhile Megara’s patient whimpered in anticipation of the pain to come, somehow, the burden of the knowledge was not always a blessing. As a skilled combatant, they’d dealt with their fair share of dislocations, albeit it was typically a smaller joint such as a finger as a result of a brawl within the pub or a gest between friends gone wrong. “Yes Mi’Lady…” her patient responded with a hint of reluctance; their facial grimace preemptive as they began the count down on their own accord… “one…. Two….” their voice trailed off towards three, a palpable tremble going through their body as they set their teeth, the initial syllable of three forced between gritted teeth.

Does the knowledge of relief pain him so? Eros probed, “It is not the knowledge of relief, but the pain that accompanies it… sometimes the best medicine is bitter and hard to swallow.”

@ Meg