Witch Hunt (Canali, Kiara)

[Antar]

oocEntering Thread by request of Mok
'Grinning barbarians were idiots' Antar thought to himself as he helped carry the lug back towards the tavern.

He remembered standing by the fainting man who seemed happy at his bloody handiwork. Carving initials into a dead man's chest was one way of practicing writing but it made Noth a bit angry. He had stood a moment, just staring at the bloody lines before coming to a decision as the two ladies took the barbarians weight back to the tavern. He'd stayed behind for a bit, standing over the dead corpse, his hand cupped above its chest as he slowly began to summon the Res and bent it to his will. He remembered, calling the fire and moving his hand in a pattern to burn the man's chest down to the bone, eliminating all traces of the death mark in one large splotch of blackened skin and charred muscle. With a bit of disdain he jerked the weapon out of the wall, letting the corpse fall to the ground.

He’d return the dagger to Mok later, and wondered how the hell things had gotten this way.

Noth hadn't been there for the initial confrontation between the two, still procrastinating at the tavern for a meal after the meeting of the rest of the guild. Procrastination was an artform, especially where filling his belly was concerned so he hadn't been particularly drawn to the sounds of the ambush outside. Such things were common in Sunberth, and if it didn't concern you or your friends, then it wasn't worth sticking your neck out to investigate. It didn't really matter to him if some random guy got his throat cut, or put down like a dog in the street. It really didn't.

He'd moved to a table near the door close to the kitchens, watching as the petty rabble of opportune thieves began to get up and slowly make their way to the door. They were like carrion birds, preying off the dead, and soon to make the inevitable rush to pick any corpses clean.
So he had sat there, eating his soup, and sopping up bits of broth with a hunk of bread as he let the warmth of his meal enter his body. He sat there, soothing his stomach with the pallateable meal mixed of an unknown meat, carrots, and potatoes. He was halfway done when when he heard the fight enter the kitchens from the outside door.

Ever so curious as a barmaid ran screaming out into the tavern, Noth decided to peek around the heavy doorframe in time to note a woman taking a frying pan to a rather beaten and bloody sot, and a hulking girth of muscle enjoying himself as mumbled curses came to his ears. It took him a few moments to recognize the pair before his mind uttered the customary, 'Fething hell's happening here? as he fell backwards in his chair from the shock of simultaneously realizing the situation while trying to vault to his fee from an unbalanced position.

By the time he scrambled to find his footing and drew his bow, the barbarian it seemed had stormed from the back kitchens, chasing someone down. Without, hesitating, Noth had raced after. Outdistancing the good looking, panning broad as she seemed to still be in shock. His sprinting had caught him up in time to see the barbarian fall into a state of bleary confusion after carving something on a dead man's chest.

That was what had brought him here to the present with a rather confused barbarian being laid out on the tavern's kitchen table. Of course, the guy was still smiling like an idiot, which made Noth want to curse once more, but he didn't. Instead he looked to the pair of women and then back towards the injured man. There was a tightly bound bandage on his bicep, wet with blood from a good three inches of arrow shaft sticking out of it. The wound must have been painful, even though the blocky man was smiling. He turned towards the two girls and spoke in a voice which would brook no argument, "We need to get this worked on now! Otherwise he won't make it to a surgeon in time to keep the arm. Find what you can hear in the kitchens to help but we're going to have to get the arrowhead out and we’re going to have to get it out right now!"

Turning back to the myrian, Noth muttered another little curse under his breath, before leaning over the beleaguered man's face, "Hey Mok, Blink a lot if you can hear me! As in blink more than once!"

[Mok]

Soon Mok’s vision began to dim and he could feel his grasp on reality slipping. His mind seemed to be working normally, but he was fighting just to stay conscience. The myrian went from being a vicious warrior to a half-baked, grinning fool in a matter of seconds. Each passing moment seemed to be a struggle to avoid slipping away from reality. Now only anger and rage drove him onward, keeping him alive. Mok had killed another man and taken away their hope, but he would not lose his. Although there was no danger of death, it was possible that he would be losing his arm. Amputation was not an option; sheer determination convinced him that his limb would remain intact.

As his body cooled down, Mok could actually feel the effects of his earlier alcohol consumption. Any first aid would not be as painful while intoxicated, so the myrian’s grin widened. Blinking rapidly for his companions, Mok opened his mouth expecting a rag to bite down on. Immediately, a greasy object was placed in his mouth. Clamping down on the object, Mok prepared to use all his mental toughness in order to survive this battle field first aid operation. Now his arm was in the hands of his companions. Mok just hoped that he had done the right thing in joining Cade’s group. Even though he had put his life on the line for Kiara and Canali, he knew there was still possibility for deceit and treachery. Blindly, the warrior walked into the dragon’s den and asked for help. Staring at his wound, Mok prepared for anything.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Antar]

Antar's mind raced as he catalogued little to no response from Mok. Such was not a good sign. Normally a wound like this would just be bound long enough for the individual to make it to a surgeon, with a portion of the shaft being bound around to hold it in place to prevent the wound from ripping further. It wasn't advised to move much after being injured, in fact the injured would have been advised to move as little as possible as small wounds might worsen into a worse ones.

However, the damn fool had gone off to do just that. With every strike, or slash the barbarian had used to slay the bastard in the alley the arrowhead inside his body was acting like a slow serrated saw upon the soft flesh of his bicep muscle. It hadn't pierced an artery, but it certainly made it a bleeder.

And bleeders were bad.

He might not have a lot of experience in medicine, but any archer of his skills was cognizant of the need to remove their arrows from the body. Normally this was done easily, with the idea of the bastards you shot already being dead. It was quite a different situation of not wanting your target to die and bleed out. And that made the job three times as difficult with Noth considering his options as his eyes roved around the tavern's kitchen to settle upon a kitchen knife. He grabbed it and laid it on a small table beside the one where Mok lay.

Logically, in order to remove the last bit of arrow from Mok's flesh there were two courses of action to take. He could push the rest of the bolt through the soft muscle. Hopefully, if he took that route, the arrowhead hadn't shattered and broken up, there would be enough of a shaft left to bring it out the other side.

He used this technique to recover arrows to try to keep the arrowhead intact. But it might be more perilous to do so with the man still bleeding. Blood, like many substances was a lubricant. In principal it was like slashing a sword against a mound of dead flesh, compared to a live animal. The wound always went deeper in a live animal due to the blood allowing the weapon's force to penetrate more. This wasn't usually a problem for Noth, retrieving arrows was usually a bloody busines with the dying compared to the newly but this straw man he wanted kept alive after the job was done.

If the bleeding didn't stop after piercing it through, he may just have to do the one thing he could think of to stop the bleeding. He'd have to burn the flesh a little, cauterizing the damaged tissue. Noth just prayed it wouldn't have to come to that if he botched up the first option.

The second option was one he tended to use, if the arrowhead in one of his targets was shattered in pieces, but the shaft was recoverable, he sometimes had to open the wound further. Then he tended to crack the arrowhead with a blade or a flat edged tool into smaller pieces before using the flat of his blade like a digging trowel, to force out the shaft. This would be dangerous for Mok as it would render him bleeding more in the short term though if he went this root, Noth was hesitant to use his blade. It would probably be best if there was some way to grip the pieces of arrow and pull them out one by one.

'But what could he use?'

His mind raced as he looked about, settling upon a pair of meat tongs and a small pastry spatula. Both were metal, and might be put to some good use.

Grabbing a kitchen rag, he inserted it into Mok's mouth before turning to find something/ anything else which might be of use before grabbing two things, a pot of water and a clay jar of honey.

HoneyAlso a natural antibiotic used during the middle ages was a natural astringenta substance that contracts the tissues or canals of the body, thereby diminishing discharges, as of mucus or blood.. He knew that much from his past where small wounds on himself had been doused in the sweet mixture to slow the bleeding. It was good for punctures as well, which meant after the foreign matter was removed it might be enough to prevent infection before getting Mok to the doctor to do any final sewing. He grabbed them both, putting them on the side table with the small knife, the tongs and the small pastry spatula.

The last thing he added was a small metal skewer rod, no larger in diameter then a small stick.

It was at this point one of the serving wenches walked through the kitchen door in a dazed state as she looked down at her fingers and was counting off. "I need three orders of stew for ma' table an-"

The barmaid's eyes widened as she saw what was happening, and her mouth opened to scream. Noth, however was quicker to the punch, striking to put a hand over the girl's mouth before a sound came out. "Shhh... Relax, no one's going to harm you. We just need to borrow this space a bit for my friend. I'll even pay a silver if you and your friends just look the other way for a moment, alright? Just make sure we're not disturbed." Noth said as he held a silver coin he fished out from his pocket to shove into the girl's hands. It was all he could do to prevent the barmaid from biting him, and he didn't need any other trouble tonight.

Mok was enough of that for one day.

Turning the barmaid back around he tried to give her a gentle push out the doorway, but this was stopped by the maid's hand bracing herself against the frame. "Wait a sec', I still need ma' table's order!"

Sighing wearily Noth spoke, "Fine, we'll have someone get you three bowls, do you remember which pot's the stew?

Pointing to the hearth where a large iron pot with a ladle hanging above it, the barmaid crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. Looking towards the others Noth sighed again as he turned back towards the table where Mok lay."Someone please deal with this."

Without caring who, Antar returned to the barbarian's side and grabbed up the chosen implements. As he barely noticed the barmaid leaving, order fulfilled Noth held up the first tool above his hand, turning towards a corner of the room where he might shield what he was doing from prying eyes. Focusing his djed, he called the res into being , transmuting it into a a flame about six inches above his hand. He didn't have time for the niceties of trying to heat up the utensils to sterilize them in the flames where the stewpot was. Instead he was trying to emulate something much like how his mother had heated up a needle to remove a splinter from his arm one time. So Noth concentrated, watching as first the knife began to glow a cherry red from the heat for the flames held in his cupped palm.

He duplicated the task with the tongs, and the small spatula before dousing all three into the clean pot of water, blinking furiously as the implements caused the water to bubble and steam to hiss. The last thing he heated was the skewer rod, this time, bending it while it was still hot into a small hook.

Coming back to Mok's side, the very first thing Antar did was take the now sterilized kitchen knife and upend it so the blade pointed towards the roof to cut away the blood soaked mess of bandages. Noth made his final appraisal, noting that from the area of the wound and how it was bleeding, that pushing it through wasn't going to be good for the arm at all, and might just rip through an artery.

It was going to be fething option two then... levering the wound open more to break the arrowhead apart to remove it. 'Fething hell...' He explained his thoughts aloud on what steps would be needed for the process, sometimes muttering softly enough that the pain hazed mok wouldn't hear.

Noth hoped it would go well, this wasn't the first time the Archer had removed an arrow this way, but it certainly would be the first in a living subject. He thanked god it wasn't a slashing or stab wound, he'd have been clueless on those. Leaning over Mok's face, Antar spoke loudly Mok hoping he could hear him."Alright, we're ready to begin, just bite down hard because... frankly: this is going to hurt like a motha' fether."

[Canali]

Canali's arms ached. A slow process had begun after Antar found them. Initials had been carved into the two dead bodies, but Canali had been forced to look away. No, there was no need to see the corpse decorated in such a way, with a knife smoothly gliding through the skin. Mok had thrown down the pants Canali had saved for someone else in the crimson edge; they could be mended to fit size or kept in case of an emergency. After folding them back up and placing all three items in her backpack, Canali followed after the other two cautiously, forcing her mind away from the man who had been beaten to death by the skillet pan in her backpack.

It wasn't long before Mok's gushing wound caused him to collapse and become delirious, resembling someone who had had a lack of water and suffered from dehydration. Worried and fluttering around in a panic, Canali tried to see at Mok's arm. It was bleeding too much to really spot any certain sign of stopping the gushing. Antar had already arrived. Where had Antar been hidden? "He… He's bleeding. Bad." Of course, as if Antar couldn't see that for himself! Wide, frightened grey eyes stared at Antar. Needing someone to be strong in a situation Canali had never found herself in before; she jumped to action when Antar gave the order to pull Mok back to the tavern.

Pulling the heavy Mok has been a battle for Canali, who didn't have the upper strength many of the other Crimson Edge members did. A light sheen of sweat covered her body in a film by the time they slid back into the kitchen. Aware of Antar shuffling around also, Canali shuffled through several cupboards in a rush; tossing objects to the side with little care. However, instead of leaving it like a tornado had traveled through the kitchen, Canali tossed the objects back into the cupboards messily. Rags...Where were the rags? Distracted momentarily by the barmaid, Canali opened another cupboard's wooden door. It creaked noisily. Inside, neatly folded rags sat in several rows. Ignoring the blood on her hands, Canali grabbed several rags before rushing back over to Mok.

Using common sense, she grasped Mok's arm in a tight hold; in case he decided to jerk away. Why was he still smiling! Taking one large rag, Canali swung it into a circle; to twist it. Slipping it under Mok's arm, Canali proceeded to readjust it several times before tying it tightly in a knot. Enough to cause the skin underneath to pucker and wrinkle, resembling the wrinkles on a fat dog's face. "There. That should cut off the blood slightly." No guarantees.


Remembering the barmaid, Canali wiped the blood on her fingers off on a spare rag before swinging it over her shoulder. Her backpack was shed on a near counter. Close enough to remember to grab, but out of the way. Gaining her calm, Canali scooped out three bowls of steamy stew to give to the barmaid and followed her out of the tavern kitchen; rag still over her shoulder. Noise assaulted her ears, the bar room was in orderly chaos. As usual, the bartender served out drinks like a pro-tennis player serving back, quick and smoothly. Tucking back into the kitchen just as a barmaid began strutting towards her, Canali helped serve out orders while Antar and Kiara worked.

[Antar]

Antar looked at the table where the myrian lay and began by asking someone to hold Mok down as he tended to the arm. The arrow wound looked like it was bleeding alot more then it really was, there was just far too much red staining the shirt, and tourniquet. Both of them.

With his left hand he grabbed a firm hold of the arrow that was left imbedded in the soft flesh of the myrian's deltoid muscle and tried to gain an approximation of how deep it stuck through the bicep. By judging the distance the arrow had penetrated before it had stuck he'd know how much pressure he'd have to apply. Every moment the tourniquet remained would mean hard complications for the future, so it wouldn't do Mok much good to keep the tourniquet on any longer than necessary, so he had to work fast. Noth started by placing one hand with his fingers on one side of the puncture wound, and his thumb on the other.

Very slowly he pressed the would open wider and grabbed the sterilized skewer rod he'd bent and angle it around the shaft to hold it steady to prevent more tearing of the flesh. With the angle of the imbedded arrow, he wouldn't risk pushing it through- he might tear the arteries which fed the arm with nourishing life's blood. So he had to take the harder route and attempt to remove the bits of the arrow from the same vector it had penetrated. His focus and concentration that was with him on every shot aided him here as he kept his hands steady.

With the long thin metal hook in his left hand, Antar breathed very little as he looped the bend around the shaft to hold it steady. In his right he manuevered the knife into the wound, and cut the shaft as close to the arrow head as possible before withdrawing the wood of the shaft and tossing it aside.

The blood was quickening now, so his sight of the arrow head was almost obscured by a mass of red liquid, but he quickly took a bit of the boiled water in a ladle and doused a rag to help sop up the blood long enough to grab the other tool he'd need: the cut down spatula that would serve as his chisel. He kept it in his right hand as he worked the hook into the flesh around the front of the arrowhead, and kept it anchored in between his pinky and forefinger of his left hand before contacting the end of the chisel to the metal of the arrowhead. Turning to the side he grabbed the hilt of his kukri and used it as a makeshift hammer. Tapping light enough, he ensured that the metal of the arrowhead was shattered and broken in twain not forced deeper into the wound.

Using the hook again he pulled out the pieces one by one, in the same manner that he'd recover a broken arrowhead from the flesh of a deer, as the almost unconscious man moaned in discomfort.

The 'look and hook' method was always painful, he'd seen plenty of men cry during the experience, but it was necessary. No amount of metal could remain inside the flesh, or else it would rust and cause problems down the line with infection. The same could be said with wood splinters, but he had a plan for that. With a muffled curse, Noth placed his left elbow on the myrian's chest to keep him flat upon the table, before going back in for the last piece of the arrow head to hook it free.

When it was removed, Noth wasted no time checking the pulse of the myrian's neck to find it steady, as he grabbed the honey with one hand and upended it above the puncture. He watched as gravity poured the honey over the wound, seeing the viscous mixture trickle down into the muscles interior and the blood turn it into red wisps as the thickening sappy substance began to work its magic.

The bleeding slowed, held in by the fluid pressure as Noth began the last task.

Summoning his djed he began to project the res from his hands into a small cap over the wound as he pressed the edges of the puncture closed from an inch away, Barely a teaspoon of the transparent gel like substance could be seen as he transmuted the top to flame.

The flesh seared, and the smell of burning meat could be heard as the wound began to cauterize itself, the honey close to the seared wound would form a protective hardened 'layer' barely the width of an eggshell as the skin blackened the skin of mok's arm in a half inch patch of blackened skin. The honey would protect the inside of the wound, preventing infection, but the outer burn was still in danger of being ruptured by any hard movements.

Taking a few of the rags he doused the rest of the honey across the now sealed wound and began the bandaging process. He made sure the strips were securely fastened around the affected area, tight, but not too tight in order ensure blood flow to the area. The wrapping was just to create another protective layer around the wound, and in the next days would be followed by many changes in the dressings.

When that was done, Noth loosened the tourniquet and felt at the myrian’s wrist for the pulse, and his efforts were rewarded by a strong and steady beat as the hand began to regain its coloring.

Around the pockmarked burn from the cauterization he noticed the bandage having blood weep into it, but it was slow, and nay more than a few drops. Wounds like this were known to seep for days afterwards, and noth wouldn't be surprised to find the myrian pureblood out of action for a bit of time.

The last thing he did was take the arm and secure a large triangle bandage around Mok's neck to relieve the pressure of any weight on the limb.

Checking the man's vitals he noticed the myrian was breathing again, deep wholesome breaths that showed the lungs were expanding and contracting properly, a sure sign that shock had been averted as many portions of shock involved the injured party breathing quick and shallow breaths. Thanking the gods, the man was alright for the time being, Noth set about gathering up the myrians weapons and money pouch to hold onto for the moment.

He'd give them back later, but first he had to ensure the myrian paid a visit to the crazy doctor , Patronius was his name? No matter, Noth figured he'd learn soon enough. Worse came to worse, the physician would reopen the cauterized cap with a knife and commit another bit of surgery before sewing Mok back together. In the best case scenario, he sell them a bit of bandages and show them how to dress the wound better, with a stern scolding to apply some other herbal concoction to help ease the pain and keep the cauterization from infection.

After all, that was only natural over the course of the healing process.

Cursing his missed stew, Noth walked outside to square lash for poles together a pull stretcher from sticks in the taverns firewood pile. He lined it with his cloak, before calling back the others to help lift the myrian onto the assembled . They left the tavern out the back door, leaving the waitresses and the night's events behind as Noth dragged the injured, still semi-conscious man towards his horse, Linking the stretcher up to Dawnstride he gathered up the reigns and lead her towards the doctor’s place. He was almost sure Kiara would have followed at his request to keep watch.

But there was only one thing he was completely sure of: that any further treatment costs were coming out of Mok's coinpurse. Not his. Luckily, he had it with him if only he could haggle the doctor into seeing them at such a late hour.

~Fin.
oocWith permission from Mok on AIM this thread is closing to be posted in levi’s office

Skill Requests: Canali : Skills: Observation, brawling, weapon(pan), stealth, medicine. Any others you see ? :>) Lores; The First Is The Worst, Kitchen Utensils Are Dangerous Any others you see ? :>) Kiara : Weapon(Dagger) Climbing, Stealth and Observation. Brawling?   Lores: Any others you see ? :>) Mok : Weapon(Gladius) Stealth, Observation. Brawling? Lores: I got Shot! Any others you see ? :>) Antar : Skills: Reimancy. Medicine, Battlefield surgery. Any others you see ? :>) Lores- Reimancy for medical use. Fire can cauterize wounds. How to secure an arm. Honey is an astringent and an Antibiotic. Any others you see ? :>)

[Cantrip]

Did you want something? Mok: XP Award: Stealth +1; Gladius +1; Unarmed Combat +1 Lores: Pierced by a Rusty Bolt; Insults (basic); Seeking Vengeance; Tearing Faces Apart; Sending a Grisly Message; Flesh Carving (basic); Narrowly Escaping Death. Canali: XP Award: Medicine +2; Stealth +1; Weapon: Pan +1; Observation +1 Lores: Should I Stay or Should I Go; Identifying Eyes in the Dark; Improvised Weapons (basic); Mercy for an Injured Foe; Am I a Murderer? Spoils: Dead Man’s Pants; Dagger; Pan Kiara: XP Award: Stealth +3; Observation +3; Dagger +1; Climbing +1 Lores: Sizing up the Situation; Unfocused Eyes See Better in the Dark; Hiding in the Shadows; Backstabbing. Antar: XP Award: Reimancy +1; Medicine +5; Observation +1 Lores: Using Reimancy for Medical Purposes; Cauterizing Wounds; How to Secure an Arm; The Medicinal Uses of Honey; Spoils: Dagger Additional Notes: Sometimes, simple threads are the best threads. I enjoyed lots of things. Canali’s emotions surrounding her first kill, Mok’s rage and mutilating, Kiara’s deadly stalking, Antar’s absurdly meticulous surgery. Good writing all around, and a pleasure to grade.