[Flashback, Wasteland] Monster (Solo)

[Oluse]

Bloodcurdling screams from Yurvik, and deep aggressive growls of satisfaction and rage from the beast. As a high thrilling backdrop to the cacophony of horror Maevon's angelic voice took on a barbaric tone of desperation as she let forth a fierce war cry.

Oluse manged to finally push himself up just in time to see the large dark bear jump in pain, and twirl around to face Maevon who had somehow gotten directly behind the creature in a bout of intense speed. In her hand she wielded what looked like a stick of crackling fire. The tindertwig! She took another step forward toward the fearsome beast with no thought of consequence, the flame held as a wife's symbol of Cheva against the motherly transgressor embodying the might of Oriana herself.

The bear let forth a foul growl toward the flame, but backed up when it advanced with it's fearless wielder. The bear gave another wary sound, almost like a dog's bark toward the flame, then cast a look back at Oluse, and down. At which point it reluctantly began to recede, heading back in the direction of it's cubs. Maevon allowed the tool to continue to burn away, weeks of fire starter dwindling as she burn her very livelihood to save her husband from the beast.

Oluse, however, had looked away from the fierce warrior women Maevon, and had fixated on the spot downward of the bear. With groans of agony Yurvik lay on his back, blood adorning the white snow around him.

Oluse had grown up around medicine, around injuries. Rended flesh, puncture wounds, head gashes that gushed like fountains, but always he had seen the traumas after they were cleaned, after they had traveled to his family's clinic. Never had he seen, this. The blood spread out in long arches over the surrounding snow, some still spurted out into the open wind. The crimson liquid permeated the empty canvas around the man, as well as coating him. Large blotches of the blood mark the trail of Yurvik's assaulter as she retreated.
__

Oluse stood trapped in his stillness. One thought seemed to hold his mind captive. Why wont he stop bleeding?...

[Oluse]

Maevon spun about after the bear had made it's distance, and collapsed to her bleeding husband's side. Her desperate eyes looked up to Oluse, pleading. The third and final moment in this event that would stick in Oluse's mind forever. That expression, that desperate begging expression. So raw, so powerful, yet revealing the weakest in a person. She needed Yurvik. And Oluse had to help her.

Oluse shook his head hard, almost losing his balance. Focus, he instructed himself. The pain of his own wound worked against his goal with persistence. You were in shock, you need to focus now though. Yurvik is bleeding, where is he bleeding from?

Oluses ran forward, cradling his screaming arm, and settled down into the snow by Yurvik, wincing all the while. He looked over the mans body, a war field of deep scratched and occasional bite marks. Most would stop bleeding quickly enough in the cold air, and much of the scratches were absorbed by the man's leather outfit.

First, strip him of his clothing. He began his checklist, and immediately ran into an issue. The weather was too cold to strip him, he'd die of hypothermia. Oluse let out a frustrated growl at the situation, and moved on to looking for the worst wound. It didn't take long to find, since the blood was still gushing out in abundance.

[Oluse]

Oluse reached for the leg with his good hand and applied pressure. He couldn't believe how bad things were. He had to choose, let the man bleed to death, or remove his clothing to administer medical attention. He yelled this time in frustration and pain, the sound causing Maevon to begin quivering, breaking her usual resolve.

Oluse glanced at her again, then Yurvik. He knew he couldn't just sit there, and look to Maevon. He, and only he was Yurvik's only chance. "Take his pants off." Oluse ordered through gritted teeth. He, however, found confidence in the words that even surprised him imbued into his words. Oluse had to trust Morwen to protect Yurvik from the cold. He was the only one that could stop the bleeding.

Maevon expertly tore the pants down, exposing the gushing leg. The pain causing another writhing groan from Yurvik. Oluse was releaved to hear it, for if the man could still feel pain that meant the cold hadn't gotten to him, his limbs likely still functioned, and he hadn't lost too much blood. Yet.

[Oluse]

He applied pressure again, his off arm screaming out at him for attention of it's own, as he looked around for something to use as a bandage. A strip of his pants would do. "Maevon cut his pants to use for a bandage, make sure it's straight we need to make sure we can tie it tight." He couldn't believe the words that spilled from his mouth. His mind was still spinning, he felt disoriented and distant even from himself. All of himself, except his agonizing arm. Soon more words came pouring from his mouth, comforting Yurvik through winces of pain, encouraging him to stay awake. All of the first aid his parents had taught him just happening before him, only hindered by his useless arm. But he knew before long he would run out of first aid training. This wasn't some kitchen accident, this man was going to die unless he did everything right from then on. Another yell escaped Oluse's lungs, this one more panicked.

Maevon struggled to tie the strip down, and apply pressure as instructed to stop the bleeding. Oluse barley managed to realize the futility through the blinding agony of his own arm. The wound needed time to clot, the blood needed to be slowed, or stopped. He couldn't think through the overwhelming pain, his mind moving like a viscus stretch of spiced molasses, hot from the burning of his arm, and slow from the crushing cold and fatigue. He did know putting a tourniquet on the man would likely cause his leg to catch frost bite, however. Even Morwen couldn't spread warmth to a limb that the heart could not touch.

"Maevon, now tie the strip as tightly as you can around his leg here. I mean it, at tightly as you can." He hated how sure his voice sounded when it came out, only broken by hissing and spitting at his arm. He wanted to sound like Maevon did when she spoke, so authoritative. But, inside he felt he would explode from the pressure! From the pain. And that is exactly why he needed to stop. A tourniquet would give him the time he needed to calm down. He couldn't operate like that, he knew he was no use to anyone in such a disheveled state. "Ok, now put pressure on that wound on his head the best you can, just hold it. Keep him awake." With that Oluse closed his eyes.

[Oluse]

First he focused on the wind, let it drown out Maevon's voice. He drew the frigid oxygen into his panicked lungs, and forced a sturdy exhale. His arm demanded attention. His awareness briefly lingered upon the tears of stress and pain beginning to run down Oluse's cheeks. He focused on his arm, the pain. He felt it, in it's entirety. Overwhelming. A feral response to injury. He had always been taught that only one thing could undue the feral, and that was the mental. He continued his forced breathing, and tried to find an emotion within himself. He told himself to calm, but there was no calm. To focus, there was no focus either, outside that of his blaring wound. He did find one thing, however; sorrow, not for himself, but for Yurvik. Empathy. He latched onto the emotion, he focused on it, only to loose himself to the next flare of pain from his arm. He didn't know how to do this, what to think about. He wanted to be calm, he wanted to feel. Content.

He realized immediately that was the solution! He drew in another long, shaking breath of wasteland air, that same scent he held in his lungs the first day Yurvik took him fishing. What was the taste? He asked himself. Sunlight! His intense expression began to loosen slightly, untying first at the lips, as he tilted his head gently back, as if letting the sunlight spill onto him. Wind, and sun, and. A flash of pain hit him with agonizing force. He remembered the line catching, his startlement, and the sudden pain of overwhelming brightness. No. He calmly commanded himself not to open his eyes, not to look the sun, or his pain in the eyes. Never look defeat in the eyes. He forced his mind to drift deeper, to find the next element of contentment, and he felt it, not in his mind, but between his shoulder blades. A single drop of newly thawed snow rolling in a single bead along the light hairs of his back, between the canyon of his shoulder blades, down the stretch to the small of his back, and farther. That was it, all he needed, he was calm. The pain hadn't gone, but he could think now.

[Oluse]

"Fishing line." Oluse pronounced firmly as he opened his eyes and looked to Maevon. "Quickly, grab the fishing line from his pack." Maevon without question did so, as Oluse noted that the bleeding on most of his minor wounds had come to an end, or slowed to the point of being noncritical. He reached out with his good hand, and took the line, bringing it to his face, biting on a strand at the tip of the twine and pulling the rest away with his face, effectively untwining the twine. The thin thread between his teeth curled slightly as it hung from his mouth. Perfect diameter for stitching. Passing the thread to his good hand he spoke again. "Good, now get the sewing needle from your bag." As she ran off he gathered some snow and began wiping it along Yurvik's leg, removing the thick blood cooling along it. He was releaved to see the blood clotting quickly in the wind, but remained concerned for the limb as a whole, and it's struggle against the cold.

Minutes later with a threaded needle he began his delicate, one handed work on the cleansed wound. The stitches were far from pretty as he pierced into the delicate skin, and sewed the rended layers into fusion, but the cut wasn't exactly neat to begin with. He worked quickly, without any unnecessary words, instructing Maevon how to help when he needed her. After the gash was closed he instructed her on bandaging the leg properly, how to fold the cloth, and to make sure it was tight without cutting off the circulation.

[Oluse]

"Ok, now we remove the tourniquet. The cloth there. And get him to a fire. He needs to warm up before frostbite sets in." He spoke to her, but he dared not look Maevon in the eye. Not while they pulled Yurvik's clothes back over him, or as they drug him under the safety of the overhang. Not a single time since she had given him that pleading look.

For he knew a terrible truth. Irrefutable, and equally as awful. He had disobeyed Maevon's commands to avoid the animals of the tundra. He had called for help, he had payed them to come out here. And ultimately, he had caused this injury. Without him that man in Maevon's arms, her husband and lover, would not be bleeding out in the snow, or freezing under what could have been a comforting blanket to the Vantha.

The worst of his thoughts, however, did not lay in the guilt, but in a pride. He felt a spark of pride within himself when Maevon gave him that look. When she needed him, and her husband was useless. When the only man that could help her was him, and she knew it to her core, despite all other things.

His mind pulled full circle to his dream the night before, his emotions as he rose. His intuition was right, this day indeed held a horrible monster reared it's destructive head. That monster was not a mother bear. That monster was him.

[Cheshire]

Character: Oluse Experience: Cooking +1, Rhetoric +1, Observation +2, Medicine +2, Leadership +2, Running +2, Meditation +2 Lore: Dangers of the Tundra Injuries: Sprained arm, 3 weeks to heal. Additional Note: I cannot give you skinning points because Oluse's skill in skinning is not high enough for him to skin a body as easily as you wrote it. Feel free to edit for more XP though. PM me with concerns.