Closed We Who Survive [Tink]

[Gideon]

9th of Fall, 514AV

Ignorance had a way of feeding the mind that which it only sought to believe, clouding sound judgment and poisoning good character. In a city like Sunberth, ignorance was perhaps the most lethal adversary one could encounter on its cobbled streets, inspiring even the meek to take arms; if the spoils proved tempting. A one hundred gold miza bounty on the dhani was the case in point today, and it was naturally a powerful motivator.

“You look like one of them Dhani!”

Gideon glared venomously with sealed lips at the drunk teetering across from him in the alley, his hopes of going unmolested through the city streets foiled by a man who could barely keep his trousers strung up properly about his portly waist. Debating with the other would only condemn himself further. This had been taught by experience. Possessed of an accent too sweet for northern ears, and an understanding of the common tongue that was patchwork at best, holding conversation was the last thing Gideon wished to do with someone accusing him of being a snake-skinned desert dweller.

Instead, he opted for resting a set of dirt stained fingers along the grip of his longsword, gliding its tempered metal smoothly from a leatherbound sheath. “Begone,” he softly intoned, leveling the point of the blade almost a foot away from the other’s blubbery throat, palm poised atop the handle with wrist acting as a counter balance.

Dim light danced along the blade’s sharpened edge from a slice of gray sky above, stained by a smattering of dark residue from previous use. Sore in more ways than he wished to recount, his patience for entertaining the fevered accusations of a drunk strode upon a fine line of patience. If he did not move in the near future, Gideon was wont to carve a slice of regret into the other and ask for forgiveness from the gods later.

Gazing down at the blade, the drunk’s jaw slackened for a moment as his plump lips parted, ponderously considering his next move in what appeared to be a half-witted effort at weighing options. What Gideon had initially thought as a simple decision to make, instead became a lesson on the effects of greed and alcohol mixing together. Watching as the drunk reached behind him, the soft shirk of metal leaving its sheath echoed gently in the alley.

“So it is,” Gideon hummed, lunging quickly before the other had a chance to bring his own weapon to bear, the longsword’s tip hewing a simple braid of red that snaked down his adversary’s neck. Had it not been for the many layers of fat cushioning some more vital bits, a fatal gash was likely assured. But as the blood gurgled down layers and sweat sleeked skin and the drunk still advanced, the desert dweller came to terms with his error in estimation of larger men.

The knife slipped through the air more nimbly than firstly credited, the drunk using the momentum of his corpulent stature to propel himself forward and consume the width of the alley. In the enclosed space, it was quickly recognized that there were obvious hurdles to overcome in otherwise practiced maneuverings, Gideon’s intentions of side stepping his assailant met by the firm structure of a building with his left shoulder instead. Sucking cold air through clenched teeth, a bid to impart the most ruin upon his foe was made before he was entirely overrun. Stuttering a half step backwards, the longsword spun down parralel to his right leg and circled back, chopping down through the soft tendon and sinew opposite the drunk’s elbow.

A wicked splash of crimson attested to the blade’s connection as it met with resistance and shuddered, a vexatious howl emanating from the drunkard’s tongue. The knife, much to the clouded dismay of Gideon, continued along its destined path however. Stunted but undeterred, it found the meaty flesh of a shoulder, a spout of red bursting out from the small crevasse. Parting teeth gave way to an impassioned cry, the drunk shoving him to the wall where he was momentarily pinned as the other tripped past and fell face first into the mud.

The knife became unstuck from both hand and wound alike as it descended towards the earth, clattering against a dislodged stone before skipping into the muck at the drunkard’s feet. Without hesitation, Gideon placed a sweated palm over the drooling gash left in his shoulder and spun upon his heel to face the foundered body. Raising his blade once more, the stitch of pain he felt was overcome only by the nettled rage boiling from within. The blade descended, and made its mark again.

The loud pop of a tendon rolling up into his aggressor’s calf deafened the ears of both men in the tightened space, followed quickly by inhumane screams that all of Sunberth was liable to hear. The sword cut had cut through the back of his assailant's heel and met with bone, grating until it sliced clear of the divot left. Cursing loudly at his fallen foe, Gideon made haste to part with present company, sheathing his sword while keeping a hand firmly cradled over the wound. Finding a place to hide became his priority, attention to the tear in his flesh trivial if he was caught by the mob.

Running through a tangle of alleys eventually brought him out to the clockwork bridge that crossed the river, its structure ancient and purpose vital. Catching his breath at the mouth of the gap, he gazed about for signs of trouble. With the rushing sound of water below, fewer ears were likely privy to the sounds that had emanated from his tangling with the brute. He felt it was his best chance for survival at the moment.

Wincing in agony, Gideon’s back slipped up against the stone edifice of the building to his right, inhaling from the precious air until his lungs were satiated. The longer he waited however, the more perceptible his injury became, adrenaline gradually dwindling until he was left with a limb he feared to even lift. Clenching his jaw, he gazed down for the first time to find that the shirt beneath had soaked up most of the blood, leaving the cloth only spattered. It would help in concealing his infirmity, but only for so long.

Finding the street mostly vacant, the desert dweller stepped out into the open and crossed the bridge, wandering into the grounds of The Riverside Isle Park, avoiding signs of sentient life at all costs.

[Tink Scalpellion]

It wasn't that Tink looked for trouble or others to help. Its more like people in need found their way over to Tink. For example, he was hangin' out at the Tavern and this dude randomly started choking. Tink helped him and probably saved his life. There were numerous instances in Tink's life when events like this occured. As a result, very little surprised him. Rather than striving to help others just for reward or money or fame, Tink did it out of love. Not your romantic love, but a love for helping others and society as a whole. Daily, Tink looked beyond his wants and to those of others. Most of the time. For this reason, Tink aided nearly anybody. Strolling around the park, Tink heard moans and grunting sounds. Yes, they did weren't very loud, but Tink still decided to investigate them. C'mon. It wasn't like he wouldnt risk being hurt if it meant he didn't help somebody. There was nobody around. Complete solitude. The perfect place to hide if one was hurt. Tink. How stupid can you be? Don't investigate those sounds! You could be hurt,or it might be something you can't cure. Don't risk it. An onslaught of doubts and thoughts stormed through Tink's mind. It was like standing in the middle of a raging river and fighting the current. Still, Tink resisted the cowardly thoughts. How can I leave someone if their hurt? Thats not what I promised my father that I would do. Its my duty. I took a pledge. Indecisive was most likely the best word to describe Tink. He wanted to help someone, but his gut told him to avoid this possibly dire situation. However, his heart won and he decided to call out to whoever was back there. I hope you know what your doing and the risks your taking. I wonder what, if anything is wrong with the person. I guess I'll find out soon. No sense prolonging the inevitable any longer. Calling out, Tink yelled, "Hello! Is anybody there?… Hey! Do you need help? Where are you?"

[Gideon]

Robern Dalagnar. People had once lauded his development of this park, charmed by its simple beauty and thankful to have a place tucked away from the rumpus of the city. Merited for having sprawling vistas, tailored landscapes, and an affordable privacy that was otherwise impossible to find elsewhere, Gideon found it remarkable how easily one could sway the opinions of the masses with but the ruse of beneficence backing it. Many may have been spitting on the memory of him to this day, but the desert dweller saw an intelligent man worthy of study.

His dulling gaze was presently cast upon the remnants of the icon’s former home in the distance, droplets of blood leaking to a meandering path in his wake. Dalanger had succeeded where others could only dream, raising an empire out from the rubble of chaos. It made Gideon wonder as to the origins of the legend, if he had struggled in the dregs before rising beyond them. Or perhaps he had been born to a pedestal instead-if not in wealth, then influence.

Thoughts such as these were his body’s feverish way of coping with pain, cerulean eyes settling upon a park bench as he collapsed to its sturdy wood surface. The loss of blood was enough to make his thoughts and actions muddled, saved only by the coagulation around the red stream that was slowly receding. Forced to rest, his hand pulled away from the gash to find it penetrated more broadly than it did in depth. The flesh around the wound had become more sensitive than the cut itself, an angry red that swelled with fluid. Resting his back into the long seat, he breathed a rankled sigh. From experience, he knew it would require either stitching or a molten blade, neither of which seemed enticing.

He must have been moaning and cringing as he lumbered through the park, for a voice outside his own internal dialogue cracked through the silence of the trees and brush. At first he considered the possibility he was going mad, its lilt no more than a delusion his mind had crafted to ease the throbbing pain. But as he heard the voice call out again, Gideon could feel his senses returning, a blurring vision sharpening, and the air cold as ice in his lungs.

Sitting up, his eyes darted around for the source of its offering, hesitant to reply at first, though quickly realizing his options were severely limited. Staying here without asking for help only invited a host of other potential dilemmas to assail him, time a factor when it came to the change in emotional tides in Sunberth. Finding his throat dry, he swallowed forcibly with a grimace before speaking, and paid heed to its volume with no small measure of prudence. Attracting one person’s attention would be more than enough for him to contend with in his current state.

“Over here. Just sitting...on this fine bench.”

His left hand stroked the wood grain of the bench nearest his thigh, fingernails scratching across its sanded surface until tactfully sliding the hand around the grip of his kukri sheathed behind him. Sunberth was no place to accept assistance at face value without the promise of paying a price--usually at twice the value from what was gifted. If what came towards him posed a threat, Gideon was willing to defend himself to his last staggering breath. Dalagnar's old cronies be damned.

[Tink Scalpellion]

Deep laceration to the shoulder. Looks to be several inches deep. Crimson stained clothing. Rapidly losing blood. Ahh. This would be quite the experience. Lucky for Tink, he carried around a surgery Kit. For his injury, Tink was surprised at how far he walked. He was either afraid or had a high pain tolerance. Or both. Without asking the man questions, Tink couldn't be positive, but he assumed that the wound was from a knife. Watching him,Tink heard him faintly say"Over here". Following his instructions, Tink saw him on the bench. Probably a drunken argument gone violent. I wonder what the other guy looks like. If he's still alive.This guys no joke. The wound looks fresh, so hopefully there is no infection. Mind as well give him some herbs for the pain and to avoid future infections to it. Tink hoped that the knife hadn't cut the bone. It was gonna be close. Arriving at the base of the bench, Tink realized that his early assumptions were probably right. There was a large sword next tothe man and Tink imagined that it was probably bloody. Tink was immediately struck with a problem. The man was sitting on a bench several feet off the ground where Tink was. Time to problem solve and figure out a way to get up there. Hmmm. Probably to hard to climb up the actual bench. The man looks lkke hes in to much pain to help. Nobodies around to give me a lift up. Wait. What if I climb up that mans leg. Can't hurt to try. With a solution to the problem, Tink wrapped his arms around the leg and began to wiggle his way up. It wasn't easy and it took Tink quite a long time. Reaching the top, Tink accidentally tripped and fell on the man's groin. That had to hurt. Now, the man was looking at Tink with a face of both surprise and disgust. "Doctor Scalpellion at your service. But you can call me Tink. Mind if I look at that wound?"

[Gideon]

Gideon could not help but wonder if the knife had been laced with a hallucinogenic poison upon seeing the creature at first, his glazed expression blinked back a few times to ensure this wasn’t some conjuration of Nysel’s domain. Curiosity quickly overrode the anxiety that had been plaguing him since calling for assistance, a deep crease in his brow fostered as a result. These northern lands seemed to hold secrets beyond imagining, each day revealing a new piece of knowledge to be held in wonderment. It was as if...as if he were a child again.

Hesitant to move at first, Gideon allowed the small creature to climb upon him, eyes attempting to decipher its composition which clearly wasn’t made of flesh. He wondered if it even possessed a working skeletal structure. Chewing pensively across his bottom lip, he felt the creature tug upon his breeches, seemingly exempt from societal norms or even a trace of etiquette. He only watched in ruminating silence as its head crested the lump of his knee and stood upon his thigh, treated as though it were the most perfectly natural thing in the world to do.

Opening his lips to speak, features slightly bewildering to this creature’s very existence, his first breath was cut short by its tumble into his groin. Gideon’s eyes billowed wide until the whites seemed to pale the smaller cerulean dishes marked with black points. It was followed succinctly by a wince that forced him to adjust his legs, causing a tremor throughout his entire body that would make it difficult to keep one’s balance.

“Mind me bits!” he rasped, loosening his grip on the kukri in order to stabilize the rest of his body along the bench.

The novelty of the creature slowly thinned away when it spoke, its voice resonant and its manner speculatively sincere. If the gods were playing a trick on him, Gideon certainly was not getting the punchline. The dull throbbing in his shoulder was no small matter, though. If this creature was here to help, and help him without pretension, who was he to dissuade its service? Still, the question begged to be asked.

“What are you, little...Tink?”

Pulling the edge of his stained cloak away from the wound, he gave the creature better perspective on it, an air of doubt cast about his features. He wondered if coming to the park had been a wise choice. If the little master did prove useful, well then all the more reason to be thankful and gracious. But seeing him now, there was reason to believe that this was nothing more than an illusion authored by a very powerful and convincing force in this world.

[Tink Scalpellion]

This was kind of awkward. Tink hadn't made a very good first impression when he crawled up the man's leg,and it didn't help matters when he fell on his crotch. Ok. Let's just regroup and take this one step at a time. First, I need to explain myself and then I can begin treatment. If only it's as easy as it sounds in my mind. Then,life would be so much more enjoyable. The man's shoulder injury continued to bleed, and Tink was worried that the man might faint from all the blood he was rapidly losing. Now, it's time for Tink to help him, regardless of first impressions. Tink was happy. The gods were smiling down upon him,because he had his Surgeon's Kit with him. Praise the gods. "Sir, I'm a Pycon, but don't worry about that. I'm here to help. Your shoulder really needs to be looked at by a doctor. I guess it's a good coincidence that I heard your groaning. The gods must really favor you." Time to put together a game plan. Most wounds to the shoulder were not that deep. Superficial. This was not one of those instances. The wound had a jagged edge and was several diameters long. It would most likely require stitching. That man,whatever his name is,will certainly experience pain. With wounds to the shoulder like that, the man could expect to have very little movement. He would be able to move the elbow and hand slightly. However, he would expect to feel great pain. Tink was happy that the knife had missed major tendons near his neck. He would have died. Blood wasn't spurting from the wound, but it continued to bleed. "Sir. I'm gonna fix up your shoulder. Don't worry. I'm a professional." Tinkwalked over to the man's arm and stepped onto his leg. The man was slumped, slightly,so Tink was able to reach the shoulder. Withdrawing his scalpel, Tink used it to cut a five inch strip of cloth from the man's shirt. Dabbing the wound with this, Tink wiped the blood away and saw the wound. Nearly, 3 inches deep, the wound was painful, but the man would live. It had not severed anytendons or blood vessels. The man was lucky. Tink continued to wipe away the blood and then withdrew from his kit string and scissor. Hewas going to stitch the wound shut. "I'm gonna have to stitch this cut. It won't hurt that bad. Hopefully! Just relax, your going to be okay." Tink strung the needle and inserted it into the skin surounding the gash. Bringing the two pieces of skin together, Tink threaded the needle between the two. Loop 1. Loop 2. This continued for several minutes and the man winced several times. Tink looked at his handiwork. A eat row of stitches lining the closed wound. "Okay. Thats all done. Now, I just need to make a sling for your arm.." Tink Cut the mans shirt into three stips several inches wide and around a foot long. Tying them together,Tink formed a makeshift sling that would support his arm. One strip went under his shoulder. The other across his body,and one over top of the shoulder to protect the wound. "all done. You should expect to be in pain for awhile, but it'l pass."