81st of Winter, 515 AV
The Southern Bastion
It seemed the situation was worse than what it had first seemed to be.
When she had stepped through the door, Aislyn had not expected to come out in a world such as the one she stood in at the moment. She wasn’t entirely sure what she had been expecting, but this wasn’t it. Shrill cries and shouts and orders, barked by anyone who had gained an illusion of power in the chaos. Aislyn had been one of the victims of such an order, having stood about for just a few ticks before one of the Speakers- the Tailor, tasked her with taking inventory of medical supplies. At least, that’s what Aislyn believed she had been tasked with. The tailor had only spoken in clipped, cracked sentences, essentially made of keywords such as inventory, book, and supplies. He carried neither the grace nor finesse that Speakers commonly had, though she certainly held no lack of authority. There was something about being approached by an unfamiliar oddity that stared instead of looked that was mildly unnerving.
So of course, Aislyn hadn’t questioned the order.
She’d met with Speakers- though not of the caliber of the Tailor- before. It was worth at least attempting to stay on their good side. She’d personally experienced the Serpent, the Sea, and the Mockingbird, and learned that there was no telling what a Speaker might do, or when or how or why. No matter how strange, or how seemingly outlandish.
So she’d taken inventory. Utilizing the extra book she’d bought in preparation for entering the door, she made a table, with bandages, cloth, alcohol, and other supplies written in boxes along the top, and approximate times along the side. Then she’d gone around, trying to tally what had been used, what was being used, and what was left. Almost frantically, she’d run around, asking those who seemed to know what they were doing what had been done. There was no shortage of supplies, it seemed, despite the panicked conditions the camp was in.
As she’d hurried around, Aislyn had been tousled and shoved qutie a bit more than she would have liked. It was putting quite a strain on her concentration, and her ability to uphold Maya. She had to hold numbers in her head, concentrate on her surroundings, watch her back, all while keeping her mental fist clenched around the will to keep Maya in existence. She was going to be mentally and physically exhausted by the time it was all said and done.
Nonetheless, she worked feverishly, until someone had come up to her, begging as though for their life.
”My husband, my husband, he- his head… His chest. Something got him. I turned around for a moment and… Please, you’ve got to help him.”
Oh dear.
Perhaps she’d looked like she knew what she was doing after all. Too much so, even. For some reason, this woman had decided Aislyn was the best person to ask to save her beloved’s life. A man, whom it appeared was bleeding quite profusely from several places on his body, held up by nothing more than his wife’s arms.
Conflicted, Aislyn tried to find something to say. No would be so easy, and in the regular Alvadas, she would have said it in an instance. But here, such an action was a lot less… redeemable. It was no more helpful to Alvadas as a whole- to Ionu- than stabbing the man herself. But she couldn’t fix him. She didn’t know how.
Maybe, though, someone else did.
Trying to look as purposeful as she could, Aislyn took a step back, looking around for someone. Someone being anyone, really. Her eyes eventually fell upon a woman, standing to the side, easily overlooked, who didn’t appear to be actively dying, nor preventing someone else from doing so. Perfect.
”You… You- Can you help? Come here,” She bent down, taking her eyes off the woman for a second as she helped the wife lay her husband to the ground. Then, her gaze returned to the bystander, ”Do you know how to help him? Anything?”
The Southern Bastion
It seemed the situation was worse than what it had first seemed to be.
When she had stepped through the door, Aislyn had not expected to come out in a world such as the one she stood in at the moment. She wasn’t entirely sure what she had been expecting, but this wasn’t it. Shrill cries and shouts and orders, barked by anyone who had gained an illusion of power in the chaos. Aislyn had been one of the victims of such an order, having stood about for just a few ticks before one of the Speakers- the Tailor, tasked her with taking inventory of medical supplies. At least, that’s what Aislyn believed she had been tasked with. The tailor had only spoken in clipped, cracked sentences, essentially made of keywords such as inventory, book, and supplies. He carried neither the grace nor finesse that Speakers commonly had, though she certainly held no lack of authority. There was something about being approached by an unfamiliar oddity that stared instead of looked that was mildly unnerving.
So of course, Aislyn hadn’t questioned the order.
She’d met with Speakers- though not of the caliber of the Tailor- before. It was worth at least attempting to stay on their good side. She’d personally experienced the Serpent, the Sea, and the Mockingbird, and learned that there was no telling what a Speaker might do, or when or how or why. No matter how strange, or how seemingly outlandish.
So she’d taken inventory. Utilizing the extra book she’d bought in preparation for entering the door, she made a table, with bandages, cloth, alcohol, and other supplies written in boxes along the top, and approximate times along the side. Then she’d gone around, trying to tally what had been used, what was being used, and what was left. Almost frantically, she’d run around, asking those who seemed to know what they were doing what had been done. There was no shortage of supplies, it seemed, despite the panicked conditions the camp was in.
As she’d hurried around, Aislyn had been tousled and shoved qutie a bit more than she would have liked. It was putting quite a strain on her concentration, and her ability to uphold Maya. She had to hold numbers in her head, concentrate on her surroundings, watch her back, all while keeping her mental fist clenched around the will to keep Maya in existence. She was going to be mentally and physically exhausted by the time it was all said and done.
Nonetheless, she worked feverishly, until someone had come up to her, begging as though for their life.
”My husband, my husband, he- his head… His chest. Something got him. I turned around for a moment and… Please, you’ve got to help him.”
Oh dear.
Perhaps she’d looked like she knew what she was doing after all. Too much so, even. For some reason, this woman had decided Aislyn was the best person to ask to save her beloved’s life. A man, whom it appeared was bleeding quite profusely from several places on his body, held up by nothing more than his wife’s arms.
Conflicted, Aislyn tried to find something to say. No would be so easy, and in the regular Alvadas, she would have said it in an instance. But here, such an action was a lot less… redeemable. It was no more helpful to Alvadas as a whole- to Ionu- than stabbing the man herself. But she couldn’t fix him. She didn’t know how.
Maybe, though, someone else did.
Trying to look as purposeful as she could, Aislyn took a step back, looking around for someone. Someone being anyone, really. Her eyes eventually fell upon a woman, standing to the side, easily overlooked, who didn’t appear to be actively dying, nor preventing someone else from doing so. Perfect.
”You… You- Can you help? Come here,” She bent down, taking her eyes off the woman for a second as she helped the wife lay her husband to the ground. Then, her gaze returned to the bystander, ”Do you know how to help him? Anything?”
