Closed Healing Body and Soul (Verena)

[Timothy Mered]

41st of Spring 516AV - 19th Bell

At the happy time of seven o’clock, Timothy’s fate was put in the rough, loose, and uncaring hands of Bice Radacke. As soon as Konrad Scarface Venger had disappeared on the same foul wind that had carried him to Whiplash, Bice burst into thunderous laughter. A shrewd businessman, Bice was not, but even he could see the easy profit gifted to him in the shape of a very pale, very sickly looking boy. Of course, the boy was worthless in his current state, wobbling as he was on his pins, appearing to be inches removed from total collapse. That state, being trapped in the maddening no man’s land between life and death, was something Bice had learned to recognize. After all, he’d so graciously invited many Radacke slaves to limbo himself. Only a fool would mistake Bice’s command to carry Timothy to the Mortal Solace for sympathy, or worse, compassion. It was business, plain and simple. As soon as the boy would have regained his health, he’d be put up for sale. There were some nice mizas to be earned with that innocent looking face.

9th Bell - 42nd of Spring 516Av

And so Timothy was put upon the first cart heading towards the city the next morning. His only companion was a sour old house slave who waved a cane at him whenever he threatened to sneeze, cough, or throw up. Not that he needed any discouragement. Every cough was an agonizing trial. He clung to the thought that every passing tick, the distance between him and Konrad Venger grew. It did little to cure him physically, but provided some peace of mind.

After they'd reached the city center, Timothy slid off the back of the cart. The old, hunched-over slave motioned for Timothy to hurry up and follow him. Unable to feel his feet underneath him, he staggered brainlessly forward on that never-ending road. He only raised his gaze once, to look at Jed’s Bed and Boxes as they walked past it. To his satisfaction, the store was closed and appeared to be abandoned. Just what Jed Radacke deserved! At long last the Mortal Solace came into view. Aside from the abundance of flowers and greenery that had sprung up to greet the coming of Spring, it was much like he remembered it to be.

A memory stirred. He remembered Verena with the utmost fondness. She'd been distant, but kind. Kinder than most of her disposition would ever be. Hope glimmered on the horizon.

The old Radacke slave opened the iron fence leading into the Mortal Solace, but remained on the safe side of the road. “Get in there,” he mumbled through vale teeth. Glad to be away from anything Radacke, Timothy didn’t hesitate for even a tick and, on his last legs, carried himself into the Mortal Solace.

The plush waiting room was blissfully empty when Timothy stumbled in. As soon as he spotted Bellara behind the front desk, his limbs gave way. There was someone present, and that thought alone was enough to surrender. He collapsed in a miserable little pile of aching bones, sore limbs, and a heavy-lidded eyes. Once on the ground, he remained there. Immovable.

Aside from his quiet, wheezing breathing and the feverish pulse in his neck, one might think him dead. On closer inspection however, the truth of his affliction would become more readily apparent. Face gaunt, eyes swollen red and puffy, dried-up snot and saliva staining his tattered sailor’s blouse; indeed the fever ravaging his frame had done as much damage as any ferocious fever could.

Upon touch, his glistening skin would prove to be cold as ice. Death was clearly but a few days removed from the malnourished boy. And just in case no one had noticed the clumsy thud with which he’d landed on the floor; his frame spasmed violently before he unleashed a hoarse coughing fit, spraying the carpet with blood.

Then, he was still once more.
OOCHigh fever spiking up to 106F + Pneumonia + Ear infection + Dehydration, result of being in the prolonged presence of a blight marked (Wikus)

[Verena Lorak]

Earlier that day, a slave from Whitesnake had delivered to her a mysterious looking book. When she had asked what it was, the errand boy simply said that Lorana had told her to read it and choose a few that she liked best. Verena puzzled over the instruction – at least, until she sat back down in her office and opened the book.

It was filled with various drawings of luxurious dresses. Carefully, the young woman flipped through the pages, marveling at the impressive looking dresses. They were pretty to look at, but Verena never had the patience to use intricate clothes. With her job, clothes tend to be easily ruined. It took her nearly a dozen dresses to find a note slipped in.

Choose one of the wedding dresses. The theme of your wedding will be adjusted accordingly. –Lor

Wedding.

Lorana hadn’t spoken to her about it, but sending her this must mean that the date was closing in. She had been lucky so far, having one event after another delaying the possibility of a wedding. Something told her, she would not be lucky anymore. If she had to guess, Lorana would make sure she was married by the end of the next season.

Since the book arrived, Verena had been going through it mindlessly. It did not matter what she wore in the wedding. All that mattered was that her family was now ready to force her into an arranged marriage. Ever since her betrothal with Cas, the Lorak had tried imagining what it would be like for her to be married.

I cannot do this. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

“Lady Verena!” Bella’s voice rang loudly from behind her closed door, followed by a hurried knocking. The slave’s voice broke her from her spiraling thought, giving her something else to focus on.

Despite the healer’s inability to truly pick up the panic in the girl’s voice, the furious knocking was enough to tell her that some sort of emergency had presented itself to the clinic. Wasting no time, Verena left her desk and exited her office. She was greeted by a not unfamiliar sight. A small figure was prone on the floor. Her slaves already gathering and awaiting her instructions.

“My lady, he just collapsed and started having a seizure. He walked in alone. I don’t–”


“Hallan, get him to the healing room,” Verena ordered calmly, cutting of the girl. “Bella, you go help Taloe.” Even after all these years, Bella always had the tendency to start panicking. The Lorak would have to find a way to teach her how to keep her composure if she was to be useful in the future. However, that did not matter at the moment.

Accustomed to the ways of Verena’s clinic, her slaves moved effectively and without protest. Hallan lifted the blonde-haired child with a grunt. While her two female slaves started preparing her tools. Once the young boy was placed on a bed, Verena used the back of her hand to gauge his temperature. Though she expected him to be feverish, the Lorak found the boy to be cold instead. Swiftly, she let her fingers feel the pulse on the child’s throat, making sure that she had not lost him just yet. Thankfully, Verena could feel the faint and thready pulse of his heart.

With no one accompanying the boy, the healer could only try to figure out what happened herself, for it seemed the boy was not entirely lucid.

If the boy did suffer from a seizure, it was enough to make her fear some sort of head injury – though it did not seem like it. No severe signs of trauma had caught her attention so far. Instead, she took note of his parched lips. Added with his cold and dry skin, Verena would suspect the possibility of dehydration. To be sure, Verena pinched the boy’s forearm lightly, observing how quickly the skin would return to its original shape. When she found that it was delayed, it was enough to make her sure.

“We will deal with his dehydration first.”