[ Pell nods thoughtfully, not that he wants to hurt either of them for these purposes but it would help. ]
If you think you can sense what I'm doing, yes. If you were har I could tell if you're channeling the proper energies, but our magic is not alike. It's best to see it, to feel what you're doing... and even being told I was doing it right my first time healing practically was a learning experience. I could cut myself? Just a scratch.
[ No, Adam says, he's got bruises, and rolls up his sleeve to reveal one on his forearm like he bumped his wrist. That'll do just fine, Pell tells him, and says to breathe and focus on the sensation -- and he doesn't have to touch to heal, but it helps with humans especially. And it's instinctive, as he's found it soothes the patient. So he doesn't even think about it now, but the second they make contact the clinic fades away.
--
Pell and Cal, a blond har possibly recognizable from his stint in Hadriel, are on horseback. They’re being led towards a town in the distance, and Pell feels distinctly uneasy about their escort. The feeling intensifies as they get up close, and it becomes clear that this is no town after all -- it’s a stinking husk of one, made sadder by the fact that the humans who used to live here must have been decent and affluent. The houses, now destroyed and crumbling, look like they used to be charming. And ‘stinking’ is literal. The abandoned streets are full of trash and corpses, human and animal. Pell feels his stomach turn as they’re led through the streets to the town hall, somehow still intact. A sign out front declares this place Phesbe.
The hara here don’t look much like what those in Hadriel have gotten people accustomed to. They share the same androgynous features, but none of the long-flowing hair of Pell and his fellows. No, these hara look more like soldiers, their hair shorn all or shaved, their skin tattooed, and all in black leather armor. They allow Pell and Cal to gather some things from their pack horse before heading inside, and the town hall reeks of sickness and smoke. These people clearly care for nothing except themselves and their horses; this town is just a pit stop of ruin.
“We are fighters, not thinkers,” the har who led them inside says bluntly. He looks like their leader. “We have no time for Saltrock fancies here.”
“Quite,” Cal comments dryly, but Pell’s gaze drifts away.
He catches sight of someone lying motionless in an area set up as sleeping quarters, a hideously emaciated har with dark hair and filthy clothing. The leader catches him staring. “Leg broken,” he explains. “The bone came through. Time says he might not heal.” But he draws them away then, and the memory seems to skip ahead, fading and blurring but not quite ending. And then Pell is approaching that huddled mass of har, drawing the blanket away. The smell of sickness and rot intensifies.
“Why have you no healers?” Pell asks, trying not to gag.
The har only glares at him, either uncaring or wishing for death rather than aid. Pell reaches for his leg, and his whole arm goes numb with cold. The pain and infection, the brokenness of it makes him want to pull back. He doesn’t. But it makes him nauseous and he isn’t sure where to start.
“Why bother?” Cal asks at his side, but Pell ignores the question. He’s going to bother. “I suppose you are going to invoke water elementals to get rid of the dirt?” he continues, cheerfully sarcastic.
Pell ignores Cal again, the tone making him angry, and speaks directly to the injured har. “Have you water here?”
“Don’t waste your time playing with me!”
“...find some water, Cal. Please.”
Cal sighs. “All right, all right. If you must. Don’t make a habit out of this kind of thing, will you!” And then stomps away to find water. Pell turns back to the har, speaks to him softly and receives only venom in return.
“I despise you! I hate you that you can help me!”
“Hate me all you want,” he says, but soon enough Cal is back with water and the leader of the soldier-hara has come to see what Pell is doing. He’s wary, expecting the other to complain, but there’s no commentary at all as Pell works. He cleansed the wound as best he could, placed his hands on the leg to apply his will. Anyone viewing the memory will be able to sense what he’s doing, manipulating his energies and forcing them into the damaged limb, visualizing crushed bone knitting back together.
It’s his first time putting these skills into practice, and for someone so very injured and ill. It takes him awhile -- he loses the focus and finds it again, keeps working.
“The bone is shattered. Why have you done nothing for him?”
“That’s none of your business,” the leader says, sounding cold. “Anyway, you’re helping him now.”
Pell continues to work, and he can feel the sickness clearing but the har is weak and there’s so much damage to the bone itself that this will take repeated treatments. Still, the pain is dramatically aided. And so Pell asks his name again.
“Cobweb,” the injured har tells him, and the memory fades. ]
switching to 5 as discussed, and the forest sacrifice for adam?
If you think you can sense what I'm doing, yes. If you were har I could tell if you're channeling the proper energies, but our magic is not alike. It's best to see it, to feel what you're doing... and even being told I was doing it right my first time healing practically was a learning experience. I could cut myself? Just a scratch.
[ No, Adam says, he's got bruises, and rolls up his sleeve to reveal one on his forearm like he bumped his wrist. That'll do just fine, Pell tells him, and says to breathe and focus on the sensation -- and he doesn't have to touch to heal, but it helps with humans especially. And it's instinctive, as he's found it soothes the patient. So he doesn't even think about it now, but the second they make contact the clinic fades away.
--
Pell and Cal, a blond har possibly recognizable from his stint in Hadriel, are on horseback. They’re being led towards a town in the distance, and Pell feels distinctly uneasy about their escort. The feeling intensifies as they get up close, and it becomes clear that this is no town after all -- it’s a stinking husk of one, made sadder by the fact that the humans who used to live here must have been decent and affluent. The houses, now destroyed and crumbling, look like they used to be charming. And ‘stinking’ is literal. The abandoned streets are full of trash and corpses, human and animal. Pell feels his stomach turn as they’re led through the streets to the town hall, somehow still intact. A sign out front declares this place Phesbe.
The hara here don’t look much like what those in Hadriel have gotten people accustomed to. They share the same androgynous features, but none of the long-flowing hair of Pell and his fellows. No, these hara look more like soldiers, their hair shorn all or shaved, their skin tattooed, and all in black leather armor. They allow Pell and Cal to gather some things from their pack horse before heading inside, and the town hall reeks of sickness and smoke. These people clearly care for nothing except themselves and their horses; this town is just a pit stop of ruin.
“We are fighters, not thinkers,” the har who led them inside says bluntly. He looks like their leader. “We have no time for Saltrock fancies here.”
“Quite,” Cal comments dryly, but Pell’s gaze drifts away.
He catches sight of someone lying motionless in an area set up as sleeping quarters, a hideously emaciated har with dark hair and filthy clothing. The leader catches him staring. “Leg broken,” he explains. “The bone came through. Time says he might not heal.” But he draws them away then, and the memory seems to skip ahead, fading and blurring but not quite ending. And then Pell is approaching that huddled mass of har, drawing the blanket away. The smell of sickness and rot intensifies.
“Why have you no healers?” Pell asks, trying not to gag.
The har only glares at him, either uncaring or wishing for death rather than aid. Pell reaches for his leg, and his whole arm goes numb with cold. The pain and infection, the brokenness of it makes him want to pull back. He doesn’t. But it makes him nauseous and he isn’t sure where to start.
“Why bother?” Cal asks at his side, but Pell ignores the question. He’s going to bother. “I suppose you are going to invoke water elementals to get rid of the dirt?” he continues, cheerfully sarcastic.
Pell ignores Cal again, the tone making him angry, and speaks directly to the injured har. “Have you water here?”
“Don’t waste your time playing with me!”
“...find some water, Cal. Please.”
Cal sighs. “All right, all right. If you must. Don’t make a habit out of this kind of thing, will you!” And then stomps away to find water. Pell turns back to the har, speaks to him softly and receives only venom in return.
“I despise you! I hate you that you can help me!”
“Hate me all you want,” he says, but soon enough Cal is back with water and the leader of the soldier-hara has come to see what Pell is doing. He’s wary, expecting the other to complain, but there’s no commentary at all as Pell works. He cleansed the wound as best he could, placed his hands on the leg to apply his will. Anyone viewing the memory will be able to sense what he’s doing, manipulating his energies and forcing them into the damaged limb, visualizing crushed bone knitting back together.
It’s his first time putting these skills into practice, and for someone so very injured and ill. It takes him awhile -- he loses the focus and finds it again, keeps working.
“The bone is shattered. Why have you done nothing for him?”
“That’s none of your business,” the leader says, sounding cold. “Anyway, you’re helping him now.”
Pell continues to work, and he can feel the sickness clearing but the har is weak and there’s so much damage to the bone itself that this will take repeated treatments. Still, the pain is dramatically aided. And so Pell asks his name again.
“Cobweb,” the injured har tells him, and the memory fades. ]