|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 3, 2007 15:09:37 GMT -5
The unconscious planewalker is rolled over, amber eyes unblinking and unfocused. His/her features are fine and fair but reddened by exposure, with an aquiline nose, prominent cheekbones, and thin, pale, chapped lips pursed into an "O" of shock, a few strands of ragged, patchy blonde hair sticking to them dryly. Hovering maternally over the ailing planewalker, Wraith gives the Sensate a final withering glare, and returns to her examination. Her hands, slender and delicate, move with a gentle expertness and precision - checking body temperature, pulse-points, breathing, dilation of the eyes - lingering long enough to determine all that she can about the unfortunate sod's condition. Her face pales with shock, if such a thing is even possible, her dull violet eyes losing their acute sparkle for a moment, and her steady hands start to tremble, suggesting that the situation is quite grim. "He's suffering from exposure, extreme exhaustion, hypothermia and dehydration." She explains in soft, sober tones, glancing up at Hadrian again. "Wherever he came from, cutter, the place was inhospitable enough to nearly suck the life out of him. If we don't get him clean, fresh water, a warm room and bedrest immediately, he'll be lost by the morn." A serious, professional edge - that of a physician who won't accept losing a patient she can save, as a viable outcome - creeps into her voice. "We won't find much help for this sod here - no lodging. We'll have to take him to The Lost Keep Inn. I dread the walk through the rain, and what it'll do to my patient, but it's the best - and the closest - case I can think of. Please, cutter, if you help me, you could be saving this man's life."
|
|
|
Post by exile on Apr 3, 2007 15:55:52 GMT -5
Hadrian knelt comfortably beside Wraith, watching her ministrations intently. He began to nod as she addressed him, relating the poor sod’s condition and asking his assistance.
“Of course,” he offered grimly. “Whatever I can do will be done.” The aasimar shifted to a crouch and slid his pack from his shoulder. With nimble fingers Hadrian unlashed his bedroll from his belongings, and, setting it beside the patient, rolled it open across the tiles. It was not by any means ideal, but as a makeshift stretcher it would suffice.
“Help me transfer him,” he said softly, sliding his hands beneath the prone sod’s shoulders carefully so as not to disturb him overly much.
|
|
|
Post by Stix on Apr 3, 2007 16:32:07 GMT -5
The unconscious sod's hood slips back as s/he is lifted, revealing patchy blonde hair and ears that taper to a fine point. S/he can't weigh much more than a hundred pounds, even with gear.
"Huullghhhh," groans the planewalker after being set down. Every few seconds, s/he repeats the noise, which sounds a little more like a choked-out "Help" with every repetition.
|
|
|
Post by edisoncarter on Apr 3, 2007 17:33:37 GMT -5
Nilou listens, then turns to Vatndir. "Look at you, making yourself the hero," she smiles. "How best to cure thirst than with a little water? Surely you imagined to help this sad refugee."
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 4, 2007 13:43:29 GMT -5
Hadrian knelt comfortably beside Wraith, watching her ministrations intently. He began to nod as she addressed him, relating the poor sod’s condition and asking his assistance. “Of course,” he offered grimly. “Whatever I can do will be done.” The aasimar shifted to a crouch and slid his pack from his shoulder. With nimble fingers Hadrian unlashed his bedroll from his belongings, and, setting it beside the patient, rolled it open across the tiles. It was not by any means ideal, but as a makeshift stretcher it would suffice. “Help me transfer him,” he said softly, sliding his hands beneath the prone sod’s shoulders carefully so as not to disturb him overly much. "Thankyou, cutter." Wraith murmurs, shifting position to first gently lift the frail planewalker's hips and legs, and assist the Aasimar in moving the sod onto the bedroll. She tucks her own winter weight blanket - thick wool dyed a dull stone gray - and embroidered, well-worn mantle protectively around her comatose patient, working with maternal diligence and care. The unconscious sod's hood slips back as s/he is lifted, revealing patchy blonde hair and ears that taper to a fine point. S/he can't weigh much more than a hundred pounds, even with gear. "Huullghhhh," groans the planewalker after being set down. Every few seconds, s/he repeats the noise, which sounds a little more like a choked-out "Help" with every repetition. Wraith lays a comforting hand upon the planewalker's forehead. "Lay still, cutter. Save your strength. We're taking you someplace warm and safe." Her faded brow creases with genuine concern, and she glances up at Hadrian again. Tired pensive eyes meet his, conveying in a glance the seriousness of the situation. Diplomacy [dice=20]+0 "He's delirious. We must move quickly, cutter. I pray, for my patient's sake, that it isn't still raining, and that he will find the strength to linger, until I can improve his condition." While she waits for Hadrian to assist in moving the planewalker out into the foul, stagnant fog and hazy rain, she rummages through her pack again, producing a waterskin from her meagre possessions. She unstoppers the leather flask. She's dubious of the content's freshness - and cleanliness - but in urgent circumstances, what choice did she have? It would have to do for the time being. Carefully, she lifts her patient's head and shoulders, crouching to cradle him against her shoulder, and presses the flask against his chapped lips. She prays silently that her small offering will encourage the flicker of consciousness, stirring within her patient; just enough so to help him through the transition to a better shelter.[rand=777073858014064849667701260014707964625851505681308161257481200046]
|
|
|
Post by john on Apr 4, 2007 19:53:58 GMT -5
John looks over at people helping the "poor sod" without any thought of recompense, and his eyes tighten slightly, and his lip curls up just a bit in something resembling a sneer. He looks back to the dice for a moment and smiles, comforted by their closeness.
|
|
|
Post by angwenriada on Apr 4, 2007 22:27:59 GMT -5
Angwen does his part to help the poor sod onto the bedroll. He pauses only momentarily, to glance at the many-legged thing crawling out of the sleeve. He pulls the berk's cloak close together, hoping it will stay that way and afford him some protection from the rain. As he does so, however, he listens to the godless bubber's sad tale. If it causes any reaction within Angwen, he doesn't show it, though he does glance once at his pack laying on the floor.
"I suppose there are no spellslingers about that can ply their trade on this poor sod?" He looks around the tavern, and though he should be hoping someone will speak up, his eyes have a different look in them, something like grim determination.
He stands, shoulders his pack, and drains the last of his thick beer from the mug. He looks once more around the room as he does so, his eyes flickering from person to person. Kneeling, he takes two ends of the bedroll in his hands and nods at the Aasimar. "When you wish."
|
|
|
Post by TheGratefulNed on Apr 4, 2007 22:31:55 GMT -5
Seeing all the people swarming over whatever it was that just materialized, Nuuko's hands fall from his pommels as he finally picks up the questionable drink. John looks over at people helping the "poor sod" without any thought of recompense, and his eyes tighten slightly, and his lip curls up just a bit in something resembling a sneer. He looks back to the dice for a moment and smiles, comforted by their closeness. Taking a hesitant sip of the plum wine, the lanky - yet surprisingly graceful - prime walks deliberately toward the gambling table. Once again in his granular accented common he inquires, " so what's the game?"
|
|
|
Post by Stix on Apr 4, 2007 23:25:06 GMT -5
"Take my seat, cutter," says the gambling Defier, rising and motioning to the empty chair he leaves behind. "I've got to be on my way. Early work -- guard duty at the Temple." With a bemused smile, he turns to make his way toward the door, turning back to wave. "Watch out for the fish," he calls to Nuuko. "'E's a sly one!"
Wraith's even tone and gentle touch convince the exhausted basher to silence his meager cries. His breathing is still shallow, but it would appear that she's bought him some more time by calming him.
One corner of the bartender's mouth rises in an uncomfortable expression somewhere between a wince and a smirk. "'Least somebody's movin' him. Hate to have to listen to him all night."
|
|
|
Post by exile on Apr 5, 2007 0:22:27 GMT -5
OOC: My apologies everyone, I seem to be holding the game up. I had a table top session tonight with my regular group.
Hadrian shoulders his pack and nods gratefully towards Angwen. Taking the free end of the bedroll into his hands he rises to his feet. The unfortunate stranger felt like a rag doll in his arms, barely heavy enough to trouble him but an awkward load all the same.
“I wish that my Arts might be of some use, but I fear they are more suited to binding wounds and setting bones than reviving the half-dead,” he replied in reference to the request for spellslingers. “Come, let us make haste. His hours draw short.”
With those words the aasimar starts for the door and the twisting warrens of the lower ward beyond. His hands full, Hadrian’s spear lay abandoned on the ground. Although it clearly bore the mark of quality, he appeared to value it little in comparison with another’s life.
|
|
|
Post by edisoncarter on Apr 5, 2007 10:33:38 GMT -5
Nilou watches the spear for a while after Hadrian leaves.
"Well, hell," she says, and picks it up, putting beside her things--not with a look of ownership, but more of guardianship. I know what it feels like to have something stolen.
|
|
|
Post by Stix on Apr 5, 2007 10:55:10 GMT -5
"Let me get that for you," says the exiting Defier to Angwen and Hadrian, stepping quickly to get ahead of them and hold open the door.
(Those of you bound for the Lost Keep, make your exits and pick up in the thread on the Lower Ward board, at the very bottom.)
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 5, 2007 18:18:16 GMT -5
Wraith quickly stuffs her possessions back into her pack, with little thought or care to the order in which they return - time is of the essence here - and she rises to her feet, shouldering her heavy burden. Offering a silent prayer of thanks to Apollo, for the timely assistance of these selfless cutters, She hurries after Angwen and Hadrian; as much as the awkward weight of her pack will allow. "Let me get that for you," says the exiting Defier to Angwen and Hadrian, stepping quickly to get ahead of them and hold open the door. Wraith squeezes through the door behind the Signer and the Bleaker, before the Defier can pull the door shut behind them. "Thankyou, cutter." She says to him in passing, dashing out into the mist behind her assistants, and her patient.
|
|
|
Post by john on Apr 5, 2007 19:53:40 GMT -5
John looks at the spear questiongly for a moment and then thinks better of saying anything. He doesn't see the distinction that Nilou does, but after all, he's a taker, and responds to Nuuko after a moment. "The Game is Abishai, and I'll explain the rules again if need be. Don't know if you were here earlier when I was jawing about them. I'm always up to play again, the fellow dying really doesn't appeal much to me. I mean, it happens, s' the cage. And besides, I'm sure the people who did go with him have it well in hand. Can't all be giving charity."
The words charity are pronounced as a curse of near-abyssal foulness.
|
|
|
Post by TheGratefulNed on Apr 5, 2007 21:05:47 GMT -5
"Take my seat, cutter," says the gambling Defier, rising and motioning to the empty chair he leaves behind. "I've got to be on my way. Early work -- guard duty at the Temple." With a bemused smile, he turns to make his way toward the door, turning back to wave. "Watch out for the fish," he calls to Nuuko. "'E's a sly one!" ...and responds to Nuuko after a moment. "The Game is Abishai, and I'll explain the rules again if need be. Don't know if you were here earlier when I was jawing about them. I'm always up to play again, the fellow dying really doesn't appeal much to me. I mean, it happens, s' the cage. And besides, I'm sure the people who did go with him have it well in hand. Can't all be giving charity." Nodding in agreement to the Taker and the Defier, Nuuko takes the vacated seat. " I was not here for the earlier explanation, there was a big-talking spineless bartender being rather uncooperative. What's the opening wager?"
|
|
|
Post by insomniac on Apr 5, 2007 23:46:34 GMT -5
The Tiefling gives a big grin, and makes his way toward the gambling, shaking his head at the people departing with the murmuring traveller. "Hope you can open up a seat for another. I'm always up for a gamble, as long as I like the stakes. What's life without a little calculated risk?"
He glances to the others present with a big, arrogant smile, as the oversized centepede crawls over the sleeve of his robes, and up along his back and shoulders.
|
|
|
Post by john on Apr 6, 2007 16:05:40 GMT -5
John reiterates his earlier explanation, The way things play out is like this: There are 4 methods of scoring, and they rank like this, The big win is to roll a Black Abishai 6, a 4, a 3, and a 1. If you can't roll that, roll a Blue, which means you roll a 6 and four other numbers. After that, you can roll 4 6s, which is a Green abishai, and 4 4s, which is a red Abishai. 3 3s is a white Abishai, and Rolling all ones means you rolled a Lemure. Roll anything else and you've got no score at all. We can play a couple of rounds if you like, depending on how many people join in. Remember, Red wins, followed by Blue, then Green, Then Red, then White, then finally the Lemure. If nobody rolls anything good, the pot grows bigger. The stakes are information or money, or service. Anything, really."
(Short away from the mb for me, going to grandparents for easter weekend.)
|
|
|
Post by edisoncarter on Apr 10, 2007 0:13:17 GMT -5
Nilou rolls her eyes. Gambling is boooo-riiiing.
Instead, she returns her attention to the spear. It looks well-made, and she takes her time examining it...
Bardic Knowledge [dice=20]+3[rand=5888292630928199305848683764125754953233478640430751278893419653]
|
|
|
Post by Stix on Apr 10, 2007 11:36:48 GMT -5
The weapon has the look of a ceremonial Asgardian war-spear. Near to the tip are two black feathers, tethered with a leather thong threaded through a haft of dark wood. The craftsmanship is even-handed and steady, the lathework is flawless.
|
|
|
Post by edisoncarter on Apr 10, 2007 21:26:42 GMT -5
Nilou sighs, those long, strange fingers of hers running along the dark wood, playing along the grain, the contours of the grooves and rises of the wood. It even smells pleasant, of oil and battle.
"Be a magnificent thing to dance with," she mutters.
|
|