|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Mar 19, 2008 0:09:39 GMT -5
Sixty days had passed.
Sixty days of mind numbing, back-breaking labor, and horror. Sixty days of an endless nightmare, of exposure to the Hell that lay within the Cage, once the filth of the Hive was peeled back to expose the cancerous heart beneath. Sixty days of torment beneath the dispassionate black eyes of Ridnir Tetch, the mad surgeon...
The two-hundred and fifty third day of Hashkar's century and a third turning dawned bleak and grey, beneath skies shrouded with rank smog. Rain misted the chill afternoon air as Wraith dashed from the Mortuary to the Weary Spirit, running later than she usually did. One to pride herself for punctuality, today was a particularly bad day for her. Aerin had been sick with pneumonia for the last ten days, and so had kept her up late most nights in vain to treat the nagging cough and dehydration. Fresh water was hard to come by in the Cage, and expensive too.
Last night, however, she found no respite in sleep. Only when his fever broke, and the agonised child at last found a few hours of quiet repose, she sat down by the hearth, tossed some more kindling into the dying blaze... and collapsed across the threadbare rug. Exhaustion dragged her down into darkness with no end, and she didn't awaken until after 9BP, when Aerin awoke, coughing and crying again...
Perhaps it wasn't so bad that she chose to call kip with the Dead. After all, Initiate Zanathis didn't so much as batter an eyelid when she stepped over his threshold, bedraggled and at least two hours late. Anywhere else and she would've been severely upbraided for her tardiness.
Pull this, tighten that strap, manipulate this joint, cut here, burn there... over and over the litany played in Wraith's head, until her mind and heart went cold and numb; it was the only way she could endure such conditions, and tolerate such cruelty without going completely insane. These days, everything had become a blur of senseless brutality, all in the name of what a perverse madman called "medical science".
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Mar 19, 2008 0:39:32 GMT -5
She wondered if she truly was insane already, so far had she slipped into the unfeeling torpor. She must be, to secretly treat the wounded and dying while Tetch and his similarly sadistic assistants weren't watching. Then again, perhaps a vestige of her humanity yet remained, buried within the death-like wasted carapace that housed her soul. "The angel of death", one dying old woman once called her, what seemed an age ago, while Wraith sat in repose by her bedside. The tiefling Dead held the woman's trembling hand, and sang a quiet lullaby as she watched the last wisps of life slip away. Then all was quiet, tomb-like in long-term recovery, as though the woman's departing soul had sucked the soft sounds of torment from the other recumbent patients. Then quiet as a ghost, she slipped among them, and helped eased their suffering with her magic, and the knowledge she'd gained. It was, after all, her penance for assisting Tetch with his horrific experiments... Wraith pushes through the front door, shaking the rain from her cloak, ignoring the smiling desk clerk as she presses on into the waiting room. "Inform Mister Tetch that I've arrived, will you, basher? I've had some other urgent business to attend to today, hence why I've been late." She adds as an afterthought, before closing the door behind her. She wished she hadn't. The stench of disease and unwashed bodies was awful, sickening in fact. She felt she would fall ill just breathing the foul effluvium in. But Wraith had a job to do. Pulling on her gloves and tying a mask over her face, she kneels beside the first patient for the day, and began examining him. The poor sod, a dirty emaciated half-elf, looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks, and his rags were stained with cheap bub, vomit and blood. His feverish skin glistened in the murky light. Wheezing breaths, harsh and pained, rattled in his sunken chest. [ooc: Stix, is that plague you mentioned a while back still going around in the Hive? If so, I'm still interested in pursuing that, the matter of the disappearances, and the bodies that turn up stuffed with straw.  ] |
|
|
|
Post by Stix on Mar 20, 2008 21:01:40 GMT -5
(The Abyssal pertussis outbreak is continuing in full force, but seems to be mostly quarantined to the Hive Ward. The disappearances have slowed down as a result of rising Xaositect violence -- supposedly the faction's "response" to the incidents -- but the body count has gotten worse by consequence. All in all, a dozen bodies have come into the Mortuary stuffed like ritual victims. The last one Wraith saw gave the impression of hasty or amateur work -- the straw was not bound, many of the viscera remained mostly-present if not intact, and there were far fewer lacerations, with pooling blood in the cadaver. Most of it would've had to be done postmortem, which doesn't match up at all.)
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Mar 22, 2008 2:54:26 GMT -5
Knowledge: Medicine [to determine the illness of her patient, what treatment is needed, if it is fatal, and how long he has left to live.]
[dice=20+13]
[Wraith will also examine a handful of the worst looking patients in the room, no less than 10 in total. I'm not sure how long this will take, though, as she'll give each patient a thorough examination. She's trying to locate anyone who might have Abyssal Pertussis, so she can quaratine the sod, and examine the corpse for clues on how to cure it.][rand=4159856568072926091621364280317920743738746130563308617442876155823]
|
|
|
|
Post by Stix on Apr 15, 2008 11:11:46 GMT -5
Of the few sods unwary enough or far enough beyond hope to even consider approaching the Weary Spirit, three show signs of Abyssal pertussis: fatigue, difficulty breathing, a wheezing cough set deep in the chest, and a jaundiced complexion. One shows advanced signs, including spontaneous bleeding from the mucous membranes and involuntary tremors; he's likely to expire within the next 48 hours.
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 15, 2008 22:35:58 GMT -5
Of the few sods unwary enough or far enough beyond hope to even consider approaching the Weary Spirit, three show signs of Abyssal pertussis: fatigue, difficulty breathing, a wheezing cough set deep in the chest, and a jaundiced complexion. One shows advanced signs, including spontaneous bleeding from the mucous membranes and involuntary tremors; he's likely to expire within the next 48 hours.
Abyssal Pertussis...Recognition of the foul malady slams into Wraith full force, sending her skittering back from her patient with a horrified cry. "Dear gods!" She all but yells, then realising where she is, she composes herself quickly. It was an emergency, yes. They had to quarantine this man, and the others immediately, but there was no sense in spreading panic in the process. She lurches to her feet, and seizes the arm of a passing assistant. "You! Stay here, and keep a close eye on these three." She points at the infected patients. "Especially him. Make sure he doesn't leave, or no one comes to collect him. He must remain here at all costs." Gesturing at the jaundiced half-elf that caused her so much distress, it becomes apparent, both from her bodylanguage and the frantic tone in her voice, that the situation is more dire than she is willing to reveal. "I have to find Ridnir Tetch." She stumbles away, and barges through the doors, into the corridor beyond. Wraith breaks into a desperate run, bowling over the assistant that walks into her path, carrying a tray of surgical tools from one examination room to the next. The two women collide with a crash, and fall to the floor. Scalpels and bonesaws fall to the floor with a clatter. "Basher, I'm... I'm so so sorry. Please forgive me. I-I must find Mister Tetch. We have a patients with Abyssal Pertussis here! We have to get them into quarantine right away!" |
|
|
|
Post by Stix on Apr 24, 2008 19:06:32 GMT -5
Wraith approaches the room where Tetch works on his latest patient-victim. A heavy black curtain mercifully shields passersby from the horrific sights within, but only slightly dampens the sounds and smells. So much blood has been spilled in these chambers that the humidity is markedly higher, and the air always carries a sanguine, rotting tang that makes the eyes water.
"Hold still, or you're going to lose more of your arm." It's hard to tell if the sadistic surgeon's hissing words are meant to advise the soon-to-be amputee or cow him.
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 25, 2008 23:54:09 GMT -5
Sucking in a deep breath to still her pounding heart, and calm already frayed nerves, Wraith steps into the room. It's almost impossible to do so, the stench overpowers her, and the sight is even worse, but desperation, and the possibility of wide spread infection has driven her here.
She cringes as the cruelty of his words raises the bile to her throat, and drills into her brain.
In some ways she still hates the man and everything he represents. Yet part of her pities him. And though she hates to admit it, even he doesn't deserve to die so horribly.
"Mr Tetch, we have an emergency here. Three of the patients are infected with Abyssal Pertussis... and one of them will die within the next fourty eight hours. If he's not quarantined immediately, we'll all be infected."
|
|
|
|
Post by Stix on Apr 28, 2008 11:22:39 GMT -5
Tetch takes momentary reprieve from his work, turning to Wraith with lips pursed and expectant eyes wide. "Then send them away. We have no such resources to treat Abyssal pertussis."
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 29, 2008 0:07:46 GMT -5
Tetch takes momentary reprieve from his work, turning to Wraith with lips pursed and expectant eyes wide. " Then send them away. We have no such resources to treat Abyssal pertussis." Wraith didn't need to hear the rest to make up her mind. It was typical of the sadist, she surmised in that moment; send away the sods he didn't dare butcher, if it meant putting his own life at risk. So be it, then. She assesses the situation of the supine patient before her; determining what the real problem is, where best to amputate, minimalising distress, bloodloss and mobility impairment; where to tie the tourniquet; and where to manipulate the body, numbing the arm, or better yet, rendering the poor sod unconscious. Knowledge: Medicine [if applicable] [dice=20] +17 "I'll see what I can do." She says as calmly as she can manage; scanning the patient again for any sign of Abyssal Pertussis, before the surgeon sent her away. A plan was beginning to flower in her mind. It would be risky, dangerous even. She may be seriously injured or worse. But in that moment she reasoned; it was a worthy cause. The needs of her patients outweighed any risk to herself... and she wasn't one to needlessly put her own life on the line, if she felt there was no chance of success. It was a fine line she walked, between life as a parent, and the life of a physician, one she had to balance carefully, because both needed her; Aerin more than any other. Knowledge: Medicine [if applicable] [dice=20] +17[rand=97893537621633125193019643719532743692070439228946337492139057357] |
|
|
|
Post by Stix on May 18, 2008 16:14:34 GMT -5
(A quick hint: do you remember, during Wraith's first exposure to the disease, how it was stopped from spreading?)
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on May 19, 2008 1:14:35 GMT -5
(A quick hint: do you remember, during Wraith's first exposure to the disease, how it was stopped from spreading?) About the only thing I remember is flooding the chest cavity of the deceased with any kind of fluid to stop the spores from spreading. |
|
|
|
Post by Stix on May 20, 2008 15:12:51 GMT -5
About the only thing I remember is flooding the chest cavity of the deceased with any kind of fluid to stop the spores from spreading. (Keep that in mind; it may come in handy.  Wraith returns to the three infected patients. The worst-off of them slumps against a wall, shaking with every labored breath. A nosebleed sends a thin rivulet of blood into his unkempt and dirty beard. " What's the chant, basher?" asks the second patient, a red-haired human barely into his adulthood. " Can you help us?" |
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on May 21, 2008 0:17:43 GMT -5
About the only thing I remember is flooding the chest cavity of the deceased with any kind of fluid to stop the spores from spreading. (Keep that in mind; it may come in handy. Wraith returns to the three infected patients. The worst-off of them slumps against a wall, shaking with every labored breath. A nosebleed sends a thin rivulet of blood into his unkempt and dirty beard. " What's the chant, basher?" asks the second patient, a red-haired human barely into his adulthood. " Can you help us?" [thanks for the hint. ] Wraith crouches down before them, beckoning the two who're still coherent to move a little closer to her, and the third shaking man. In low, hushed tones for their ears alone, she murmurs. "Yes, I believe I can, basher. But not here. Ridnir Tetch can't help you, which is in your best interest, so you've been released into my care instead." It wasn't entirely true, but it was far better than telling them the sadist had ordered them sent on their way because they had Abyssal Pertussis. Perhaps the poor sods suspected they were seriously ill, but there was little sense in confirming it, and sending them into a panic. "Now I'm going to get all three of you out of here, to a safehouse. Can either of you carry him?" She gestures to the shaking man. Wraith rises to her feet then, glancing about the waiting room at the impoverished men and women who urgently needed help. If only she could assist them all, and spare them the torments that waited on the other side of the door. Her gaze swings to the desk clerk. "Basher, I have been asked to send these men away. I will return shortly enough." She points at two of the most able bodied looking patients in the room. "I'll need them to help me carry these men out of here." |
|
|
|
Post by Stix on May 31, 2008 16:09:13 GMT -5
The two better-off plague patients help the near-deader to his feet.
"I think we can carry him alright. Where to?" asks the young man.
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 8, 2008 22:02:55 GMT -5
The two better-off plague patients help the near-deader to his feet. " I think we can carry him alright. Where to?" asks the young man. Wraith pauses for a moment. There was only two places that immediately came to mind: Hilathic's case just around the corner from Orsmonder's Meats, and the Gatehouse. The latter of which was a bad idea. Considering Hadrian had to sneak her in the last time, she doubted she'd be received well with three very ill - and contagious - men in tow. Furrowing her brow, Wraith beckons for the two men carrying the third to follow her outside, and guides them out onto Whisper Way. "This way, bashers. A friend of mine lives just around the corner from Orsmonder's Meats. We should be safe there." Waiting until a donkey-drawn cart ladden with deaders passes, Wraith nods at the shrouded Dustman driver, and continues on her way: pausing at regular intervals to make sure her patients are keeping up well enough with her. Along the way, Wraith considers her knowledge of the Hive; more specifically the markings she'd seen in her travels on the Scratch Wall. The Hive was known as a place for people to hide in and disappear. Surely there had to be someone around who could help her, because knowing her luck, Hilathic wouldn't be home... "Do either of you know of a safehouse, or even a friendly spellslinger who might be willing to lend a hand?" She asked the two men in hushed tones, as she paused at a corner to get her bearings. "There's no cause for alarm. I can help you more than Tetch ever could. But two pairs of hands are better than one."Knowledge: local [Sigil] [if applicable] [dice=20] +9[rand=7600526789353945961798933762545267228213407975412770692375194648] |
|
|
|
Post by Stix on Jul 23, 2008 15:22:22 GMT -5
The younger man makes a noise between a phlegm-ridden cough and a bitter laugh. "If we did, think we'd go to see Tetch?" he asks with a halfhearted smirk.
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 23, 2008 18:03:17 GMT -5
[ooc: How far is Benni's Taproom from Black Boot Walk and Wraith's current location? She's going to need fluid, and lots of it, and cheap wine seems to be the better option than trying to find clean water. Also, is Benni's Taproom a tavern or an Inn, and would she make it there before dark if she got some extra assistance? ] |
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 25, 2008 13:12:50 GMT -5
The younger man makes a noise between a phlegm-ridden cough and a bitter laugh. " If we did, think we'd go to see Tetch?" he asks with a halfhearted smirk. Wraith mutters, and frowns. Glancing up the street, following it's zigzagging path, she estimates the distance between Orsmonder's Meats and the Marble District. She wasn't far from Hilathic's kip now. But from all the times she'd been there before, she knew the place was bare. Though it was sheltered from the weather, buried in the catacombs, it was a far from hospitable place where her patients were concerned. But Benni's Tap Room, by far the best place to be on this side of Sigil, should suffice. She hated the idea of exposing others to the disease. But if she couldn't find comfortable beds and clean fluids for these men, they'd perish, and the infection would spread. Give a little garnish to the bartender, and he might even be willing to look the other way while she tended to her patients. She'd need Hilathic's help, and possibly Hadrian too, if either of them were home. Though she couldn't leave these men unattended, anywhere, while she fetched the latter. They posed too much of a risk in their current condition. "I'm taking you to Benni's Tap Room, and collecting a friend along the way. Follow me." She says, picking up her pace again, and beckons her patients to follow. If only she had a cart for them to sit in. They were in no condition to exert themselves like this... |
|
]
