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Post by webster52402 on Jun 29, 2009 2:06:29 GMT
Artmer shook with indignation at Valenth's final words, and just as the man turned to leave, he found that he could move. In a move that was almost unlike him, he let out a yell, and rushed forward as soon as he was able, dipping slightly so that he could pick up the axe that the two skeletons from earlier had held. With its pleasing weight in his hands, he brought it up - though awkwardly - into an overhead position, preparing to strike Valenth down from behind, if he could.
Instead, the man dissipated before he even got close, and was replaced with a ball of fire. Looking up at the approaching flame, Artmer felt his heart stop in his chest. There it was... That was what was going to kill everyone on this boat. The axe slipped from numb fingers to clatter to the deck behind him. Gradually, the fire got bigger, and bigger, before slamming hard into the deck before him.
The resounding explosion flared white in front of his eyes, and then Artmer knew no more... -------------------------------------------------------------------
The sound of ocean waves was the next thing that Artmer heard, of tide water rushing up rocky soil to snatch its cold fingers into the earth, raking it out to sea as it retreated. The sound caused the addled Dunmer to slowly stir, his crimson eyes fluttering weakly. At first, he was confused by the gray air above him, like he was staring directly into the heart of a light storm cloud.
That was when a roaring wave swept up over the top of him, soaking his already soaked robe even further, and covering him from head to toe in foul sea water. Not having expected it, he promptly breathed in the fetid water, and immediately rolled onto his side, coughing and sputtering as the wave withdrew, the sound it made on the rocks that he was lying upon sounding almost like cackling.
Hacking and retching, he crawled a little way up the beach to escape the water, before coming to rest. His entire body shuddering he rested there for a moment, until at long last, he managed to vomit up a film of even more nasty water than he had swallowed. Once the briny water was free of his system, though, he sat back, wiping a shaking hand against the back of his lips.
He was almost sent back into retching as he saw the bloated corpses of the crew all around him. The sight of such death, caught unawares by it, sent his head reeling, but somehow, he still managed to get a good look around, even if his eyes tended to linger on the corpses a bit longer than they should.
He was obviously back in Morrowind... He could tell by the dusty, blighted air and the dark earth. Where, he wasn't sure, but he felt it likely that they ended up near Seyda Neen or somewhere on that coast. That's where they had been headed, after all, and the currents couldn't have taken them THAT far off... They would have drowned long before it otherwise.
His thoughts were interrupted as he heard voices from farther up the beach. Fear immediately gripped his heart, irrational, and he launched himself forward, landing on the bloated carcass of one of the unfortunate crew members. Though the smell immediately assaulted his nose and caused him to gag, he forced himself to ignore it, his hands fumbling at the belt of the corpse. Unhooking the sheathe of the man's sword - a longsword from the looks of it, also known as a hand and a half sword - he removed it, and sat up, tugging the blade from its water logged sheathe.
Rising shakily to his feet, he turned towards the sound, weakly grasping his sword in one hand. Though he may die if it was the Nerevarine or his agents, he would die standing on his feet and with a blade in his hand this time. Instead, he was greeted with the sight of the old man that had had his finger twisted off earlier, and of the redguard that had killed the skeleton that had fallen down into the ship's hold back when this mess had started.
Rather than go to greet them, he instead let out a shivering sigh, and collapsed once more. Though the rocky soil bit at his flesh, he didn't care. He was exhausted... Rolling over onto his back - which caused his soaked robe to cling to him even more tightly, something which both annoyed him and removed any bit of dignity he might have had from remaining clothed - he stared up at the sky, gasping for breath and trying to sort through his mind.
... What did they do now?
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Post by Chaos 303030 on Jun 29, 2009 2:14:17 GMT
Cyrus watched the first two slowly rise to their feet. He knew that just a few others aside had survived, a lizard and two dunmer, but he hadn't expected them up this quickly. It was a nasty tip overboard, and by his standards, only fate could have brought them safely to shore, without either being swept away deeper into the sea, smashed across rocks, eaten, or obliterated by the meteor. One of the called to him, another Redguard. He called out, an exclamation and a question, and although Cyrus could barely hear him, he knew that by instinct the man would ask about other survivors. Cyrus pointed past Reese, over to where Majulin was donning his bonemold. Cyrus, by this point, was close to Ironmark's corpse, and slashed at the birds flitting about. Due to his comfort with the sea, Cyrus had fared better than some of the others. He was still shaken, however, and was saddened by Ironmark's fate. Destiny couldn't protect everyone nowadays, it seemed. He pulled the splintered plank from Ironmark's corpse and began to drag him to towards the shrub ridden ground just above the beach. He'd be damned if this man wasn't given at least some protection from the elements.
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Post by Tom Bombadil on Jun 29, 2009 3:31:35 GMT
"The Elder Scrolls!" rang a far-off voice in Babur's head. Scrolls? Spell scrolls. No, writing scrolls. Parchment! Where is my parchment? Did someone find it? How embarrassing that would be. They are probably snickering over it now. What do I care about the Mages Guild anyway? Not like they know the first thing about speaking with Daedra. They're silly. Wait...I'm not in the Guild anymore. Am I? Yes I am. No, wait. No, that was a long time ago. Actually, it was never. That never happened. Hey! That never happened! No one is snickering. I am wet, so the parchment must be destroyed. Why am I wet? Right, boat. Boat? Ship. Gah! Morrowind ship!
Slow and painful was Babur's ascent into half-consciousness. And, as he lay half-buried under a pile of refuse, his half-minute of thought processing only yielded him the mumbled word "Nerv'rine..!" when a torrent of bad memory met him heartily. It was more of a splutter, actually, as a good bit of water came with the word. Then came more coughing, as his chest heaved to expel the water that he had inhaled.
During his agonizing fit of coughing (which was made more difficult by the fact that he was on his side), he felt a grainy substance beneath him. Sand. Or small rocks. Was there a difference? He couldn't make that call in this state of mind. It smelled terrible, though. Like a combination of sour water and decaying sea life. Indeed, that may likely have been exactly what he was smelling.
His body was almost entirely unresponsive. Hearing and smell were the only senses that actually functioned properly at the moment. He could feel pressure on him, but couldn't tell what weighed him down, or even if his body was intact. His vision was blurred. More so than usual anyway. He could distinguish the sky, but he was not looking directly upward. There was something a few feet in front of him, but the combination of his farsightedness and the distortion wrought by his present state made it seem like nothing than a moving blurred lump. Moving?
Whatever it was, it was breathing. He couldn't tell. Were there others alive? Or was he looking at an animal? He didn't care, entirely. He merely gave a low groan and tried to stay conscious. Figuring out what was before him was the most mentally stimulating thing available to him presently.
Morrowind. This is Morrowind, isn't it? I'm actually alive. By the gods of Nirn, I'm still alive. We survived the Nerevarine. And a meteor. And the ocean. My questions! How did he answer them? Bah, it hurts to dig into memory right now. But it is good to be alive. I might not have all of my body parts, but it is good to be alive.
OOC: The figure in front of Babur can be a player, if anyone desires it so. Or it could be a mudcrab. Your choice.
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Post by Vicorva on Jun 29, 2009 8:19:56 GMT
OOC: The plot is almost identical to RH now, and yet it feels very different. Intriguing RP, Chaos. IC: Dark-Feather awoke in a spasm of pain. Burning... the pain... she scrabbled around in the sand, arching her back, reaching with her hands but unable to reach whatever wound was on her back. The pain... make it STOP! She rolled in the sand, still struggling against the shape of her own body, creating something of a sand-cloud around her as her tail whipped and her body scraped sand into the air. As much as she tried, she couldn't. Panting, she stopped, trying to get to her feet and ignore the raging inferno of pain in her back. At least it isn't debilitating me... she thought, but she found that she had spent most of her energy in the throes of pain, and, with shaking knees, collapsed back into the sand. She blinked her owlish eyes, and controlled herself, calling upon the thing she used least in life; patience. When she had suitably calmed down, she attempted to remember the previous night. She remembered the strange touch of magic that had made her speak out, and for a moment, she nearly felt like she was worth something. And then she remembered that, of all the people on the ship, she was the only one who had not been spoken to, the only one who had not been acknowledged. She was nothing. Valenth thought that she had nothing to offer. She closed her eyes as they shined with a watery film. Tears leaked from them, first slowly, then in torrents. She should not have come. She was useless to these people, completely useless. So useless that Valenth had not even deigned to speak with her. She was shaken by sobs, between which a queer, nasal keening was discernable. All I wanted was a purpose... she cried out desperately to her Gods. To do good in the world... am I too pitiful for that? Or... she shuddered, and keened again. Or is it because after everything... I'm too evil?She shook her head, ears flapping, and curled in on herself, laying on her side, even her tail curling around her, so that she was an argonian disk on the sand. She did not get up and look for her equipment, nor seek healing for the wound in her back, which still raged painfully. She merely cried. OOC: Dark is wounded by a thin but long and deep crack in the dark, rough plating around her back, where she hit a rock on her way in. It isn't bleeding, but internally, it isn't great.
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Post by webster52402 on Jun 29, 2009 8:48:15 GMT
OOC: ... ... ... I think I'm slowly being corrupted. I actually felt pity.
IC: As Artmer lay, wondering what he should do, he was - as though the Gods had decided to give him some sick kind of sign - subject to the sound of sobbing. At first, he thought that it was a fragment of his dream again, and that he had caved to his exhaustion, yet when he managed to drag himself back from the depths of his mind, it was still there.
Shaking his head to clear it, he slowly sat himself up, confronted with the sight of the orc warrior that had been apparently spared, groaning and shifting as though he were trying so very hard to remain conscious. Heartened that he had found another survivor, he began to sit up to help the man, when another sob emerged, from somewhere on his right.
Confused, he turned his gaze, to see the Argonian woman that had helped him on the ship curled up nearby. From where he was sitting, he couldn't see her back and the wound there, but from the way she was acting, it was obvious that she was hurt. Either physically or mentally, the poor lass was sobbing into her knees, with a strange, almost indescribable noise in between the sobs.
Pity welled up in a great font in his heart as he looked upon her, his softer nature getting the better of him. Though the Dunmer were usually looked at as arrogant - and for good reason - Artmer had always been a bit different in that regard. He often wondered if he was pure Dunmer blood, he acted so differently from what the lifestyle in Balmora had been like...
Pushing his thoughts as to what to do next aside for now - after all, he had found just what he had been searching for... A reason to keep going - he pushed himself up, and turned his attention to the orc that was lying in front of him first. Though he was no warrior and not exactly mighty, he still half-crawled his way down the rocky soil to grasp the man around his shoulders, pulling him up to where he wouldn't be washed away.
Glancing him over, he could tell that he wasn't that seriously injured, so he turned his attention to the Argonian that had been so kind to him on the ship. He owed her one... Both for helping him get the will to get on the deck, and for saving his life, likely, against the axe wielding skeleton that had assaulted him.
Crawling over to her, feeling a bit tired to be standing up and walking around like those further up the beach that were apparently doing their own thing, he stopped next to her, sitting back onto his knees. "... Are you alright? Are you injured?" He rasped, surprised by how rough his voice was. Though he hadn't noticed it before, his throat now gave a lance of pain, dried out by the salty water that he had swallowed. Ignoring it save for setting a hand over his throat, he leaned forward over the sobbing Argonian, looking her over.
Though he couldn't see any wounds outright - she was still clothed, after all, and though there was a crack in her back that he couldn't see, it wasn't bleeding so it gave no outward signs - she was still crying.
"I... I don't have anything to heal with, but... I may be able to get some help..." He said weakly, frowns creasing the dark skin of his forehead. He always felt so helpless in situations like this. Not one of his jobs prepared him for the pain of others...
EDIT: OOC: Also, am I the only one that's noticed that this beach changes from being rocky to being covered with soft sand? Apparently the terrain that borders the sea changes quite a bit the further up/down you go along it. xD
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Post by Vicorva on Jun 29, 2009 9:13:52 GMT
OOC: I thought it was rocky and sandy... IC: "... Are you alright?," rasped a male voice. Dark didn't recognise it. "Are you injured?" The little argonian opened her pure black eyes slightly, and saw that it was the dunmer who had fought alongside her on the ship. She couldn't stop it as another keening sound choked out of her. "I... I don't have anything to heal with, but... I may be able to get some help..." He was frowning so deeply, and looked so worried, that Dark-Feather forgot her own sorrow for a moment. She uncurled slightly, and a spasm of pain shot through her back again, making her cough, choking on her own breath. I can't keep crying at him... she thought. I don't need another person thinking I'm weak. So, with an immense effort of will, she ceased crying, the tears slowly trickling to a stop, the mournful keening kept inside, though she still shook with repressed sobs. "...m-myy back..." she explained to him, gritting her teeth against it, and stuttering as she shook violently. "I-it's like hole..." a shudder rippled down the length of her entire body as she finally repressed the shaking. But with no physical outlet for her emotional pain and the shock that still clung so deeply to her, electric shocks ran through her body, tiny impulses of pain, emotional pain manifesting physically, causing her fingers and toes to go numb, a chill to run up and down her spine, and occassionally, she would twitch slightly without meaning to. Pain already lived deeply within Dark. It went badly for her when it was fed and surfaced. Her clothes were all plastered to her, and sand and bits of stone plastered to her clothes, but Dark was hardly aware. She tried to raise up, using her elbow for support, but the emotional toll of the day was now weighing her down as well, and her elbow gave way, dumping her on the ground again. The pain in her back was like a gruesome itch... how she wished she could scratch it away. If only she could reach, she'd tear it off, and the rest of her body along with it. Her upper lip peeled back briefly in a snarl of pain as fresh waves of it rushed through her. I am pathetic... she thought, prickling all over with tiny needles. She looked at the frowning dunmer. And self-absorbed..."Are you alright?" she asked him. He looked in a terrible way. "I am Dark-Feather," she said in a strained voice. "What's your name?"
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Post by DarkNova50 on Jun 29, 2009 9:19:13 GMT
OOC: *Palpatine like laugh* Good, very good! Let the compassion flow through you, young Webster...
IC: Nirn...Nerevarine...Elder Scrolls...
The words lazily replayed themselves over and over in Terra's mind, the voices that uttered them far off and somehow fuzzy, if one could attribute such a description to sound. The young Altmer's lithe frame gradually stirred from its almost death-like stillness, slightly singed around the edges but no worse for wear. As the other survivors began to awaken, moving and talking amongst themselves, so too did Terra's mind come racing back to the corporeal world.
The Elf let out a sharp gasp of surprise as the world around her suddenly came racing back into focus, the events that had taken place on the boat still fresh in Terra's memory. The cool, damp sand against her back, the Altmer's gaze remained focused upwards for several moments as she took in several calming breaths, before forcing herself to sit up.
She noted, albeit with a considerable headache, that several of the others seemed to have made it to the shore as well...intact, and otherwise. She cautiously made her way up onto uncertain legs, slightly disoriented, but managed to stay upright. She noticed that the Hlaalu Dunmer was already in the vicinity of the Argonian woman, who seemed to be crying, though to pick one specific reason of all the potential ones would be difficult. The Redoran, too, seemed unhurt, casually adorning himself in a set of armour she assumed he'd recovered.
I'll have to see if I can find my own equipment... she thought to herself, making her way towards the well-spoken Orc, who seemed to be pinned beneath a large mudcrab. Stepping gingerly towards the downed man, she casually brushed the crustacean aside, and knelt down next to him.
"Are you alright?" Terra asked the Orc gently, tilting her head slightly to the side. "Can you hear me? If you're hurt, I'll see what I can do, but-" She glanced up, looking between the others. "I might have to tend to some of the others, as well." The encounter with Valenth had drained her more than she'd thought, and unless she could find a member of the party willing to part with their excess mana...she'd have to conserve, for the moment.
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Post by webster52402 on Jun 29, 2009 9:43:01 GMT
Artmer's frown only increased as the Argonian woman shifted, and promptly started to cough violently, immediately returning to the position she had been in. She was obviously in some pain at the least, and must have been injured somehow during the ship's break apart, or en route to the beach... Which, wasn't really surprising. Morrowind was known to be a bit rough at times...
Though she forced back her tears - obviously through force of effort, if the strain of her voice was any indication - her body still shook and shivered as she spoke, though Artmer wasn't sure what he could do about it. He didn't have anything with him, and he wasn't certain where his stuff was. It had been below decks after all, and much of it probably went down with the ship... Not that he had anything important anyway.
Regardless, his gaze wandered about as she spoke, looking for something that he could do to help. Though there were other survivors down the beach, and he could likely call them over, he didn't want to stop them when they were looking for survivors. She didn't seem to be in life threatening danger, after all, though looks could be deceiving...
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a question from her, drawing his gaze back to her. Blinking as she asked him if he was alright, he realized... He hadn't actually bothered to check if he was injured or not. He knew that he was tired, but he didn't feel any pain...
Taking a moment to look over himself, he glanced down, and shifted himself around a bit, before looking awkwardly over one shoulder, and then the other, doing the same. Though his robe was ruined, soaked through and through, covered with sand and torn in places by rocks, not to mention clinging to his skin - something that didn't bother him overly, since Morrowind, especially around here, was surprisingly warm - he appeared uninjured... But that wasn't important. She WAS.
"I'm fine." He croaked, waving off her worries. Leaning a little further over her, he ran his fingers lightly across her back, trying to feel a wound there. Thanks to the roughness of her scales, though, he couldn't really tell what was a wound and what wasn't...
With a sigh, he sat back, and looked back to Dark-Feather's gaze. "And my name's Artmer. Now sit still..."
With a glance to ask her forgiveness, he leaned forward again, grasping her soaked black shirt lightly. Easing it up her back, as much as he was able to with it deciding to stick to her scales at every possible time, he let out a low hiss as he exposed the deep crack that ran along her back. No wonder she was in so much pain...
Though he couldn't tell with the water soaking her scales, nor gauge how deep it was thanks to her dark coloring, he could tell that such a wound must be painful. He wasn't sure what had done it, but then again, he wasn't exactly a doctor. It wasn't bleeding, though, so that was good...
However, since it was a crack and not a wound, he doubted that binding it would do much good, so that removed the only thing he really knew to do. Sitting himself back, he sighed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry... There's nothing I can do. But, it doesn't look that serious..." He assured her, once again looking around.
Apparently while he had been focused on Dark-Feather a large mudcrab had come skittering out of the sea, and had plopped itself right down on the unfortunate orc that he had pulled from the surf. Though the sight nearly made him laugh, he instead turned his gaze to the woman that was there... Who, with a bit of extreme luck, happened to have been the mage on board. Relief flooded through him, as he turned slightly, gesturing to her.
"Um... Can you help, please? She's in a lot of pain..." He explained, trying his best to raise his voice. It cracked painfully, a throb of agony lancing through his throat as he strained his dried vocal cords, but he bit back the pain. He could taste a bit of metal, though, so he may have hurt himself a bit... Though that could be fixed with a bit of drink later. Dark-Feather wasn't quite as lucky.
"If I can do anything, I'll do my best to help..."
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Post by Tom Bombadil on Jun 29, 2009 13:39:35 GMT
Babur blinked. Or tried to. Something felt strange about his face. Was that person real? He thought he recognized the voice. He tried to move his arm, which grudgingly complied. He gave a sort of dismissive gesture towards the voice, almost out of habit. "No, no," Babur managed. "Find someone who needs it more." His words were intelligible, albeit sounding as though they had come from a man who had been unconscious for a very long time (which was not inaccurate, entirely). "I've just a headache."
Come to think of it, something did hurt very badly in his head. He figured he must have taken some rock or hard object to the head during his inauspicious entrance to Morrowind. Babur's brow furrowed. And that hurt. Why is that?
Babur, whose face had been facing away from Terra, put a hand to the front of his head before sitting up. What he felt there nearly made him draw his hand back in pain - he had felt something hard sticking from his eye. He steadily realized that his vision was still very blurred. Experimentally, he tried to close his right eye. He was greeted with a flood of pain from the action. He tried the left eye. It closed...but that deprived him of all vision. His hand still covering his right eye, he came to the deduction that a piece of the ship's wood had flown into his right eye during the destruction. His heart sank. He had just lost an eye.
Standing up uneasily, he got a decent glimpse of the beach around him, though he didn't do more than scan it briefly. "Someone's tending to another over there," he said helpfully, more clearly this time, gesturing to the dunmer and argonian, "I can tend to myself. Don't bother."
He had long learned to not expect help for long from anyone but himself. Orcs were savages, he had to learn that when he left Orsinium. Hand gently covering his wood-laden eye socket, he unsteadily ambled forward in search of a harder piece of refuse on which to bite down when he would remove the shard from his socket. Alcohol would have been helpful, but he didn't think asking for that would come over well, even if it was merely to numb pain.
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Post by Vicorva on Jun 29, 2009 14:25:14 GMT
Dark giggled slightly, slightly hissier than a human might have, when the dunmer checked himself over. He looked quite comical.
"I'm fine," he said, which was good. He leaned over and scrutinised her back; she laid herself flat as she could, wincing. "My name's Artmer," he added. "Now, hold still."
Dark held still as he ran his fingers down her back, and didn't so much as squeak when he pulled up her shirt to check her scales.
"I'm sorry... There's nothing I can do. But, it doesn't look that serious..." he assured her. Dark couldn't help but growl slightly at that. Doesn't look that serious... she thought. I have a gaping great big hole in my back... Unable to see her wound, she could only go by how it felt- and what was only a crack in her scales felt massive to Dark, a gaping, painful hole, around her frazzled nerves.
Dark-Feathered tucked her chin in embarassedly as Artmer asked the mage for assisstance. She was sure there were others more important than herself who could use healing.
Before she could protest, however, she watched as the orc crossed her line of sight... with a bleeding eye. She stared, frozen in place, then said, "Someone sort him out... it looks like his brains are leaking out of his eye." It made her feel rather queasy.
In fact, now that the shock was beginning to wear off... everything was making her feel queasy. The bodies strewn across the beach... her pain... the orc's eye. Her tail thrashed uneasily without her consent, and pain shot down her spine, along with the awful sensation that her back was tearing.
Her eyes widened. "Sshit!" she literally hissed, and her whole body tensed as she tried to hold herself still. Her eyes glistened from the pain, and she began to pant, her ears drooping low in defeat.
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Post by Vrek on Jun 29, 2009 16:40:53 GMT
Down the beach in the direction the Sleeping Redguard pointed him, he indeed could see the Redoran from before, as well as a few more dots of movement in the distance. He started down the beach, leaving the Redguard to whatever his business was. Reese picked his way carefully towards the warrior, dodging dead bodies, and looking for equipment to salvage. Mostly wreckage from the ship. A rip of the sail here, and crushed barrel there. Realization flooded through him, when he saw one particular bit hidden among the debris - an orange flask, identical to the one he carried. A quick pat down of his person realized his fear. He didn't have any of his things. Unceremoniously Reese leaped at the flask, half buried in sand, and dug it out. Sitting up, he careful opened it away from his face, and dropped a few drops onto his fingers. Colorless, musty smell. A sigh of relief escaped the spy. Of all the things of his he could find, this was the most valuable. Chloroform was a rare thing to find outside his circles. The dagger was a convenience, a last resort. The torture tools he could make do without, but he preferred that he find them before they'd have to leave.
Sliding the flask under his shirt, Reese finished the journey to the Redoran, whom had finished donning a set of armor. When he came within ten feet of the Dunmer he spoke. "Good to see you moving, lad. A lot weren't so lucky. Listen, we need to hurry here, we don't have the luxury of sticking around." He extended a hand to help the Dunmer to his feet, "We need to hurry and meet up with those others down there," He pointed down the beach, to where the dots were still moving about, "Then we need to scavenge this beach for all we can. I'd give us no more then an hour leeway."
"My name's Reese, by the way."
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Post by DarkNova50 on Jun 29, 2009 17:25:04 GMT
The gestures of the Hlaalu tending to the Argonian woman caught Terra's attention out of the corner of her eye, as she attempted to assess the extent of the Orc's injuries. Although she hadn't scanned the entirety of his body, she couldn't see any obvious injuries, and he seemed to be alright, at least for the moment. It didn't take long before the Orc himself stirred, shooing her away to tend to somebody else, claiming that all he suffered from was a headache.
That was good enough for Terra; her biggest concern at the moment was making sure the people with the worst injuries got treated. She made her way up off the sandy shore below, pulling her frazzled blonde hair back out of her face, and prepared to make her way to the downed Argonian's location, hoping that her injury wasn't too severe. It was only when the Orc himself stood up and turned to face her did she realize how badly injured he really was.
"Someone's tending to another over there," he remarked in an almost disturbingly casual manner, gesturing to the Argonian and Hlaalu. "I can tend to myself. Don't bother."
Terra's own eyes widened with an uncertain blend of horror and surprise. "Are you insane? You have to let me treat that!" she cried out. She wasn't quite sure whether the Orc was trying to play it tough, or if he was still in shock, but besides the pain that he must have been in, there was no telling how deep the piece of wood went in. For all she knew it was lodged in his brain...and his idea of 'tending to it' probably involved just pulling it out himself: Orcish subtlety at its finest.
Even the Argonian insisted that she tend to the Orc rather than her, despite the fact she was in obvious pain. It seemed everybody was perfectly fine with others receiving healing, just not themselves. But she was forced to agree; she'd have to deal with the Orc first, and then take care of the Argonian.
"Just hang on over there!" Terra cried back to the Argonian woman, a concerned look washing over her features. "I'll see what I can do for him, and I promise I'll come help you next! Just try to stay calm, okay?" She turned towards the Orc, and quickly grabbed hold of his arm, stopping him in his tracks. "Listen, the sooner you let me look at that, the sooner I can get over there and help her. So will you let me look at it, or am I going to have to get that Redoran over there to hold you down?"
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Post by Tom Bombadil on Jun 29, 2009 17:51:07 GMT
"Oh for gods' sake," he said under his breath before facing Terra, hand still over his eye. "Fine then, what is it you can do? I have a shard of wood sticking out of my eye. It has not gone deeper than the eye, else I would not be able to speak comprehensibly right now."
He wasn't really sure why he had turned away help the first time. Perhaps that was partially attributed to his irate demeanor from losing a very helpful organ. And there must have been someone more severely injured than he. What had happened to the others? Or were they just lucky? He couldn't tell; he could hardly see a thing. Babur began again, this time somewhat more accepting of the help being offered. "If you can at least keep the wound from bleeding with a spell, that would be a good start. As for getting this thing out," he now removed his hand and looked at the dark red palm, revealing the inch-and-a-half shard jutting from what had once been an eye, "I honestly do not know what to do about that. The eye is gone, of this I am sure, but if I do not remove the shard, it will continue to cause damage. But the very act of removing the shard may kill me. Unless your magic can close the wound very quickly once it is removed."
Babur had never shown much potential for using magic. He had relied on alchemy to simulate magical effects as long as he had practiced it. But, as much as he hated to admit it, he had never been very keen to let magic be used on him by another. He preferred to tend to himself because he could know exactly what he was doing to himself. Now, though, it did not seem like he had a choice. It was this, or resort to a method one might be more likely to see on a battlefield. Which would almost certainly kill him. And this Altmer was stubborn.
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Post by webster52402 on Jun 29, 2009 18:35:28 GMT
Artmer sighed in frustration as the Orc climbed to his feet, revealing blood running from his eye in a steady flow. He had looked the man over earlier, thinking that he hadn't had any injuries at all, but it seems he had rushed it a bit. If the mage hadn't come along, he would have simply lay there and bled to death while Artmer tended to Dark-Feather, whom he had rushed to, on account of her crying and of her help earlier...
A pang of guilt washed through him, as he admonished himself for his slightly preferential treatment. Though he had thought he was doing the right thing, it seems he overlooked the important details, nor was he quite even handed. He wasn't cut out for this...
A hiss of pain from Dark-Feather drew his gaze away from the pair, and back to the Argonian. About as soon as he turned his head, a cloud of dust and sand rose from around her thrashing tail, stinging his eyes and causing him to cough as it rushed into his lungs every time he took a breath. Covering his mouth with his hand to prevent any more of it getting into his lungs, he coughed it out, his other hand reaching down to grip her tail tightly.
"Stop that. You'll only hurt yourself." He sputtered between coughs, though his already low, raspy voice was made almost unintelligible. His hand muffled it, and the coughing sending sparks of pain along his punished vocal cords didn't help either.
Though he couldn't restrain it entirely, holding it around its base prevented the thickest parts of it from thrashing quite as much, and would hopefully take some of the strain off of her back. Once his coughing subsided, and the pain that it caused faded, his other hand lowered to her tail, gripping it on its other extreme just as gently as he could.
Gingerly, he pulled it down slightly, folding it between the Argonian woman's folded legs, and wrapping it up to loop around her hips. Settling its tip beneath her, he allowed her to use her own weight to hold it down, and keep it from thrashing about without her meaning it to.
Not wanting to hold her for any longer than he had to - he had no idea about Argonian customs, after all, and he didn't know if she would take offense to him laying hands on her. Though she did seem different in that regard - he immediately withdrew his hands, turning his gaze back to the mage and the Orc. They were arguing back and forth, with the Orc looking at a bloodied hand, and muttering something or other. He wasn't really listening... But, it looked like they would be busy if only for a few moments.
Once again he descended into a fit of coughing, though he had no idea what spurned this one. All he had felt was a bit of warmth at the back of his throat, that was seemingly tickling at him. Only when he removed his hand, and saw the crimson stain on his own hand did he realize he must have cracked his dried throat open when the sand and ash - which probably dried his throat out even more - had been breathed in.
Quickly dropping his gaze down to Dark-Feather's tail, he saw that where his hand had been on her tail there was indeed a bit of crimson smeared across her scales. He would need something to drink, and soon, if he wanted to prevent any more damage to his punished throat.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Jun 29, 2009 23:00:37 GMT
Without making any attempt to hide her frustration, Terra let out a low growl of irritation at Babur's initial outburst, narrowing her eyes slightly. Leave it to an Orc to be so damn beligerent when somebody's trying to help them get a piece of wood out of their eye... she thought to herself, crossing her arms over her chest as she let the man vent. The fact that he had just lost his eye, and how that must be affecting him, was peripheral in Terra's mind.
Shortly after, however, he seemed to settle down some, and be more accepting of her offer of help, though it still seemed somewhat...begrudged? Living up to his race's notorious take on subtlety, he suggested that they simply yank the piece of wood out, and that she work on damage control afterwards. Luckily, however, Terra was quite skilled in several forms of destruction magic, and had an alternative plan of her own.
"Listen," she began, her own demeanour markedly more gentle than moments before, now that the Orc was listening. "I know a few disintegrate armour and weapon spells. I think I might be able to get that piece of wood out of there without doing any more damage, and then heal you after I'm done. I'm not going to lie: it might hurt a bit, but-" She shook her head slightly, before managing a weak, slightly sad smile. "I don't think it would be any worse than just ripping it out."
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