Have Faith

[Camille]

Trust in Ulen with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.

Glade 1 4622

It was a long flight for a small purpose, but it was for a purpose that drove Camille all the same. Long was somewhat of a misnomer — she could easily fly from Jarden to the Badlands in a smattering of days, and it only took so long because she had to carry Cedric with her. It was her choice to bring him, of course. She could have brought another Velsign, an Inquisitor rather than an Acolyte, but she felt it was important that he prove his abilities time and time again.

He was also her only friend, but she did not feel the need for many when she was in Ulen's grace.

To carry her Acolyte was a specific setup that really only she of most Velsign could accomadate. With her exceptionally large wings for her size, spanning 26 feet from furthest tip to furthest tip, and her uniquely shaped feet, she was able to carry a closely-woven net that carefully held both supplies and Cedric. It was a sturdy piece of ropework that had held up for hundreds of miles of travel without issue, and it was by far the quickest way for them to travel with such an urgent request passed towards them.

Somehow a group in the Badlands had acquired a Sundering kit and made enough noise for the Inquistion to notice. With the survival of initation being granted by Ulen, such a skill as Sundering was an affront to what Camille believed was acceptable. To steal a life — a life of one granted such power as magic — just for that raw magic they possessed was a sin, to be paid in an equal or greater measure of blood. All according to His plan, that —

There was a noise. A ripping, tearing noise, and suddenly what was clutched in her feet was much, much lighter. Camille could not construct a weave large enough, fast enough to cushion his fall before he hit the ground, her attention split between magic and panic that managed to result in nothing. Cedric lay on the ground amongst a outcropping of stone in a tangle of net and broken bones. They had been so high up, but they had been close to the camp, she could see the flame in the distance. Her attention was far from their original task, however, and her face was contorted in despair as she knelt beside him amongst Badlands sand and boulders. She held his head — he was still breathing, somehow, and his eyes were open but unfocused.

The Velsign wasn't a medic, but she reached a tether to him, the string of ether connecting them. She could see the pain and confusion and tearing destruction in his familiar mural. Camille closed her eyes and sent the joy of Minstrel through the tether, one hand touching his cheek. Cedric's death could not possibly be in Ulen's plan, even if everything else was. Was their current task so grave that they must be punished? They had simply been following orders. Rapidfire prayers left her lips, that the blood spilled tonight would not be his. Not after Ulen had saved his life and allowed him to elevate himself to the status of Acolyte from that of a slave. No, it wouldn't make any sense for him to allow such a thing. It must have been something else.

"It's okay, Cedric. You're going to be okay. Ulen will save you." Camille whispered to Cedric between her prayers, growing more stalwart in her belief that this was simply a test, and not a punishment. It was only a test.

[Arkash]

With perfect clarity, Arkash peered into the night's darkness once he'd pushed the heavy metal door ajar. Clutched in his burning claws was the severed forearm of one of the last residents of the facility, one of the men who'd been sat around the pyre at the beginning of his assault. Thoughtless and casual, he sank his teeth into the cold fingers of the extremity, bit down with force, and tore through the ligaments, tendons, and bones with incredible ease.

He knocked his head back and swallowed hard while he approached the burning pyre, then sat upon one of the benches as he bit through the hand and pulled that into the black of his gullet without pause.

All in all, Arkash was having an excellent start to the month. He'd cleared out an encampment of Badlanders, met a Sunderer, and housed the girl in the Derelict he'd discovered as a gesture of good faith. It was his hope, as he clasped the forearm between his jaws and pulled down to snap the radius and ulna with the leverage, that he would be able to establish an alliance with the girl, that she might teach him her craft of Sundering mages.

Absent, he stared into the crackling firepit as he pushed the last of the forearm into his messy, gore-spattered maw, then took a deep breath of the cool night air and exhaled without thought. The brief satisfaction that came with eating for an entire day quickly dissipated, and he looked to the reddened sands that had drunk the lifeblood of his foes before he sighed and looked down at his bag; all the goods he'd collected from the facility. It was made of leather, framed with Brass. Inside was a set of tools Arkash knew well, and some that were improvised.

Where the Badlanders had managed to get a hold of a Necromancer's kit, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that it was his, and it was soon time to leave for Boghadar. Degare was waiting for him, had been waiting for him for quite a while.

He frowned while he stared on, then ejected his forked tongue to gather the smells in the air, and furrowed his brow on the withdrawal. With a curl of his nose, he looked to the distance and squinted against the light of the moon in the starry night sky.

Uncertain, he slid the brass rifle from his back, shouldered the stock, aimed, and peered through the lens of the attached scope. Another flick of his tongue re-oriented his sight as he closed in on the source of sweat's scent, and locked on the curious shape of... something in the distance.

The beat of wings was all too familiar to Arkash, who immediately recognized the presence of a Velsign. Below that? Some mass of something unclear. The velsign was heading in his direction; a badlander returning home? Surely not. Could he be so blessed?

He continued to watch the source of that potent scent as it drew closer, then squinted as some of the objects in its grasp began to snap. It was a net of some kind, Arkash realized, but from it, fell the shape of a human.

In disbelief, Arkash followed the fall as the Velsign dove for the lost cargo and lost sight of them as the magnified fabric of a ruined tarp tent obscured the impact. The slam of meat on the hard-packed earth met his ears, though it was distant.

At once, the Rathor lowered the rifle and seemed to brace to stand before he hesitated. That hesitation lasted just a moment before he slung his rifle onto his back, snatched up his doctor's bag as he stood, then began to run toward the site.

The Velsign hadn't come back up. Had she neglected the land properly? No, he'd only heard the one collision.

It wasn't a free meal he was running to, not unless he planned to take on the Velsign too. So what? Falling from so high, Arkash couldn't imagine the human had survived. They had to have been dead, right?

As he drew near, however, that wasn't what he found. The human was still alive, as indicated by the glow of one of Mentalism's tethers that linked the human to the Velsign. Could one tether a lump of lifeless meat? Surely not.

He slowed in his approach and came to a halt before he looked down at himself. His pale scales, the black, featherless quills that extended from the backs of his hands and his burning, dagger-like claws. His teeth, also alight with dark fire and crimson eyes on their black canvas...

There was no time to figure out how to hide his features again. If the human was alive, he wouldn't be for long. With a brief shake of his head, Arkash rushed the rest of the distance to the crumbled human, and the Velsign where she knelt.

"Easy," Arkash warned in common while he evaluated her gear. She must have been some military type, someone who perhaps belonged to one of Daravin's orders of Ulendreic zealotry.

His eye moved over the human, utterly mangled with pieces of bone jutting through the gaps in his armor. it was perhaps his breastplate and helmet that had saved his life, Arkash recognized, but the extent of the damage to his limbs was... Enough to even make his stomach turn. It really was incredible that the man was still alive, let alone that he was still conscious. Again, he met the woman's gaze and made a move to approach the human steadily if she hadn't already warned him otherwise.

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[Camille]

Camille stiffened at the sound of fast, approaching footsteps. She turned her head sharply only for the sight of a blighted man in the moonlight to welcome her. Her expression soured, hateful and angry. All Inquisitors could recognize the sight of a Dranoch with their features bared so brazenly, and she was not about to let Cedric become an easy meal. She reached her spare hand to her glaive, next to her in the dirt, but she didn't move more than that. The man, however, did not move like a creature on the hunt. And he had spoken.

"He is still alive," She hissed, and pointed her glaive towards the newcomer. As her gaze lifted further towards him, it was clear that she was crying. She did not know how Cedric remained conscious or alive, but she could only attribute it to Ulen's will to keep him alive. It was a test. She looked down at his face, his glassy-eyed expression. She did this. It was her fault, and she had no way to assist him now. She set down the glaive next to her again, seemingly giving up whatever threat she hoped to make.

"Why did you come? There is no prey for you, blight. Leave us. Leave." Camille had no will to fight the heretic, but she knew she was showing too much weakness before an enemy that could kill her even on her best days. But she did not stop him from approaching, against her better judgment. He was not moving like a predator. She whispered another prayer to herself, drenched in Uleandreism that the Dranoch could absolutely hear, followed by another plea and promise to Cedric. "Ulen will save you. He will save you. It is just a test, Cedric. Blood has spilled and bones have broken, but you will be saved by Him."

[Arkash]

The Velsign reached for her weapon, Arkash slowed and held up his free hand while he assessed her reach. It was some sort of spear, a polearm. That meant trouble for the Rath, who’s only weapon was his unloaded gun and his claws.

“He is,” Arkash said with a downward motion of his hand as if to coax the woman into dropping her weapon. “But he’s got a few minutes at best… I can…” he began while she stared at the broken human, and slipped his thumb beneath the strap of his gun to lift it off his head and set it aside. Gently, he lowered his firearm to the ground to disarm himself, and she did the same.

She knew he was a Dranoch; she must have been trained. The similarities in her armor and his dignified they were both in uniform; some branch of the Halamire? “I’m not going to eat him,” He said calmly.

As she began to pray, Arkash shook his head. “Listen, he’s got minutes. The state on his legs tells me he’s punctured an artery with the broken bones. He’ll bleed out really quick unless-” She was deep in prayer, assuring the human while he faded that their God would save him. Arkash breathed out through his nose with a deep exhale.

He took the risk and lowered himself to his knees at the man’s side. He watched the woman until he set his bag down. “I’m a Briomancer,” Arkash said quickly. “I can save him if you let me,” he continued.

Normally, he would have checked to see if the man was breathing first, but given the state of his legs and the speed at which other men bled and died from similar injuries, Arkash’s priority was on the site of his thighs. Using his claws, Arkash quickly cut through the straps that bound the armor to his body and tossed the buckled plates aside. Chain was quickly stripped from the hip down and all but the most essential fabrics were left for modesty’s sake.

Around the man’s left thigh was a site of swelling toward the inside that was tinted a deep purple; that was the severed Artery, he resolved. Arkash curled his nose a little, then retrieved the rope from his bag. It was thin, wiry stuff that he began to tie above the site of the swelling. The squeeze of the tourniquet’s pressure began to climb, and would eventually become more painful than the wound itself as Arkash tied a handle to the site and use it for leverage in tightening the restriction of his limb.

It would have to be amputated as a result of the tourniquet, but it was the only method of stopping such high-volume bleeding.

Even with Minstrel’s aid, Cedric would be near enough, if not fully screaming in agony as all blood flow to his left leg was completely halted.

“Help me strip him,” Arkash instructed. If there was even a moment of hesitation, Arkash would bark “DO YOU WANT HIM TO DIE?! TAKE HIS ARMOR OFF!” With all the force of his diaphragm, red eyes wild with stress.

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[Camille]

Camille was not overly familiar with injuries. She knew of arteries and bones and bleeding out, but it was always a heretic that was injured so, by her own hand. This was different. Cedric was no heretic, but it was still done by her own hands. She didn't stop the blight from kneeling down. As concerned as she was about his presence, she was in no state to stop him and if he had wanted to kill the acolyte he would've already made his attempt. No, he was talking about saving him, a strange human, an inquistorial pair meant to murder blighted heretics like him.

There would be no blight sent to help Cedric by Ulen. Yet it was the blight that tore apart his armor and began the familiar-unfamiliar sight of emergency care; techniques that Camille did not understand, but knew were for the benefit of her friend, to save his life. Even with the immense pain that was being caused him, even with his screaming. She was well aware of the necessity to cause more pain to alleviate it later — to cause pain to save a life, whether it was redemption through the spilling of blood or the literal saving of a broken man.

"You can save him? You're a —" She stopped talking as he instructed her to help, and instead started undoing the straps and removing his armor with practiced hands. Plate was almost a daily wear for them, and it was second nature to her to take it off as much as it was to put it on. She had never had to rush like this, but she let her fingers do the thinking as much as confusion and bewilderment overtook her conscious thought process. She didn't know what he had done to Cedric's leg, exactly. Part of her continued to send minstrel-joy through the tethers she had attached to her friend. Anything to alleviate the pain would be enough. It did not take long to strip him of his armor, and Camille looked back at the strange man, ready to take action with any further instruction he gave her.

[Arkash]

Removing the armor was easy enough; Arkash had stripped many knights of all their casing before he sank his jaws into the tender flesh beneath. That wasn’t to say he was particularly fast, especially with as many layers as the broken man seemed to wear.

So, he called on the aid of the Ulendreist, and she obliged after a broken question. “Yes,” Arkash returned quickly, eyes trailing over every inch of skin as it was exposed. He searched for obvious injuries, signs of egregious wounds that needed immediate attention while the man writhed and clawed with his teary visage.

There was some obvious internal bleeding around the abdomen, which was bloated and hardened in parts. His ribs didn’t move properly either, which was to imply there was some catastrophic damage around his cardiovascular system. A lift of the back of his hand to the man’s mouth revealed that he still drew breath, as he felt those ragged blasts of warmth against his scales.

Arkash stared for a moment, then lowered his hand before he raised a cautious glance to the Velsign.

“We need to move him; he needs surgery,” Arkash said bluntly. “I can’t operate on him out here; all this sand and dust will start the wound festering and there’s no way I can disinfect the wounds without medicine.” It really was that simple; Arkash had no means of cleaning out the wounds with him, nothing to kill the infection if the wound did turn out that way; the next best option was to minimize the risk, but did they have time?

“There’s a building half a mile down that way; it’s cleaner than out here and it’s safe.” One gust of wind and it would all be over; shelter was vital for their success.

“He’s losing blood in his Abdomen; I don’t know how quickly or how long we’ve got to stop it…” Arkash trailed with a glance over his shoulder, and set his eyes on the building some distance away. He couldn’t make it, not in his state, Arkash knew. “Fuck…” he cursed under his lungs before he returned his attention to the man.

“Hold him still; if he moves around too much he can make this so much worse,” he instructed the Velsign as he took the black quills that extended from the back of his hand, curled his nose, and ripped them off with a sharp tear. The holes in the back of his scales began to weep deep red before fresh quills began to grow in their place.

Quickly, he wrapped the hardened quills with some layers of fabric that he cut from his clothes to form a tight bundle, while he tucked lengthwise between the human’s jaw for him to bite through. “Keep an eye on his heartbeat when he passes out,” Arkash instructed, thoughts a blur as he ran through the motions.

With a burning claw, Arkash pressed to the base of his chest and steadily cut through the skin of the human’s stomach. He ran a straight line through the middle of his abdomen to open up the belly, much to the human’s displeasure. Cedric was no doubt writhing in agony through the incision.

The backs of his claws were dull, and Arkash used them to leverage the wound wider and peered into the dark of the human’s guts with perfect clarity in his vision; it seemed Cedric’s floating ribs had detached on impact, and laid impaled through the majority of his digestive tract. Such implied there was damage to his spine too, but his legs still worked so the damage couldn’t have been too extensive.

Using his free hand, Arkash pinched one of the floating ribs and carefully extracted it by guiding it through the damaged organs. After discarding the piece, Arkash drew a second, smaller rib from the mess of ruined entrails, and tossed that aside too. Briefly, he sifted through the guts and found that the source of the bleeding had been cleared of debris. With his grafting needle, Arkash began to stitch the site shut, and sutured a covering of etheric thread for the puncture. With a twist of the needle, the thread set and became a fresh layer of lining for the intestines.

It was then that Arkash realized his patient had fallen still, to which he looked up to find the human’s pale eyelids shut. He looked up at the Velsign and asked “is he breathing? Check his pulse,” while he continued to stitch up some of the major sites of internal bleeding.

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