[Shinyama Pavilion] In Darkness & Light (Duvalyon)

[Oriela]

In Darkness & Light Timestamp: 7th of Summer, 512 AV OOCI thought it might be a fun dynamic if the injured was due to a Sym attack. Let me know if you don't want to run with it, or if you want the timestamp changed. Oriela rushed down the stairs of the pavilion, rolling up her sleeves as she did so. She had already heard the news. A symenestra had tried to kidnap a woman, and though she had escaped from his clutches - and the symenestra from Kalinor had vanished into the night - she was injured. Severely injured. Zintila's stars twinkled in the night sky beyond the glass panes, and Leth seemed to look down on all under his dominion, with non-judgemental eyes. She would need his comfort, since a part of her knew this was going to be a challenging night. It was her job though, and not only that, duty and passion to heal and help compelled her every day. She would pour every part of her being into saving the injured woman. Rak'keli had made sure of that. She swung down into the room the patient was being brought into, looking round to see if any other healers were on standby.

[Duvalyon Hellebore]

OOCCool premise. I like it. Duvalyon was quietly cataloguing what was left of the Pavilion's herbal stores when Oriela and the accompanying furor arrived. It wasn't uncommon to find him at the Pavilion later than necessary. Many Shinya regarded the gray medic like a broom: either he was working or lived in some closet in the Pavilion. The idea of him having a home or even a personality assaulted the order of things. Whereas the Konti healer had the mystic purity of her race and a luminous mark to recommend her. If the widow slept in a closet, she retreated to a violet cloud. When Oriela's pale eyes cast about for assistance, Duvalyon wordlessly joined the fray. Ever methodical, he began by washing his hands in a basin as the woman was laid out on the examining table. The instant the Symenestra passed within the woman's view though, her agony compounded with a fit. Her arms jerked up with gestures of both defense and accusation, and her voice found itself with venomous contortions of "widow", "spider" and "petcher". "She doesn't seem overly fond of me," he observed dryly. Duvalyon spread his clawed fingers over a series of gashes across the woman's ruined shoulder. The shadow of his hands matched the span of the cuts. He merely tilted his head at this and rounded the table with new understanding. The Symenestra's handling technique showed a chilling familiarity in dealing with "unappreciative" patients. Terror made the woman writhe, and hoarse croaks cracked between bleated protests. But all her pain and fury failed to alter his concentration. He was deftly pulling her damp hair away from her neck and shoulders, looking steadily for particular wounds. "Bite marks," he explained, "See if you can find any on the rest of her." "Fortunate thus far," he murmured, finding nothing in the usual places. Chances were low that the fellow Symenestra had gotten a hold of her elsewhere.

[Oriela]

Oriela washed her hands, rubbing the dripping fingers on her shirt as she made her way to the woman. As she got there, she found herself working opposite another medic. Of course. Duvalyon. Knowing the patients history, she raised an eyebrow as the woman reacted badly to the sight of the Symenestra. This would be a testing case. As he touched her, pushing hair away as if she were a paper doll, he noted aloud the marks on her neck and shoulder. Bite marks indeed. Oriela placed her hand over the rent flesh. Though the depth would require medical treatment, she could sanitise the wound somewhat with her Healing mark, ensuring they would not have to deal with infection too. Her hand glowed with Rak'keli's light, a warmth coursing from her own hand to the woman's shoulder. The woman in question was bewildered. She had gone from screaming and writhing from the Symenestra medic's touch, to a complacent daze, in which she was either unconscious with open eyes, or staring at the ceiling to pretend nothing was happening. Oriela walked around, checking the rest of the body. There was blood coming from somewhere. The woman's white shirt was covered in the stuff - and the blood from the shoulder could not have caused all of this. "I'm sorry," she said to the woman, before delicately lifting her shirt a little. She began to study the midriff, searching for a wound. But there was nothing. She looked up at the Symenestra. She had seen him before, though he often busied himself with his own jobs and duties. He was a curious man, his words dry and clipped, his medical skills clinical and detached. "Anything your side?" she asked, voice lilting with hope.

[Duvalyon Hellebore]

OOCWelcome back. "There won't be any significant wounds near the stomach." Near the womb would have been a more accurate description, but the implication was there. Symenestra would be careful to not damage the integral aspect of a surrogate. Duvalyon's awareness of the traditional methods of attack could prove unsettling, so he diluted them to academic sounding observations. "But..." His eyes were trailing over the table, where a fresh pool was forming. Too quickly for the girl to protest, he raised one of her shoulders from the bloody surface. With care but no decorum he lifted her shirt to show her back. It revealed a curved laceration from the bottom of her scapula to just beneath her breast, like someone had drawn a crescent on her with a stiletto. "Here." The wound had avoided some notice as the thickening blood had made her shirt cling to the skin. Duvalyon's peeling of the fabric had torn some of the initial scabbing loose, causing a fresh bit of crimson. It would had to have been done sooner or later, he thought. Blood loss, Oriela's influence and shock were mingling to make the woman malleable, but she was slipping into beats of awareness where she thought to jerk away from the Symenestra. The attempt was pitiable, resembling the final flops of a fish on land. Strength had been drawn from her, so fear could only fill her eyes instead of compel her body. Surprisingly, the medic made some calming sounds. The only way to get Duvalyon to heed the feelings of a patient was to have them interfere with treatment. He couldn't do a damn thing if she insisted on trying to escape. Overcoming his nature, he murmured something in his mother tongue that had a soothing cadence not found in the common language. In Kalinor he could have bound her to the table, but in Lhavit he had to resort to more "acceptable" methods. "Can you do that again?" he asked Oriela, not fully versed in the capabilities of the healing gnosis. It wasn't a popular mark amongst his race, as they were often compelled to work harm. After that initial healing, he could look to sanitizing the cuts and beginning some more permanent stitches.

[Oriela]

No significant wounds to the stomach... Oriela paused, looking up to study the Symenestra before her. A grey man, of even darker eyes, and yet she wondered all the same what lurked within that soul. She knew what he was referring to, at least. The womb. The treasure of the unfortunate woman that found themselves caught in the spiders web. Then, without warning, he lifted the woman. There was delicacy in what he did - he did not hurt her - but the woman screamed all the same. Any sense of dignity was foregone in the moment. Oriela put her hands on the woman's shoulders, hoping to calm her again. Though his action had been reckless, it exposed a terrible wound. Oriela nodded at her fellow medic, letting go of the woman to roll her sleeves up which had began to dangle. The woman's resistance melted as the Symenestra began to murmur something. It was a language Oriela was not familiar with. She yearned to speak in her own tongue for just a moment. Kontinese flowed so much easier than the common tongue of Mizahar. She watched the medic momentarily, lost in his voice. She broke away as he spoke. Nodding firmly, she readier her hands against the worst parts of the wound. Where scab had come away with clothing, blood oozed out, trickling down the woman's back. I need a little more of your divinity, my Goddess. Rak'keli's power coursing through her hands, she passed over the wounds. Heat and light. She could not heal them completely, but the wounds were cleaner somewhat, and the trickle of blood slowed. "Do what you must," she half-whispered to her fellow medic- caught in the fever and frenzy of saving their patient.

[Duvalyon Hellebore]

What he must... Despite the setting, Duvaylon smirked. He always did just that; for his race, for his family, for his profession. It was why he was sitting on his claws in the middle of Lhavit, pulled from every familiar and established aspect of his life. Noting the rising fatigue in the Konti from the use of her gnosis, he subtly began directing the process. "I'll finish the cleaning. Can you make a tonic for pain before I start the stitching?" The Symenestra was middling on concoctions. It would be a relief to pass it on to the Konti. He started scanning the labeled items in the tall shelves for something useful. He had watched a Shinya make a tea with White Willow powder a few days prior for a young acolyte with an injury. It had calmed the child a measure. Duvalyon suddenly made a sound that twined a murmur and growl. Where was the jar! He quickly frowned, of course, top shelf. It never bothered him to climb in Kalinor, but in Lhavit he became a novelty. Lhavitians were both curious and repulsed that something so substantial could adopt an insectile slink. Duvalyon loathed the feeling that he was performing "tricks" for onlookers. No time for his pride, though. The Symenestra ignored the ladder and quickly scaled the wall alongside the shelf. He plucked a jar from the collection. "Catch," he tossed the container towards Oriela, "White Willow." On his descent he took a corked bottle from the middle of the shelves for his own task. He didn't stop for a moment, moving from wall to ground as if all were the same. Whatever was in his bottle was shaken and poured into a basin of water. With a cloth dipped in this mixture, Duvalyon began cleaning the wounds.