Flashback [Various] The Undeniably Painful

[Aoren]

37th of Winter, 507 AV
17th Bell

“Mr. Ariva!” Aoren stood with a crate in his arms just outside the Undeniable Interest shop. He was at an entrance that was not typically used by customers but for deliveries. He was tired. He short of breath. He was more than a little sore. The eighteen year old had been struggling for the better part of the day to keep up with his work. He was one of the many denizens of the great Fortress City of Peace that made a living drifting from one odd-job to the next. While the bulk of his work consisted of lugging cargo from the docks to their respective locations in the warehouses there were times when some deliveries were permitted to go straight to their merchant.

Case in point, Dominac Ariva. The man was a collector and acquirer of odd things. His shop was utterly fascinating to Aoren. He could find anything there. By anything of course he meant the strangest most bizarre object that he could scarcely imagine. It was amazing to think that the man actually made a living catering to such odd interest. Then again he was also an appraiser and rumor had it he was a mage of no lesser skill. Aoren had no way of knowing that. He did practice magic himself but only sparingly and without the greatest amount of proficiency either.

At the present time Aoren was carrying what shouldn’t have felt like such a heavy crate. It might have had something to do with the fact that he’d been kicked by a horse earlier that day. There were days when he managed to find work at the Windmount Stables as a stable boy. The horses helped to calm his nerves in an otherwise bustling city filled with noise, smells, and people. Lots and lots of people. Aoren was not so good with people. He kept mostly to himself for a number of reasons. Adjusting the crate in his arms he winced as the bruise on his chest from where the horse kicked him throbbed very painfully. He knocked on the door again this time with more force.

“Mr. Ariva!” There was an exclamation inside followed by the sound of pots hitting the floor. Aoren heard the rustling of locks before the door flew open revealing a very grumpy, slightly disheveled looking gentleman.

“What boy!? What?” Aoren winced as he proffered up the crate. The man, who was roughly middle-aged in appearance with greying hair and a scraggly beard.

“Uh, delivery for you, Sir.” Dominac Ariva, owner and proprietor of The Undeniable Interest leveled Aoren with a stare. The sandy-blonde haired Drykas boy wanted to fidget under that gaze before the man suddenly exclaimed.

“Ah! Yes. Of course. I’ve been expecting these damn things for ages now. Come in, come in.” Aoren hefted the crate which caused him to nearly double over in pain. There was no small amount of sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. He followed the elder gentleman, and Aoren used the word sparingly to describe Mr. Ariva, inside. The interior of the store was just as cluttered and dusty as one would expect. The floor was covered in parchment. The shelves that lined the walls were littered with bits and bobs who’s purpose no one save Mr. Ariva himself could perhaps guess at. The air was heavy and stale, sick with the smell of things both forgotten and things better left that way. All the same when Aoren did manage to have free time on his hands he sometimes visited the shop because of the variety of things there was to find there.

“R-right. Where shall I put it?” Dominac gestured in a vague direction.

“Oh, over there is fine. I’ve a customer to see too.” It was only then that Aoren noticed there was a figure standing near a shelf on the opposite side of the clerk’s counter. “And by the gods, don’t break anything boy!”

The sudden shout startled Aoren causing him to jump. The sudden jerking of his muscles spiked the pain in his chest. He yelped nearly dropping the crate but he managed to just fall to a knee instead of releasing his hold on it. His fingers were not happy with that course of action but if he wanted to get paid it couldn’t be helped. With shaking hands he released his hold on the crate then promptly pulled himself to his feet. He leaned against the wall very much out of breath.

“A-anything else, sir?” Ariva, who seemed to be completely oblivious to Aoren’s discomfort as he began arranging papers waved at him dismissively.

“No, no. That will be all. Go back to the Dockmaster and tell them that the next time they are half a season late on the delivery I will certainly be switching to a new shipper for my goods!” With a slight harrumph Ariva dismissed Aoren from his thoughts.

Wrapping an arm around his chest, Aoren made his way toward the front door. A shifting of his arm caused him to grunt reaching out for the wall as a means of supporting himself as he walked.

“Why today? Of all days?”

Illeera was going to fuss at him the moment she saw him. She’d be returning from her patrol that day and the minute she saw the bruising she would be on him like a fly on shyke.

[Caelum]

“Possibly because Lhex knew I’d be here,” came an acerbic reply. The speaker was a shock to the senses, arriving like an apparition at Aoren’s elbow. Though no daylight had managed to squirm its way into Dominac Ariva’s shop there was nonetheless a wealth of warmth permeating the stale and distasteful dim. The winter season spilled carnelian and gold through the prominent curve of the ethaefal’s horns and littered bright embers through the shadows of his hair. It failed to gutter the gold in his eyes, however, as he wrapped a hand about Aoren’s arm and pulled him with firm insistence away from the wall and into an assisted stand against him. A strong arm snaked around the young man, delivering sure and easy support. “Stand upright,” he encouraged, pitching his voice purposefully low. An air of steadfast competence surrounded him along with the fresh scents of dawn and green things. His hand firmed below the clutch of Aoren’s ribs as he tucked him close against his side, literally monitoring the struggle of the young man’s breathing against his own. “Lift your chin. Look at me. It’ll open your airway. Here now –“ When Aoren looked, he would find a pair of shrewd golden eyes staring back at him. He was calm and irritated, ancient and horribly young, human and not. “You’re really not okay,” he muttered after a long minute. A sigh was checked in the back of his throat and his head turned toward the shopkeeper with a drastic shift in countenance. ”You will be needing a new bloody delivery boy if you can’t learn how to properly treat people, Ariva. Can’t you tell he’s hurt? Rak’keli’s tits, man –“ The grizzled shopkeep startled and proceeded stare at his customer with astonishment. “Hurt? What are you talking about? Look, do you want this copy or not? There are very few –“ “Decent petching people in this world,” Caelum cut him off, every word spat out through his teeth like blood and stardust. There were precious few sights so self-righteous as an ethaefal in a temper, or a healer defending their patient for that matter. Aoren, apparently, had become his by sheer accident of timing. “Don’t just stand there. Bring me a chair and a glass of water. Do you want him to fall dead in this mess? You’ll never discern his bones from the dust if you move much slower than that. Ariva –” The name snapped like a bone breaking, sharp and clean. Expectation limned every inch of Caelum, practically vibrating the clutter from the shelves. Even the likes of Dominac Ariva found himself inclined to fall into line. “A chair, if you please, sir,” he finished, long, noble fingers extending outward in an eloquent plea. Ariva dropped his papers onto a shelf and scurried for a chair. The ethaefal looked back to Aoren, peaceful now that he was being obeyed. “I’m Caelum,” he introduced. “What in Hai have you done to yourself?”

[Aoren]

“But I—“ Before he could even finish his sentence Aoren was promptly cut off by a voice that while annoyed still sounded like silk to his ears. Not moments after that he was being bombarded with a series of instructions. Given the man’s tone there was simply arguing with him. Aoren, with the support of the arm wrapped firmly around his waist, made an effort to stand completely upright. It was a motion that he could have done without. The pain that rippled through his chest wasn’t quite what he would call excruciating but it was most certainly unpleasant. As pain was wont to do. It caused him to gasp and immediately hunch back over to bring less stress to the area. His sudden movement only served to aggravate things however. He winced hissing and groaning trying to pull away from the stranger.

There was no getting away from the iron hold the man seemed to have on him. Instead of fighting, which was going to prove useless and would only cause more pain, he did as he was told. Aoren blinked away the discomfort he was feeling. He took shallow breaths to ease the ache in his chest then attempted to stand upright once more. This time he moved slowly with deliberate purpose. The breaths that he took were through his nose, exhaled through his mouth.

And then he looked his supporter in the eyes.

Gold. Brilliant hues of the purest amber. Accented by the radiant tones of a bright dawn calmed only by the softer warmth of an earthly wheat. The eyes that Aoren stared into shocked him. They were not the eyes of a mortal man. They were captivating in the purity of their color. They were frightening for the sheer unearthly wisdom that echoed in their depths. Cobalt blue irises stared back into the Ethaefal’s in truly astonished wonder. That was before another spike of pain caused Aoren to double over. They were getting worse with every breath that he took.

Aoren squirmed in the grip of the otherworldly man who commanded Dominac Ariva with such ease. Firstly, because Aoren heavily disliked being touched. There were only two people in the whole of his life that he readily gave permission to touch him without even thinking. The second was because as kind as this godsend might have been he was heavily jeopardizing Aoren’s job. Aoren wasn’t exactly what one would call indispensable. He was a grunt worker who accepted jobs as they came wherever they might have been. He didn’t have the luxury of angering his employers. With the utmost futility he tried to disentangle himself from this very impressive man who made a kitten out of THE Dominac Ariva.

“Th-thank you. Please, I don’t want any---“ Nope. There simply was no having it. This man had apparently made it his absolute mission to see to it that whatever ailment was persisting in Aoren it was set right. The young man swallowed. He would have sighed but that would only cause more pain and discomfort. He was having difficulty breathing as it was. Then came the name.

“Caelum.” Aoren spoke it aloud. Though it was with the tone of someone who was out of breath, tired and wanted nothing more than to just crawl into bed for days. Still, it was a pleasant name. It suited him. Squeezing his eyes together ignoring the growing headache that was forming behind his eyes, Aoren nodded to Caelum. At the man’s prodding Aoren sighed. Which he immediately regretted.

“I-I was kicked by a horse. I got s-some bruises. I didn’t th…thi…think anything of it.” That sentence had been a lot more of a struggle to get out than it should have been. At that moment a grumbling Ariva sauntered his way toward the both of them. He promptly set the chair down gesturing to it grandly. Aoren, both oblivious to and uncaring of any such displays immediately took a seat. The relief was partial but it helped. It was nice to get off his feet. Wincing he wrapped an arm around his chest again squeezing his eyes shut to block out the growing discomfort. Opening one eye he examined Caelum to the best of his ability given his vision was a little blurred.

“Who are you?” It wasn't so much a direct question pertaining to who exactly Caelum was so much as an indirect inquiry into what his motives were. Given the amount of pain, the tiredness, and the amount of discomfort Aoren was in he simply couldn't be bothered to ask anything more prying.

[Caelum]

The ethaefal rolled back strong shoulders to shrug out of his split riding coat and cast the leather piece over the arm of the provided chair. This left him in cream colored shirtsleeves and dark brown leather riding pants that hung from narrow hips. He dropped into a corbie's crouch in front of Aoren's chair and pushed his sleeves up over sun burnished forearms. He ignored the air of irritation and irony Ariva was emanating and rested his hands lightly on the young man's knees. "What's your name?" The question was pitched in a gentle voice. His accent was strange, haunting and almost too large for his mouth. Compared to the shopkeeper, Caelum's confident attitude provided an air of matter of fact competence. He ducked his chin and ember streaked hair flopped into his face as he attempted to catch his patient's eyes. "And will you let me help you take off your shirt? I need to see the bruising." Turning his head toward Ariva, a brilliant smile slashed his mouth. "That water, please." "I'm a very busy man." Ariva lowered his eyebrows at Caelum. "And I came with coin," Caelum volleyed. "Water, if you please." Dominac Ariva pushed out a sigh that was almost as heavy as his footsteps when he tromped around toward the back of his shop, ostensibly to get Caelum his water. Temporarily satisfied, Caelum returned his attention to his patient. "I'm a physician," he explained. There was no tell-tale glimmer of Rak'keli's opalescent gnosis on his face or on his hands, the places where most blessed healers carried her mark. "You can hardly breathe. Will you please just let me take a look at you? At the very least I can ascertain whether or not you require immediate action and then escort you to wherever you want to go. Alright?" The plea did not hold impatience. It held instead a faint note of resignation that was at odds with all of the impressive expectation he had wielded like a weapon of leadership at Dominac Ariva. Perhaps Caelum sensed that his patient was a person who would respond the best to different tactics.

[Aoren]

“Aor-Aoren. My name is Aoren.” The young man managed to open both of his eyes to view Caelum at this point. To say that he was entirely too fascinated with the sun-kissed man with golden eyes and gem-like horns would be an understatement. His voice was that of a ballad that sung with purity all of the joys and sorrows of an endlessly beautiful summer. There was an abundance of warmth in his demeanor though that warmth wasn’t directed at Mr. Ariva. Aoren couldn’t say he was entirely bothered by that. The old fart deserved to have his feathers ruffled just a little bit. At the request to remove his shirt Aoren hesitated. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before nodding in acquiescence.

Reaching down Aoren grasped the hem of his shirt. He slowly began raising it up exposing his torso exposing the bare skin of his abdomen. The flesh was not pale but the moderate pinkish flesh tone as could be expected. No doubt with a little sun it would be nicely bronzed in the summer. Aoren’s torso was what one could expect of an eighteen year old who had spent the better part of his life doing manual labor and sparring to keep up a means of self-defense. The muscles were toned and plainly visible, well-formed and pleasantly proportioned. The words “lanky” or “scrawny” were far from appropriate in describing the young man. At present the blotchy bruise that covered the right side of his abdomen. The worst of the bruising was around his seventh and eighth rib spanning across the intercostal spaces in a dark stain across his otherwise lightly pigmented skin.

Aoren hissed nearly doubling over in pain as he raised his arm to drag it out of the sleeve. His eyes watered but he clenched his teeth biting back the discomfort. With Caelum’s help he managed to get his shirt off so that the physician could get a clear look at the bruising. The dark blotch extended front to back on Aoren’s torso beginning just under his right pectoral and reaching all the way to his back stopping just short of his spine. There were no extensive breaks in the skin except for around the immediate area where the horse’s hoof must have impacted Aoren’s chest just under his nipple. If the bones were cracked or broken it was not obvious at the superficial level but the amount of discomfort that Aoren was in suggested that it was a possibility.

Reaching up Aoren wiped away the watering in his eyes that came from raising his arm up so high. He cleared his throat. There was just a very noticeable throbbing in his side at the moment. The stabbing pain subsided so long as he didn’t raise his arm above chest level or didn’t take very deep breaths. He glanced up as Dominac Ariva came back bearing a glass of water, a cloth and a jar of a thin yellow paste all of which he presented to Caelum with a sour look on his face. At seeing the bruising on Aoren’s chest the elder gentleman lost some of his dourness. He cleared his throat.

“Glass of water, a cloth and some Krolar. Satisfied?” He folded his arms over his chest tapping his fingers on his bicep impatiently. Aoren managed to suppress a smirk. He really shouldn’t have been finding any of this funny but there was a note of amusement in seeing the dirty old man get ordered around. It would certainly make up for the fact that he often prodded Ileera with lewd jokes whenever she accompanied Aoren on some of his runs. Aoren’s attention returned to Caelum.

“Okay.” Okay as in he agreed to let Caelum examine him then escort him to a location of Aoren’s choosing though he said none of this out loud. Talking was taxing at the moment so he refrained from doing it too much. Not that he spoke much to begin with. Sitting up as straight as he could manage he nodded his permission for Caelum to begin his work.

[Caelum]

"Aoren," Caelum repeated his patient's name on a murmur, commiting it to memory. Clever fingers assisted Aoren with removing his shirt, patient when pain left him gasping and possessed of a gentle alacrity when necessary. He folded the shirt aside, atop his own coat on the chair's arm, reaching toward it without looking away from his patient's torso. Golden eyes grew heavy lidded and shrewd as he performed his visual inspection of the bruises smearing across sun burnished skin. "This is fresh," he remarked after a few moments. He still didn't look back at Aoren's face, focused on what was wounded. He talked, however, with the intention of teaching secondary to his primary goal of utilizing his voice as a soothing method. A priest of Rak'keli had once told him in the belly of a ship that his tongue could be of the most potent cures. He'd also told Caelum that he needed to learn how to protect his face better because it was the only part of him much worth saving. Caelum still wasn't much inclined to argue. "You can't have sustained this injury more than four bells ago, or any less than two. The swelling is acute and the discoloration of your skin is ripe. These deep purple tones and nearly black edgings tend to fade after about half a day in their centers, like ink on a page in the sun. It signifies the beginning dispersion of blood and that's when you start to see colors like wildflowers, all daffodil and celadon and rose, emerge." Dominac Ariva's return pulled Caelum from his lecture and he glanced up at the shopkeeper. The glass of water and jar of krolar ointment were accepted, the latter placed temporarily on the floor by Aoren's feet. "Thank you," he said, plenty gratitude available now that he had received what he wanted both from Ariva as well as in Ariva's behavior. He cast the man a smile that twisted with apology. "We'll be out of your hair shortly." Caelum reached a hand into an interior pocket of his coat where it hung and removed a narrow glass vial half filled with mix of pale yellow powder and dried organic material that greatly resembled the common cooking herb basil. The water glass in one hand, he thumbed the piece of cork stoppering the vial free with his other hand. Steel half kneeling on the floor, he held both out and squinted one eye while measuring a dose water into the vial. He pressed his thumb over the open mouth of the vial and gave it three languid shakes. As he did so, his attention switched back to Aoren. "This is a mix of feverfew and tumeric. Feverfew is most sucessful in treating migraines, but I've found that it also does well for pain related to impact injuries. The plant can grow a few feet tall and is best harvested when blossoming. White petals, yellow centers. The flowers look rather like daisies and they have a distinct citrus scent. Here --" And he held out the vial, sudsy now and the water in it thoroughly transformed into a somewhat milky looking substance. "Smell. Despite the name and what a lot of the less experienced physicians might claim, it doesn't do a damned bit of good treating a fever." Strong, lean shoulders lifted in a shrug as if to say: what do you do? The vial was give a little shake. "Drink it up, Aoren. It will very quickly hit your bloodstream and begin to work on the pain that is preventing you from taking deep breaths. It's important that you breathe, and I don't just mean for the obvious reasons. Drink it and I'll explain why."

[Aoren]

If Aoren had any doubts that this man was indeed a physician they evaporated as soon as he began rattling off his assessment. For the most part Aoren simply stared and listened with focused intensity. What the man was saying was indeed fascinating and while he wanted to retain the information it wasn’t going to stick entirely. It was helping to distract him from his discomfort though. At the conclusion of the assessment Aoren nodded.

“It h-happed this morning.” Feverfew. Right. That was a great distraction. He closed his eye squeezing them shut as Caelum continued his inspection. The gruff arrival of Mr. Ariva was only dimly acknowledged. Aoren concentrated on the sound of Caelum’s voice. He listened both to what he was saying and how it related to the situation. Altogether it helped to take his mind off of the fact that he was having difficulty breathing. When he opened his eyes the unearthly man was measuring his tonic into a glass of water. The fuzzing, white foamy substance made Aoren lean away slightly. He eyed it suspiciously for a moment then reached out taking hold of the glass with his right hand.

So used to maneuvering things in the world with his right hand was he that Aoren didn’t stop to think it might cause him pain. Which it did. Which resulted in him flinching. He clenched his fist grunting curling in on himself which only made things worse. It was at that moment the glistening stylistic lily might be visible to the golden horned man. When the pain passed Aoren dropped his right hand resting it on his knee to take the glass with his left. He tipped it back drinking the concoction as deeply as was comfortable. It didn’t taste the best but it didn’t taste the worst either. Light and citrusy with a slightly bitter after taste. When he had finished it he coughed slightly before handing the glass back to Caelum.

“Where did you learn all of this?” Aoren was genuinely curious. The whole of his life he had spent going back and forth from one menial task to the next as either a messenger or a grunt laborer. He did not yet possess any real trade skills except for the strength of his own two hands. He was certainly not uneducated. His father-figure and mentor wouldn’t have it. He was just not adept at any particular trade on a level where he could apply it for a living. True to his word, the brew that Caelum gave Aoren began to work its wonders after a few short minutes. The relief gradually became more noticeable as the effects took hold. Aoren took a slightly deeper breath testing the limitations. He sat up a little straighter with a half-smile on his face.

“Thank you.” There was sincerity in Aoren’s voice as well as mild relief. The dull ache was still there but it was far less noticeable now.

[Caelum]

The ethaefal's regard fell to the lily of Avalis emblazoned on the back of Aoren's right hand. His eyebrows nettled together as he made a study of what was a familiar gnosis mark and memories, both the blood stained and the sweet, crowded his mind. "What's that?" He heard himself ask all the same. In his mind's eye, he saw a delicate pair of hands folded around a dried starfish and a matching, animated pair lifting a knife while someone wondered aloud what it was that made men think they could skin the marks of gods right off of a person. Pieces of his past, both in this life and the time before last, overlapped each other. A few small details came in to greater detail, but the rest but blurred. Whoever all he had been dissolved into the waters of Tanroa's river like his tumeric powder had in the vial. When his patient's questions, his dead swiftly dispersed and Caelum pinched the now empty vial free of Aoren's fingers. Pressing the bit of cork back into the opening, he tucked the vial into his pocket to clean later. Still kneeling in front of Aoren, the jar of krolar ointment was recovered from the floor and he twisted the cap off. "I learned this on the road," came the confession. "And sometimes that road was stretched over the seas. Some years back I crossed paths with one of the Rak'keli's priests -- and I swear he was the snarkiest priest this side of the Ukalas -- and until that point I'd done a bit of patching, some rough physicking. You know, the sort that's better left to hedge witches and trumped up apothecaries who sell love potions at two silver a shot. Necessity is what it is, but it weren't until I hauled that priest out of harm's way that I got serious about it." He looked up, golden eyes brighter than the rest of this dim. A healthy dollop of the krolar ointment was scooped into the curve of two fingers and he watched as Aoren straightened a little and some of the tension tightened in him by pain eased from his flesh. Nodding a little to himself, he slid a hand to settle at Aoren's waist, below the thick cluster of bruises, and used his other hand to begin spreading the ointment over the worst of it. "You've cracked a few ribs, Aoren," he continued on in much the same mellow and ambling manner he had recounted a summarized version of his story with Rak'keli's priest. "Doubtless bruised another. These here --" His fingers spread ointment carefully over the worst of the bruising. "Are where the real concern is. It's possible one's broken in there rather than just cracked. This is your six rib, and seventh, and your eighth. Your seventh is the last with a solid connection to your sternum." He tapped his fingers lightly against the bone sliding down the middle of Aoren's chest. "They're important because they protect your heart and your lungs, but if one of them down here is broken then instead of defending your right to breathe, it can attack it. A jagged bone end can scrape or puncture your lung and that's deadly." Caelum sat back for a few ticks, considering. Finally, he reached for Aoren's discarded shirt and shook it out, eyeballing the neck hole. "Alright -- no. You're not putting this back on right now. You can wear my jacket. Do you live far from here? We need to get you home."

[Aoren]

Caelum’s sudden scrutiny of the mark upon the back of Aoren’s hand made him flinch. He brought his right hand to rest in his lap. With his left he rubbed the lily feeling more than a little self-conscious about the mark. When it came to Seer’s blessed by the Goddess of Foresight herself men were not exactly commonplace. On that same token Seers other than Konti were not exactly what the everyday person thought of when it came to the servants of the elusive goddess. He fidgeted slightly uncomfortable under the golden horned man’s gaze. Tentatively cobalt irises met amber.

“Avalis. It is her lily. She has been with me for as long as I can remember.” Avalis. The enigmatic goddess of the Seers. With her gift Aoren’s eyes had been opened to both the wonders and horrors of the world at a much younger age than most. It was also through her gift that he found solace in the majesty of a place where the hardship of the here and now were but ghostly echoes in the distance. He had never met the goddess. He had never heard her voice or felt her touch beyond the mark her bore on the back of his hand. All the same, she was the only mother he’d ever known throughout the whole of his life and he liked to believe that she guided him in the smallest of ways with the grandest of outcomes.

Caelum seemed lost in his own thoughts for a moment before he took the vial from Aoren’s hand moving on to the subject of where and how he’d learned his trade. The idea of seeing such a regal and commanding figure sailing on the high seas with foul mouthed sailors interacting with snarky priests brought a chuckle to Aoren’s throat.

“I, uh, I can’t really wrap my head around that. A snarky priest? I don’t think he’d fit in well with the keepers of the Temple of All Gods.” The idea of seeing a smart mouthed robed figure throwing curses at worshippers was so bizarre all Aoren could do was shake his head. And then Caelum was going into his explanation of what exactly Aoren had gone and done to himself. Well, not really himself. It was the horse that had kicked him. Regardless, Aoren was absorbed in what Caelum was saying. It amazed him how such a person could simply waltz into the store, take charge and make right what was wrong in a broken body.

“Wait…you mean I could just puncture a lung at any moment?” Well that was reassuring. The idea of taking a deep breath and suddenly having one of his own bones tear through the tissue of his lungs was frightening. What would have happened has Caelum not been there to assist him? What would have happened had he simply gone the rest of the day until the ache was simply beyond his ability to tolerate? Would he have reached one of the Healers in time? Would he have ruptured a lung or worse? The idea had him wide-eyed with the frightening possibilities.

“I live about fifteen chimes from here in the Maiden District on the third tier.” Aoren eyed the shirt in Caelum’s hands. He couldn’t honestly see himself donning the jacket of such an immaculate being. Somehow, even after all the help that Caelum had given so far he felt as if he’d tarnish the garment. A little unsteady on his feet, Aoren rose from the chair. He braced himself for the stinging pain of the ache in his side but it did not come. The medicine that he had both ingested and the poultice rubbed on the side of his abdomen kept the pain at bay. Aoren was dimly aware that something was not right in the way his chest felt but the pain was not there or at least lessened to a point where it didn’t particularly bother him on a conscious level.

“Are you sure? I could make it from here on my own. I would hate to impose.” Truthfully speaking Aoren did not want to yet part company with Caelum. He also had no idea how long it would be before Illeera came to see him at his apartment. No doubt Caelum still had business to tend to with Mr. Ariva who had returned to his counter and was pointedly busying himself with what appeared to be a ledger.

[Caelum]

"No, I've been to the Temple of All Gods," Caelum muttered, something invariably amused in his words. "Noc wouldn't fit in there at all. Here, have a care --" When Aoren rose to his feet, it was with Caelum's hand at his elbow. A frown continued to mar his face as he scrutinized his patient, doubtless weighing their options. For the time being, he ignored Ariva and his pointed throat clearing. "It's possible that you could puncture a lung." Caelum folded Aoren's shirt in his hands and ducked down to tuck the article of clothing into one of his jacket pockets. "But I am relatively certain your ribs are cracked, not broken. It'll be alright." He picked up the jacket next. It was a weathered, scarred thing that had been well made and would probably last him years yet to come. It was split up the back for riding, suggesting that he spent a great deal of time horseback. It was lined and warm and smelled of wind and green things and a hint of salt as if the sea still tried to follow him since he'd crawled himself free of it. Numerous little pockets were tucked into the interior lining and nearly all of them held some treasure or another. Mostly it was tea packets and medicine vials, a hand held suture kit and a roll of bandages. There was also a sea shell and a bit of string, a paring knife and a set of wooden prayer beads crafted from polished mahogany. Stepping close to Aoren, Caelum swung his jacket over the young man's shoulders. "Gimmie your hand," he muttered, eyes narrowed as he firmly and matter of factly began to tuck Aoren up into his jacket, helping him get his arms into the sleeves and shaking his head at any protest. He buttoned it up and by the time his hands caught the collar, flipping it up, his eyes also caught Aoren's, eyebrows raised. "It's cold out there," he said simply. "And this was a lot easier than your shirt. Wait here." Satisfied, the physician curved about on his heel for the counter and Dominac Ariva's ledger book. He paused to steal a purse from the pocket of his jacket and ducked his head to count out a number of gold mizas. They clattered a merry juxtaposition to Ariva's grim smile as Caelum plunked them to the counter and accepted a small, brown paper wrapped package. Ariva looked at the coins, one eye squinting, then grunted his agreement. It was far more than Caelum's purchase was worth, therefore covering the price of the shopkeeper's patience as well as his krolar ointment. In fact, returning to Aoren, Caelum scooped up the ointment jar, checked the tightness of the lid, and tucked that into a pocket of his jacket as well. "C'mon," he invited, casting Aoren a crooked smile and sliding a strong arm about him. "Lean on me. We'll get you home."