Post by Admin on Jan 28, 2016 19:07:08 GMT
The militia's infirmary is not the kind of place you would want to be when you're wounded, injured, or ill. It is a small cabin adjacent to the longhouse, which was likely seized from a villager in order to have an infirmary in the first place. The floor is made of wooden planks, and sand or dirt has been poured on top in order to give the surface more traction. The main room has been stripped bare, with only a few long tables here and there for patients to lay on. The dirt is stained slightly near the tables where blood trickled out of open wounds. There has been a concerted effort to keep the place relatively clean, but it is obvious that there have been more wounded than the building can handle, so it remains unfortunately dirty. There was a table in the far corner that was covered in tools, mortar and pestles, hanging herbs and other items. Although it looked a little understocked, a trained healer would know that was because it was used so much, not because of plight.
Once through the front door, there is an adjacent room where Nathrak could hear some agonized moans. A young man, likely not even twenty, lay on a bed. He is bloody and bruised, and his left leg has been obviously amputated. It is clear that he is in terrible pain and can do nothing about it. His eyes are closed, so it is unclear if he is sleeping or awake and in shock. The linens on the bed are stained with his blood...
"Hush now, son. Everything's gon' be fine... " an aged man said, sidling up to the bed with some kind of bandage. He unwrapped the old bandage and threw it into a bucket nearby. The new bandage, which was covered in some kind of leafy paste, was quickly applied to the wound.
"Argyll... I don't want to... " the young man said.
"Hush up, now, son. I'm not gonna let that happen. For you, dyin' will be letting this wound slow you down. We'll find you a plank you can lean on, and it will help you walk. You still got plenty of crops to sow, and sons to sire before you pass on. Vita ain't gonna call you home yet... " Argyll, the aged man said, rubbing the young man's forehead. He gave him a drink of something from a wooden cup, and the young man seemed to calm down and fall asleep.
"Vita's Heart!" the man exclaimed somewhat loudly as he turned to see Nathrak, obviously startled.
Once through the front door, there is an adjacent room where Nathrak could hear some agonized moans. A young man, likely not even twenty, lay on a bed. He is bloody and bruised, and his left leg has been obviously amputated. It is clear that he is in terrible pain and can do nothing about it. His eyes are closed, so it is unclear if he is sleeping or awake and in shock. The linens on the bed are stained with his blood...
"Hush now, son. Everything's gon' be fine... " an aged man said, sidling up to the bed with some kind of bandage. He unwrapped the old bandage and threw it into a bucket nearby. The new bandage, which was covered in some kind of leafy paste, was quickly applied to the wound.
"Argyll... I don't want to... " the young man said.
"Hush up, now, son. I'm not gonna let that happen. For you, dyin' will be letting this wound slow you down. We'll find you a plank you can lean on, and it will help you walk. You still got plenty of crops to sow, and sons to sire before you pass on. Vita ain't gonna call you home yet... " Argyll, the aged man said, rubbing the young man's forehead. He gave him a drink of something from a wooden cup, and the young man seemed to calm down and fall asleep.
"Vita's Heart!" the man exclaimed somewhat loudly as he turned to see Nathrak, obviously startled.
