Elrood’s Fever

(OOC: Set during the Lions winter campaign of 1107, written by Russ Phillips)

Elrood lay in his bed, a cold sweat covering his face. Trust the Healer’s Guild not to have Lantian Flu in that damned plague pit, he thought to himself. He’d lost track of how long it had been since Karen had left to join the Lions on Sammarix, and he wondered how they were getting on. I should be there, with them. He knew he couldn’t, of course. The only thing to do was remain immobile. He knew what would happen if he moved – he’d seen enough cases in the local hospitals, and he’d met Sheyna’s young lass. Talking of Sheyna, she’d told him she’d make the plague pit seem like a holiday if she came back to find him blinded, and he wasn’t inclined to try and prove her wrong. As he lay there, his fevered mind started to wander …


Oh no. He knew what that empty feeling meant – it had happened to him once before, years ago. The look on Chasey’s face told him that it had happened to her, too, even before she said a word. Then he heard a cry, and looked in the direction it had come. The Blodwyn was obviously in deep distress. He turned back to Chasey, and she confirmed that she’d lost her link, as had Mairead, and Rowan. As another wave started to attack, Chasey started re-organising her healers. They still had a duty to do, it was just going to be rather harder than usual …


“Oh, crap” They were on the floor, all of them. His eyes scanned over the prone bodies – no obvious wounds, the only healer among them was Oliver. His training told him that Oliver was the one to heal first, then Oliver could help him heal the others. It was the only logical thing to do. He knelt down, and concentrated on the pattern, looking for damage. Nothing life-threatening, just unconcious. Ignoring both the training and his better judgement, he started to chant, feeling the energy from the plane of life as it flowed through his body and into hers. Something’s wrong. There was too much energy flowing into him, but it wasn’t flowing into the wound, it was just draining out of him. He took his hand away. I shouldn’t feel this drained. That was only a simple wound. He hurried over to Oliver, crouched down and started to chant once more …


Laying on the floor, he considered his position. Midir had told him it was a suicide mission, and it seemed he was right – Elrood could feel his pattern starting to unravel out of the wound in his arm. He concentrated on working out how much power he had left, and reckoned he could just about heal the arm, but nothing more. Discreetly looking around, he could see that Benedict still walked, and there were wounded all around. Taking care not to be obvious, he reached over to the Prince Bishop’s Man to his side and checked her pattern and armour. Damaged armour, multiple wounds, unconcious. Elrood started to chant, dealing with the chest wound first, and as soon as she was concious, explained the situation and told her to be careful – Benedict was between them and the rest of the Lions, but she might be able to finally deal with Benedict, if they could get her armour fixed and wounds healed. Elrood moved his hand to her leg and started chanting again, feeling the wound starting to heal, when he heard an all-too familiar voice. “Ah, what do we have here? Unless I’m very much mistaken, it’s a Lions healer playing dead while he heals” …


He had no idea what to say or do, so he just sat there. He’d already told her he was sorry, but that seemed so inadequate. The trouble was, there was nothing else to really say. So he sat there, silently cursing his inability to help …


Elrood stood in the narrow cave corridor, arms stretched out wide, holding them back, as a hand reached out from behind him and spread some liquid on the unfortunate individual’s face. The hand retreated, and Elrood concentrated on making sure that none got past him, until suddenly the head in front of him exploded, covering him in a sticky mess. After wiping the worst of it from his face, he stretched his arms wide, blocking the path …

Advertisements