[Though heโs only a few days removed from his return to Thorne, the portals to Nott remain open, and there are people who need his help. This alone is reason enough for Stephen to plan for travel, especially after word of needing more healers, more hands to help in the infirmaries, makes the rounds.
Upon arrival, he cannot say that he feels particularly welcomedโdistrust floats about like a fog, directed at anyone who even vaguely scents of Thorne Castleโbut Stephen sets that aside, pulls himself into a mode of focus that comes easily, a task hammered into any doctor whoโd spent time working at an NYC hospital. At the overstuffed infirmaries, he tends and moves from patient to patient. He wraps bandages, applies salves, casts spells of healing and regeneration, and offers advice on how to manage the pain of recent injuries and burns; in more severe cases, he can do nothing at all, watching far too many succumb to their complications early, having sought their help far too late.
The evening wears on. The hours grind at him. At some point, his energy wanes, and the efficacy of his work produces diminishing returns. Aware of it, Stephen excuses himselfโdecides to go for a walk to clear his mind, to find a place to sit and rest and maybe eatโand finds himself winding through the town. A tavern catches his eye, the raucous noise reverberating into the street, and he ambles closer. Stephen almost passes the street behind the establishment without noticing anything out of the ordinary, but troubled movements hook into his periphery, and he pauses just long enough to notice a familiar figure hunched over nearby.]
โRhy?
[Stephen approaches, brow scrunching with vague concern.]
no subject
Upon arrival, he cannot say that he feels particularly welcomedโdistrust floats about like a fog, directed at anyone who even vaguely scents of Thorne Castleโbut Stephen sets that aside, pulls himself into a mode of focus that comes easily, a task hammered into any doctor whoโd spent time working at an NYC hospital. At the overstuffed infirmaries, he tends and moves from patient to patient. He wraps bandages, applies salves, casts spells of healing and regeneration, and offers advice on how to manage the pain of recent injuries and burns; in more severe cases, he can do nothing at all, watching far too many succumb to their complications early, having sought their help far too late.
The evening wears on. The hours grind at him. At some point, his energy wanes, and the efficacy of his work produces diminishing returns. Aware of it, Stephen excuses himselfโdecides to go for a walk to clear his mind, to find a place to sit and rest and maybe eatโand finds himself winding through the town. A tavern catches his eye, the raucous noise reverberating into the street, and he ambles closer. Stephen almost passes the street behind the establishment without noticing anything out of the ordinary, but troubled movements hook into his periphery, and he pauses just long enough to notice a familiar figure hunched over nearby.]
โRhy?
[Stephen approaches, brow scrunching with vague concern.]