[ CATCH-ALL ] and I broke my heart in two

[londonbound]

Who: Rhy Maresh & others
When: throughout September, early October
Where: Castle Thorne, Nott, Horizon
What: In the aftermath of the attack on Nott, Rhy is doing his best to help out as a healer in the fields, taking on the firefighting quest, and otherwise being fucked up about all the damage and casualties already piling up.
Warnings: blood, possible violence, will add as needed.




(( hit me up @ belleteyn or @ lenafish#3861 on disco. PM is cool too.

I'm happy to write you a custom starter!! even if we've never threaded before!! i am simply very bad at open ones. ))

Comments

for thancred.

[londonbound]

for jayce.

[londonbound]

He feels a little guilty for reaching out. Rhy's knowledge of what's actually happening in Libertas is minimal, but it's enough to understand that even all the destruction he'd seen around Nott is nowhere near the casualties suffered there. He's spoken with Viktor, and he knows that he and Jayce are lending their efforts.

Perhaps it is selfish, bother Jayce at this time. But he'd been so kind before, and he's Kell's friend--

Eventually, he sends a message.

Hello, Jayce. I was hoping we could meet, at your convenience. If you haven't the time, I understand.

Be safe.

- Rhy Maresh

for kell.

[londonbound]

He can only imagine how awful things are in Libertas. As it stands, Rhy's already overwhelmed with the destruction around Nott, the harvest wrecked, farms destroys, rural homes in ashes. And most of the city had been spared. The war's only just begun.

Even with most of the active fires now put out, there's still plenty to do. Makeshift infirmaries and shelters have been set up inside Nott to help those who suffered losses or injury during the attack, and Rhy has been a near-constant presence at some of these, wherever extra hands have been needed. It's really testing the limits of his studies at the infirmary in Thorne, where he's been training diligently in healing magic from simple first aid and now to more complex spells -- to ease pain, to help with smoke inhalation, to treat burns and breaks.

It had started almost on a whim, or perhaps more aptly, out of a vague but desperate desire to do something useful. Magic had so long been out of reach that now, with it finally answering his call here in Abraxas, Rhy had found himself overwhelmed. Alone and directionless all those months ago, he'd volunteered at the infirmary because it seemed like the sort of thing that would be fulfilling, when he'd been having so much trouble finding anything that filled that void inside his chest.

Suddenly, all those hours spent studying and working toward a nebulous goal have a solid, too-real purpose. It isn't theories and practice and practicing his bedside manner taking care of someone mildly ill laid up in the castle. It's blood and burnt flesh and screaming and his magic, his hands, literally putting people back together. And it is, perhaps, fulfilling but--

It's also exhausting, and horrible.

Some days, it is too much of both.

Kell will find him behind the inn-turned-hospital that they've both been helping at the last few days. Rhy sits on an empty crate in the alley, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. He doesn't look up when Kell approaches.

for stephen.

[londonbound]

[ The portals to Nott remain open for some time. It's long and difficult work -- the cleanup, rebuilding, and rescue efforts, both for any potential remaining food supplies, and any of the people who'd been responsible for them. Several makeshift infirmaries have been set up around the city, with folks from the farmlands being portalled in.

Now, a couple weeks later, there are fewer new patients. Some had tried to resist seeking help, too proud or too distrustful of the crown and any help it sent. Some simply hadn't realized until later how bad the damage was; smoke inhalation can be insidious that way, apparently. But though they are fewer, they continue to trickle in, and so the makeshift hospitals stay open to accommodate them, with healers moving in and out of the inn-turned-infirmary near the edge of the city.

In some ways, Rhy is used to it by now. He hates the thought. And yet, he's seen enough bloody bandages now, enough burnt flesh, it doesn't make him want to vomit anymore. It's either progress, or it's something far worse, depending on how one chooses to look at it.

In other ways, there are things he can never get used to. That he never should get used to, he thinks.

When another person dies despite their best efforts, having sought assistance far too late, Rhy has to excuse himself. He finds a different inn and tavern, somewhere cheap, rowdy even in these times. He means to get a drink, but when the very scent of food and booze on the air suddenly makes him want to lose the last meal he had (when was that, even?), Rhy changes course, and instead ducks into the side street behind the tavern. He wouldn't be the first to throw up back here, probably. Or maybe, if he can take enough deep breaths, he'll be able to make it to that drink, after all. ]