Ville de Rachat

[shakenandlimp]

[Spam for Sylvanas]

[Bush has little to no memory of what happened between the first signs of madness and the sickening crawl into this nook of the rock-- there was so little light, sometimes none; he remembers mostly sensations, and what he did see was perhaps only half real. The sensation of pain is second only to a despair -- exaggerated by the foul water he drank, too long ago.

He knows that he may die of thirst and is too stupid with misery to mind. Despair is alien to him and it has disarmed him-- left him paralyzed more surely than his broken right leg. If he wants to live instead of dying, it is a preference no more profound than a liking for port over sherry. He is too tired to hasten death and too unhappy to scrabble for life, so he has been lying still now for a day and more-- motionless except to sometimes open his eyes-- uselessly, in this complete darkness-- and to close them against the darkness. His lips are cracking and small insects skitter across his skin and under his clothes, small rocks dig into his ribs, but moving even slightly would be an effort as impossible as flying.

Sometimes he hears voices-- of the barge crew or the natives, who can say? He does not call out.]

Comments

[forsaken_queen]

[Sylvanas has had little difficulty, in contrast. The darkness is comfortable, the natives a mild distraction at best. She's experienced mild hallucinations from time to time, but nothing debilitating. She knows now that some pockets of air are simply toxic, and moving out of them is the readily available cure. She's yet to find any commonality in the locations to help her identify the toxic air, but it wasn't a pressing concern.

She has been alone nearly the entire time. And it's what she prefers. All the easier to find the way out when you aren't waiting on others. Once she does, she intends to go back, for a few select people. But this has been the most efficient use of her time.

When she comes across the Captain, it's his breathing she catches first. Soft, but oddly labored at the same time. She approaches soundlessly, cautious of a possible trap. And then she sees him. Her eyes are better adjusted for darkness, and so she picks him out without trouble in the low light.

She doesn't rush to him like an amateur fool. She keeps up her guard, making sure he is not being used as bait. Once satisfied, she moves in, purposely making her steps audible so as not to startled him too much. Kneeling beside him, she speaks quietly, the rock walls augmenting her voice enough to be heard.]

Captain, can you hear me?

[shakenandlimp]

[The light of her eyes is the first brighter light he's seen in hours. He blinks at her; his lips part, but that is all. He sighs, but there's no voice in it.]

[forsaken_queen]

All right. I'm taking that as a yes. Lie still.

[Her lips form a thin line, and she begins an efficient examination of him. She takes off her gloves, touches his face, his throat, feeling for more heat than normal. She doesn't smell blood, so fever is the larger concern. Her hands are colder than any living thing, but there's a distinct sensation of presence that a true corpse would lack.

She leans closely in to check his pupils, using the glow of her own eyes to see by. She runs hands over his arms, hands, fingers, his torso, looking for wounds. She finds it in his leg, and curses softly in Gutterspeak.]

[shakenandlimp]

Broken.

[His metal leg is intact, if all but useless in his current state.]

Leave me.

[He is not being heroic; he is weary and irritated by this need to exert himself. A dry mouth makes his words a croak.]

[forsaken_queen]

If you aren't going to say anything useful, don't talk.

[She is as gentle as she is able to be as she examines the break, more with her hands than her eyes.]

The break is clean, but there's swelling. You're bleeding internally. It needs setting and the pressure needs released.

[She moves and talks.Her cloak comes off, is folded partially, and placed under his head, the rest of it pulled around him as far as it can be. This is too ward off shock, though she suspects he's already there.

She cuts away his pant leg, with extreme care, but efficiently, even though she has no other blade except her swords. His belt is commandeered, folded, and pressed between his teeth. Then settles her hands on his leg, and pauses.]

I'm going to set it first. Try to relax as best you can. Breathe.

[shakenandlimp]

[At first he does not resist her efforts, lies sullenly motionless and lets her do what she will. But the jarring of his broken leg as she cuts his trousers away and examines it makes him wince.]

God, let it be, let me be-

[Mumbled through his mouth-full of leather, head shaking side to side, but he makes no other protest.]

[forsaken_queen]

[She ignores his mutterings. She's busy, gauging the break, where the bones are sitting. She'll need to be fast and correct. But she's done this sort of thing before. She's been in too many battles, too many wars, not to know how to do this.]

This will hurt.

[It's all the warning she gives him before she does what she must. It's a fast, rough, and ungentle action, resetting a bone. But a necessary one. She won't apologize for it.]

[shakenandlimp]

[He gives a whine of pain, a gasp-- his panting breaths after sound something like stifled sobs. Later, when he has any conception of feeling, any knowledge of himself beyond this dark few days, he will be thoroughly disgusted with himself for it.]

Have we found the ship. She must be aground.

[He does manage to get these words out.]

[forsaken_queen]

[For her part, she doesn't acknowledge his pain at all. Not with sympathy, not with disgust. It was simply a fact, one she'd even said would be so.

They were half done.]

I haven't heard any victory knells, but we'll find it presently.

[She talks almost absently, as she pulls an arrow from her quiver. The point was sharp and fine, much better for what needed doing. She could control it better than her sword for fine work.

She maneuvers her knee to press down on his leg, far enough down not to jar the wounded area. She needed to keep him still for this.]

Now I need you to keep as still as you can. I have to make an incision to release the pressure around the break. I will be quick. Don't watch.

[Perhaps a moot instruction in the darkness, but her eyes gave light enough to give a shadowy visual. And sometimes something half seen is more frightening than something seen clearly.

Pressing down on him with her knee, and her other hand on his hip, she places the arrow point against his skin. Again, no warning. The cut is sure, fast and smooth, a single straight line only a few inches long. It's not deep enough to be dangerous, but enough that the blood that had been pooling inside could escape. In the end, he'll feel better for it.

She doesn't hesitate, and uses the cloth she'd cut away to make a bandage. She has nothing to stitch him up with, so this would have to do.]

[shakenandlimp]

[He presses his head back against the rock and wishes uselessly for an end of it; to be allowed to sleep and never wake up. The pain is new again, not dull and familiar, and he bites marks into the belt and groans.]

Nggh--!

I can't-- walk. What do you mean me to do?

[forsaken_queen]

Behaving like the grown man you are would be a nice start. Are you always such a child when injured?

[Satisfied with the bandage, she moves on to other things. She takes the belt from his mouth, a bit gentler than her cool, brisque demeanor might suggest, she'll need it in a moment. Then she sets about partially dismantling a few of her precious arrows, removing the fletching and the heads, so all that remains is the sturdy shafts. These she uses to splint his leg. It's imperfect, but it will have to do.]

[shakenandlimp]

Go to hell.

[He curls the cloak around him tighter, shivering. When he lost his foot on the deck of the Sutherland he raved to stay in the battle-- in this dark with its poisons he curls in on himself.]

Find the ship.

[forsaken_queen]

Already did once. I wasn't permitted to stay.

[His leg is as mended as she can make it. Now she had to get him up and out of there. And no, he wasn't walking anywhere for a while.]

I intend to do just that, and you're coming along.

[She opens her pack and retrieves the rope. Leaning over her him, she begins lacing it around him, moving him carefully when she must. She loops it around his waist, crosses it over his shoulders, and around his unbroken leg. She's making an improvised sling around him. She has more than enough length to make it so he will be fully supported with as little discomfort as possible. There are two make-shift straps, that she can use to make him into a sort of living back pack. She even cuts a length off the end, to make a separate sling to go around the knee of his wounded leg, on the end of this, she secures a carabiner. This she would use to clip the separate leg support to the support straps across her chest. Then his leg wouldn't drag, and could be easily let down when he needed to rest.

It isn't dignified, but it would work.

She goes about putting everything away, making small location adjustments to accommodate a passenger on her back without having all her equipment pressing into his chest.]

Can you sit up on your own?

[shakenandlimp]

{He does, painfully and slowly, life is coming back to him, if only because of the constant irritation.]

Do you have water. I'm up, sitting.

[forsaken_queen]

I can see that.

[Sometimes antagonism is actually the best medicine.

She arranges her cloak around him properly, securing it so it won't slide off his shoulders.]

But no, I didn't have a need to carry any water. We'll have to back track to the last pool I passed. It isn't far.

[She kneels between his legs, turned away from him, careful of his leg, and loops the support ropes over her shoulders. She clips the carabiner that will support his bad leg to both of them, so they won't slide. It's snug, and as secure as she can make it.]

Put your arms around my shoulders. Hold as tight as you can.

[shakenandlimp]

It's poison, that water. It makes you mad. It did me, anyway. He groans, but loops his strong, sinewy arms around her shoulders, settling in.]

[forsaken_queen]

Then we'll go forward and find a new water source. There's bound to be clean water down here somewhere, or the natives wouldn't have survived.

[Once his arms are settled, she stands, lifting him with her. He's not nearly as heavy as Arthas, and she has better leverage to carry him with the make-shift sling. Yes, this would work fine.]

Alright?

[shakenandlimp]

[A hiss through his teeth is the first reply-- as careful as she is, the leg jars. But he squares his jaw.]

Yes.

We ain't friends, your Ladyship. Why are you doing this?

[forsaken_queen]

It's a little dark for you to be looking your gift horse in the mouth, Captain.

[It was as good as it was going to get. She took them out of the cave, with gliding steps that were smooth as water.]

[shakenandlimp]

You can drop me as you like, then. It'll be more dignified than riding pickaback this way, and I'll manage for myself. [He is regaining his spirit, and a good deal of bad temper with it.]

[forsaken_queen]

Yes, your management was doing you wonders for your dignity when I came along.

[Good. This is preferable to his previous state of wanting to lay down and die alone.]

[shakenandlimp]

I didn't think I'd ever get a lecture from you on despair.

[forsaken_queen]

I'm an expert on the subject. I doubt you've ever met anyone more qualified to lecture you on it.

[shakenandlimp]

Fit for you and not for the rest of us, is it?

[forsaken_queen]

The restless dead have every right to their miseries. But if I were to make a list of those of my living acquaintances, that deserve to spend their last moments broken, defeated, and alone in the dark, you wouldn't even rank.