GrueMaster

"Harlock sounds much like a" *NRAK'TCK'TCK!* We'tak cursed quietly as Rameses described the man, a bad impression solidifying itself in the hatchling's mind. "Do not worry, Fireskin. Our clutch will always stand with you." This was soon followed by an jubilant CHEE as the thri-kreen warbled, obviously excited to have such an interesting new clutchmate and that Eirene was no longer under the influence of such a despicable nrak'tck'tck. Before he could begin to share his excitement, he heard someone else calling out, and as he looked, he saw that this time it was Rhaine's turn for attention. A new softskin? We'tak thought, before going outside to meet the new arrival, a short softskin that had a much greater collection of fur on his face than anyone in his clutch. However, as he approached for a closer look and meeting, the smell the thri-kreen first detected on the short softskin introducing himself as Kellak made We'tak slow down. He smells of deep earth... he thought hesitantly, an instinctive fear of dark underground spaces coming to mind. Seeing as how welcoming the softskin was, however, and how Winged Pointed-ear accepted him, We'tak shook this fear off and gave a polite welcome himself, before going to make sure all his things were packed. ------------------------------ We'tak spent the time traveling chattering away at Eirene, a near-ceaseless barrage of questions and stories flying from the thri-kreen. Though both Eirene and the new short softskin Kellak interested him, Eirene smelled more familiar to him, reminding him of home. Granted, the giant animal that Kellak rode greatly interested him, but We'tak felt a need to talk to Eirene more and make her feel welcome, having not missed her quiet, seemingly downtrodden behavior. "So does Dark Softskin Female spend much time outside?" He asked. " I like being in nature very much myself. Your soft scent reminds me very much of my homeland. Did you grow up in the warm sands as well?" *TCK'TCK!* He noticed Conall's suspicious eyes on Eirene, which suddenly reminded him of the question he posed to Conall earlier about shape-changing. We'tak began to ask Eirene this, too. "Eirene, I have noticed that you smell softly of wet lizard. Conall smells like a wolf when one is close to him, and he can change into one, too. So, can you, too, change into a liz-" Before he could finish his query, the clutch stopped before a lone figure, an armored softskin riding a horse. Hearing the man offer what sounded like a challenge to the group, and then Conall accepting it, We'tak spoke up as well, anticipation for a contest beginning to burn within him. "Is Softskin challenging us? I want to 'joust,' too!" He volunteered enthusiastically, not knowing what 'jousting' was, but feeling encouraged by Conall's willingness and the need to prove his clutch's strength.

We'tak was about to launch another barrage of questions at the dark softskin female, but Conall managed to stem the rising tide of inquiries. Though dissatisified, he did respect the softskin, and so the thri-kreen stepped away to join his fellow believer. He wished Rameses a quiet good morning and allowed the fireskin to meet with the stranger without interruption, hoping that such accusations that were being made were untrue. As he watched and listened to the conversation, We'tak twitched at Conall suddenly when the hatchling smelled him by chance, a sneaking revelation popping up. "Conall, you smell faintly like wolf..." he said quietly only to the werewolf. "Since Eirene smells like lizard, does that mean she can change into one like you?" Before this line of thinking could continue, however, Rameses flared up in anger at the obviously untrue rumors. Even unused to softskins as he was, We'tak could still detect the hints of fear emanating from Eirene. "Rameses, pleasse!" The thri-kreen exclaimed, pushing himself between the two. "You are scaring Dark Softskin Female!" He glanced at the woman over his shoulder. "She has not threaten our clutch, nor disturbed the balance of nature as far as we know, so she has committed no crime! She is simply foolish prey that has been goaded by a cunning predator, it seems." Curious as to who this "Harlock" was, and feeling inept at bringing peace between the two softskins as well, he looked at his other clutchmates in desperation. "Could Winged Pointy-ear or Conall help?"

Aidan barely managed to lift his shield in time to intercept the Nord retaliation, grunting in irritation as a pair of throwing axes embedded themselves into it and the Swadians around him. Damn it all! He cursed, as a third ax came flying in, lagging behind the others before he could check his shield. Though the weight from the axes slowed him down, the bone smith was able to block this last one. However... *CRAACK!* He winced as his shield broke, the final ax breaking it asunder and managing to bite shallowly into his left arm. Can't even go to war with a Nord without something being broken! Aidan rued, remembering the conversation he had with Komolov the first time they met. Rrrrgh, need to fix this before it gets worse! As he tore a piece of his tunic to treat the minor wound on his arm, another unfortunate man pushing the tower fell, an accursed ax sticking from his neck, and the tower slowed in its progress again. Ugh, this is taking too long! Picking up a shield from a downed Swadian, the smith rushed forward and began pushing the siege tower as well. Shoulder straining against the wooden war engine, Aidan kept the shield propped up over his head and pushed with all his might, the siege tower beginning to close the distance once more. Move, you confounded machine!

We'tak spent the night wandering around the surrounding area of the inn, studying the various new vegetation he saw and taking to memory the sounds of the local fauna. He eventually ended up on the roof of the inn of all places, finding the view to be perfect to gaze upon while also being within running distance of his clutch, meanwhile reflecting on the new things he was glad to experience in softskin lands, all the way until Mighty Sun began to rise... -------------------------------------------------- We'tak was tip-tapping on his medallion whilst petting Pekwe gently, looking up at the sky while he waited for his clutch-mates to awaken and pondered their unusual rest periods. Hmm... do they rest so long to recover their mental strength? He wondered absent-minded. That would make sense, since they use their cunning for so many crafty inventions... This he thought on heavily in particular, to the point where he nearly missed detecting a softskin stranger entering the barn, having failed to hear their horse. Who is that? Curiosity (and mild alarm, since there was a stranger around his clutch) bringing to action, the young thri-kreen hopped down from the inn's roof and strode over to the barn. He walked in quietly, quickly spotting the stranger, a dark softskin female, who was talking with Rhaine, and Conall calmly watching her. Having missed a decent amount of the conversation, picking up only on the fact that this female was looking for someone who sounded much like Rameses, for something called 'arson'... "Are you looking for Fireskin?" We'tak asked suddenly from behind, very close now to the stranger, who didn't seem to be a threat, with that curious tilt of his head present once more, before exploding into the inevitable storm of questions. "Is he your clutchmate? He is a very nice fireskin, very brave and intelligent, and very good in my clutch, so I could see why your clutch would be looking for such a good member, but what is 'arson?' Is that something only Rameses cou-" The thri-kreen trailed off, making a slight sniffing sound and his antennae twitching slightly towards the female, one even brushing slightly against her, confusion plain on even his face. "Sstrange...you smell like Pekwe after she had bathed in deep waters... " he said, mulling over this and ignoring Pekwe's irritated hissing at the mention of that event. "But you are not wet... or scaled like a lizard... Why is that?"

Collab with Auri finished aaaaand posted! :D

We'tak bowed his head head in gratittude towards Rhaine. "Thank you, Rhaine," he said, before noticing she was going to bed. "Oh, well, good night, then, Winged Pointy-ear." *Tck'tck* Then the rest of his clutch began to follow suit. "Oh... good night, clutch... I suppose I will... watch over the camp..." The thri-kreen said to no one in particular, the realization that he will likely be the only one awake until dawn making him sober. It will be a long night... We'tak thought silently, before looking at Conall in askance. "Will you be going to rest as well?" Conall rose slowly, finishing off his mug of ale and stretching, wincing slightly as he did so, the flesh of his chest a slight bit sensitive stilll, "Aye, friend. That I will. If I'm right in my feelings about Rhaine's plans, it will be a long ride tomorrow. Best to rest well and soon, at least for us softskins," he winked, blue eyes shining in the firelight. "Good night, young one." With that, he turned and walked back to the barn, deciding to make his bed in the hayloft, too, to save room in the inn for someone else. "Okay," We'tak nodded, before looking to adjust the strings on his gythka. "I will keep watch, then. Rest well, clutchmate." As Conall left, the thri-kreen played softly on the make-shift intrument for a while, thinking of his ancestors and the spirits in quiet prayer... ----------------------------------- In a quiet grove lit only by moonlight, a motherly-figure clad in silver and white looked upon a peaceful pond, upon which the full moon was perfected reflected. "If only the world was as peaceful..." She lamented, before turning around to speak to the figure lying behind her. "Would you not agree, Conall Whitefang?" Conall felt as though he were awakened by a musical voice, sweet and almost parental in its tone. Yet, when he opened his eyes, the broken roof of the barn did not greet him. Instead, he found himself transported to a nighttime grove with the moon shining like a bright silver disc above. He rose, concern rising in his breast as he glanced around, "Where...?" He trailed as his eyes fell upon the woman, and a slow realization dawned inside of him as his soul recognized something in her. He instantly went back down onto his hands, head bowed to the earth, "My lady....you have blessed me with your presence, of which I feel most unworthy, Moonmaiden." "Please, Conall... arise." She quietly commanded, a hint of reproach in her tone not unlike a mother softly scolding a child. "This is a place of solace. Please feel welcome here, and stand in peace." Selune said this as she approached Conall, and, with a gentle strength, pulled up the man to face her, his hands in hers. She studied him silently for a moment. "Would you not like to know why I have brought you here?" She asked, silver eyes peering into Conall's soul. The werewolf, mesmerized by his Lady's touch and gaze, was a bit slow to respond, his reply finally coming out in stumbling words, "I...cannot lie to you, my lady. I am curious, yes." "Then walk with me for a while, if you would," Selune said, before turning and starting to walk alongside the pond. "I have a task I would like for you to do. You have done much in my service, for a long time now, but I am afraid I must add yet another burden onto your shoulders." The goddess paused for a moment before continuing. "Tell me, what think you of the son of he whose footprints you now stand upon?" she inquired, gesturing to a large set of prints on the moon-lit ground. Conall, unable and unwilling to do anything but follow his goddess's command, trailed steadily behind her at a respectful distance. When she gestured to the ground, he looked down to see what was undoubtedly thri-kreen footprints in the rich earth. He paused, "We'tak?" Glancing back up to her, he added, "If I may speak my mind, my lady...he is young and full of spirit, yet I fear that his insatiable curiosity will be to his disadvantage. His courage is oustanding, but his eagerness could be his undoing. I do not wish him to meet his father's ill fate." "Indeed, Conall, and neither do I." Selune continued walking, gazing up at the moon. "The thri-kreen are a curious race... well-adapted to survive and even thrive in the harsh desert, and very wise to the ways of nature. In their clutches, you would be sorely-pressed to find a community more united in purpose." "Yet, despite this, thri-kreen remain as the barbarian insectoids of the sands. They possess no arcane potential to speak of, and even abhor it, to some extent. They have little in the way of technology as well, only that which they need for basic survival. And though they have strong ties with nature, and their druids highly attuned to their calling, for all their faith, they lack true faith in the gods, save for a select few, such as We'tak's and Tak'we's pack. However, such exemplars are the exception, and that, I fear, is not enough... Which brings me to why you are here." Selune stopped and turned towards Conall. "Son... I would like for you to take We'tak under your care. I would like for him to become one of my Stars, that he may become stronger, and be a light unto his people, to help raise them from their lowly status, and be able to grow as a race." Conall took a step backwards, more than a bit surprised at the goddess's request. "I..." he was hesitant in his reply, "My lady, if this is your desire so shall it be done, I swear to you. I only hope that I may be able to fulfill it as you ask--if you believe that I can do this for him-- to raise him so high in your sight." "You underestimate yourself, Conall, and misunderstand me as well," the Moonmaiden rebuked the werewolf gently. "Of those present, only you know and practice my teachings. Only you have the clutch bond needed to bridge the rift between the thri-kreen and the other races. Only you can serve me in this. This," she exclaimed, "is my thanks for the devotion and the sacrifice of Tak'we, who showed, many times over, the good the thri-kreen could bring to the world were they to awaken to their potential. So please, do everything you can to protect We'tak and help him grow, and teach him my ways of which you, of the civilized races, follow. Teach him everything you can." He swallowed hard and averted his eyes, "It shall be as you wish, my lady. I am, as always, at your command." Selune nodded and moved to the pond's rim, before continuing. "I will aid you as I can, Conall. You need not fear doing this alone, for I will help light your path in the night." She pulled out an intricate medallion, on it, a likeness of the half-moon shone in the moonlight. "Before you leave this place, I have two gifts to give you. The first," the goddess said as she handed the medallion to him, "Is my blessing and token of my favor, that you may be my Champion, for all of your devotion and service to me. As for the other..." she pulled out a delicate silver glass and dipped it in the water in front of her, the glass filling yet the pond remaining undisturbed, and handed it to Conall. "Drink deep, my child, and know peace and rest..." Conall took the medallion and chalice in hand, holding both gingerly, "My lady...I thank you. From the bottom of my heart. You have shown me much mercy and showered my life with so many blessings. I am forever grateful to you." With that, he dipped his head to her and brought the glass to his lips, drinking the contents of it quickly. The water was cool and, perhaps, he smoothest he had ever drunk. Almost immediately, a profound sense of languor fell over him, and he could not help but sink slowly to his knees before her... Selune gave a soft smile, one filled with both sadness and joy. "Rest now, for as long as you need... though there will be trials ahead, remember that the Moon will shine on you always..."

Aidan had a grim countenance as he stared into the fog, listening to the dulled whistling of projectiles in flight, followed by various shushed sounds of impacts and the occasionally scream of pain. The air itself seemed dead, as if matching Aidan's sentiments about war and protesting to the very sound of battle by softening its crude calls but failing to mask it completely. Conquest will not be denied... the smith mused ruefully, before shaking his head and shifting in place. He was nervous, Aidan had to admit; though they were firing into the fog, and clearly hitting at least a few targets, the Nords had yet to truly respond in kind. Perhaps they are waiting for the tower to close with the ramparts and will send a volley of throwing axes and arrows into our troops once they begin to charge, or maybe they are preparing to sally forth once we are committed to the tower? He thought, mulling through possible strategies. What I would do, probably... wait for the distance between them to close, then commence an attack on the choke point of the siege tower's point of egress... The bone smith then sighed mentally and shrugged away the thought, focusing instead on his surroundings. I'm a doctor, not a tactician... He had taken his place in the ranks of the men-at-arms covering the archers, shield readied in his left hand to intercept any incoming projectiles, and hammer laying in wait in his right. It would be useless for him to join the marksmen with his crossbow, being only passing with it at best, and thus he elected to provide protection for them before the call to march into the fray came. Aidan sighed once more as he continued to listen to the steady din of battle, growing ever so slowly for the moment, but prepared to burst out at any moment. It is going to be a long day....

*Tck'tck'tck...* We'tak gave a dissatisfied chitter at Conall's and Zorica's responses. Why do softskins make such simple things so complex? His disgruntled musings vanished, however, when Rameses asked about thri-kreen traditions. "Thri-kreen practice many great songs and dances!" The hatchling began exclaiming as he became very animated, clearly excited by the opportunity to share more about his race. "Thri-kreen have much reason to perform; in celebration, in mourning, in honoring the spirits, and many other reasons. It can strengthen thri-kreen spirit. It can share storiess of great ancestors, give praise unto the Great Spirit, Mother Moon, and the spirits of the land, and bring joy and exaltation of life itself. Thiss one," We'tak said humbly, gesturing towards himself, " also comes from a lineage of good string-players." The thri-kreen fell silent after speaking of this last fact, contemplating whether he should pull out his strings; he had vaunted the skills of his race and his very ancestors, yet he himself had never really played his own strings. Do I risk angering my ancestors? Yet, feeling obligated to uphold his very race, We'tak pulled out his strings and a set of beads. "Give me one moment..." Tightening the strings onto his gythka and hanging the beads loosely on one end of it, We'tak gave a calm strum to test the sound, and then, hiding his nervousness, allowed his instinct to take over as he stood to play... Staff in hand, he began with a deep, rhythmic thud, made by striking the wood he had used as a seat, beads shaking in time with it. This was followed with soft yet strong twangs on the strings, and then another set of percussion as We'tak drummed on his chitin with a free hand, rapidly at times, yet slow at others. Finally, he began warbling, softly at first but soon picking up in strength, seemingly wordless in nature, yet depicting beautific lyrics as well. Altogether, this made for a chaotic song that surprisingly also had a musical order to it, a calm peace within a wild storm. We'tak played thus for several minutes before falling silent with one last, trailing chee and strum of the strings. He looked up at his clutchmates, his posture showing quiet embarrassment. "I hope clutchmates liked it. It was first played by this one's great-grand sire... I pray I played it to their liking..." he said, not quite realizing that he had played it exactly as his father had...

"Oh, I see," We'tak nodded in understanding. "Thiss is likely why softskins can be so cunning. You are not adapted to nature as well as thri-kreen, so you have to use intelligence to evolve and survive... that is very interesting!" *CHEE!* The young thri-kreen felt very proud of this, feeling he'd gained an important piece of wisdom from this. However, more questions began to form from the conversation in the hatchling's inquisitive mind... "Conall?" he asked. "Zorica said that she takes off her clothes when she restss, and when there is no danger." *TIC'TIC* "I assume this goes for mating as well? When it is mating season, thri-kreen lay eggs when it is safe, but we do not wear clothes, so mating is simple." We'tak tilted his head. "What about softskins, though? How do you mate? Wearing clothes likely makes it difficult, yes?"

We'tak gave that familiar tilt-of-the-head, realizing that the game was starting. *Tic-Tic* "Oh..." At a loss of what to ask, he sat there somewhat befuddled. Spirits, how does this work? The hatchling sat there, before overhearing the others do their truths and dares. Oh... that's how it works... *Chee...* "Zorica?" Speaking up, We'tak called for her attention, a question forming from Leif's dare. "Does Dark Pointy-ear ever take off all that cloth, or not wear any?" Rapping against his chitin, We'tak emphasized his point. "Thri-kreen don't need to wear any, so I don't understand why you softskins have to have so much." *Tic*

Aidan merely laughed at Bellatrix's outburst, before giving her a deathly-serious look. "When you push yourself as healthy person, there isn't much to worry over when you strain yourself. For someone who's injured, however, further aggravation of one's injuries can lead to permanent or near-permanent consequences. But," he sighed, "I can see there will be no convincing you, otherwise, Bellatrix. Do as you please in this. After all," he said with mild sarcasm. "I am merely a physician who knows his practice. Just remember: I won't cater to fools who injure themselves." The bone smith gave a dark chuckle when Komolov whistled at his arraignment. "Oh, I am always a surgeon, first and foremost, dear Komolov. I simply use this" Aidan said, gesturing to the knight-hammer," to surgically remove people's lives from their bodies. The crossbow is simply for dealing with those occasionally hard-to-reach thorns. Alas," he mockingly lamented, "as a physician is far better at treating someone when they are right next to the patient, the same goes for me in this situation, and so my marksman skills leave something to be desired." Aidan fell silent for a moment, pondering the possibilities of tomorrow's events. He appreciated the Vaegir's wit, a commodity he hasn't gotten to enjoy much in Calradia; and Bellatrix's stubbornness and spirit, though annoying, was oddly refreshing. The smith found he felt he would be losing something if he didn't try to look out for these former patients of his. "Komolov, Bellatrix...there's a philosophy I like to follow at times like this: Sometimes the best treatment for an injury is to prevent it from occurring in the first place. Sometimes this means removing the... means by which it would occur." Looking at both of them, Aidan continued to speak. "As your physician, I can hardly allow two foolish patients of mine to go and get themselves killed, and if I can't get them to stay put in bed, I suppose I shall have to crush every poor sod who threatens them." "So, I believe I will be joining the two of you tomorrow." He gave a grim smile. "I'll be able to watch over you two, and provide "treatment" to our foes at the same time. I find this rather agreeable, don't you?"

*CHEE!!* We'tak chirped in excitement as he joined the others, having never seen nor heard of such a sight before. "It is so beautiful..." the young thri-kreen said, entranced by the falling stars. "Are these sspirits traveling between realmss?" he asked, thinking out loud. Seeing everyone gather around the fire Conall made, We'tak found a log and dragged it over by Conall to sit upon. Feeling a strange sense of calm and happiness, as if Mother Moon herself was standing there beside him, the hatchling chee-ed happily, simply enjoying the night sky. Hearing Rameses' proposal, We'tak gave a tilt of his head, intrigued by such an activity. Is this what softskins do for fun? "Truth or dare?" he asked Zorica (who seemed enthused by the prospect of playing), wanting to learn more before joining but inadvertently starting the game.

Damn that fool! Aidan thought as he angrily paced throughout the siege camp. Passers-by quickly stepped out of the way of the agitated smith, surgeon's kit and robes now replaced by a chain shirt, with a large knight-hammer and kite shield slung on his back, alongside a light crossbow and bolt quiver. Being pragmatic, the bone smith did not want to be caught in a surprise attack without the proper equipment. He had been like this for four days now; he had requested emphatically for Mirchaud to pause a few days in this conflict to allow for the wounded to recover, or at least to the point where they could be moved safely. Not only was Aidan denied, the Swadian lord had immediately ordered the army to move the very next day and to begin preparations for a siege. We'll lose a fair number of troops that would have otherwise healed entirely... such a waste... So deeply frustrated by this as he mulled over what he considered to be a severe mistake, Aidan nearly ran into the young Vaegir he had treated that first day. "Pardon me, Komolov," he apologized, distractedly, before noticing Bellatrix was there as well. "And greetings to you as well, Bellatrix," he added, following with a short laugh as he connected the source of the vodka now. "Ah, so you two know each other... how ironic it is that one of my patients procured the alcohol to clean the wound of the other." "This is not right," the bone smith protested quietly, his mirth now replaced with disgust as he looked at the Nord castle up ahead. "Mirchaud is pushing his men in his haste to secure victory... hmph... won't be much of one if he gets all of the injured killed because they didn't get the time to heal..." Aidan looked at Komolov, squinting momentarily at the Vaegir. "I see you've followed my directions," he said approvingly. "Seems you have a good head on your shoulders, after all." He paused a moment, before sighing. "Well, it should help you tomorrow, I suppose. You'll likely be at the front of the line, as you seem to be one of our soldiers who isn't injured." Aidan then looked at Bellatrix. "Well, at least you get to stay back a ways... that arm of yours isn't quite ready for such strenuous endeavors. You will be staying here in the camp, correct?" the bone smith assumed, looking at the woman in askance.

Put up a collab with Mason. :)

"Heh, as many a bar patron can likely attest to." Aidan gave a chuckle as he moved to more closely to inspect the young man when the Vaegir commented about Nord fists. "Anyway, let us see what can be done for you. Here, let me tilt your head back a bit..." The bone smith began to gingerly move the man's head back, as to better ascertain the state of things both inside and out of his nose. "So, I am Aidan Airdsgainne, by the way. What be yours?" Komolov did as Aiden requested, his gaze cast skyward as he replied, "Komolov Yuliy. Airdsgainne, eh? I haven't heard such a name before, in all truth." His tone hinted of pain, but the Vaegir kept as firm a grip on his senses as possible. Upon further inspection, it seemed as though his nose had indeed barely endured a maleficent assault by a strong-armed fist. "Well, I am not originally from these lands, so I would expect as much," Aidan replied, before nodding both at Komolov's attempt at fixing his nose, and the self-control he was maintaining whilst enduring pain (having not missed the Vaegir's tone). "Well, Komolov," he said, leaning away to grab a nearby bucket of water and his bandages. "You've done a decent job of straightening your own nose, but the inside of it, from what I can tell in this light, leaves a little to be desired. I'm going to need to clean it a little first, so sit still." He dampened a linen, then began to carefully clean the broken nose. "So, what brought you here?" Aidan asked, trying to help keep Komolov's mind on other things as he worked. Focusing intently on their discussion as a distraction, Komolov closed his eyes while the bone smith carefully cleaned up the Vaegir's broken nose. "What brought me here." He mused thoughtfully, "The promise of denar, I suppose. I am a sellsword under Mirchaud's command, at present." A slight cringe rattled the Vaegir's body, and he bit his lip in concentration. "... An odd patron for a Vaegir, but a patron nonetheless..." He added several breaths later. "Fair enough," the bone smith said simply. "It does pay for food and rent, I suppose. I am practically a sellsword under Mirchaud myself, if you look at it..." He tossed the now-sullied cloth to the side and pulled out new two strips of the material and his jar of goldenseal root once again. Going to need to make sure that doesn't heal poorly... Aidan applied the salve on the linens and rolled them firmly until they were of the desired thickness, keeping the tincture on the exposed side of the roll and tearing off the excess. Now holding two medicated nose-plugs nearing two-and-a-half inches in length in one hand, he picked up a thick leather strap, folding it before handing it to Komolov. "Here," Aidan said as he did so. "You are going to want to bite down on that..." He is not going to like this... he thought, and, as soon as the young man complied, began placing the linen plugs, slowly twisting them into place to make sure the septum was aligned and supported properly and did not heal crookedly. The Vaegir immediately, almost ravenously bit down upon the folded leather strip, and an audible, somewhat primeval vocalization erupted from deep within him, betraying his already evident disposition. In spite of his pain, Komolov remained rigidly still as Aidan lodged the linen rolls deeply into his nose; all the while, the Vaegir kept his eyes shut tightly. Quietly finishing the placement of the rolls, the bone smith placed both hands on either side of Komolov's nose. "Now, I need to do one last alignment before we are done," he said calmly. "I'll do this on the count of three, so brace yourself... Ready? ...... Three!" Aidan cried suddenly, and with a soft *Crick-crack* gave one last even pull and press on the nose, straightening it out one last time, before stepping back. "There, I am finished," he stated matter-of-factly as he stepped away and began shifting through his medical supplies, letting the Vaegir vent as he willed. Cringing noticeably, Komolov did not anticipate Aiden's final gesture that resulted in sudden, rejuvenated pain radiating from Komolov's readjusted nose. Once the bone smith mentioned that he was finished, the Vaegir spat out the leather strip and grumbled in pain, "Better off wrestling a leopard than brawling a Nord son of a..." His voice trailed off as he dug into his satchel and recovered a familiar half-empty bottle of vodka. The Vaegir's leering emerald gaze all but tossed a dagger or several in the physician's backside before he took a drink from his bottle. Pretending not to notice Komolov's glare, Aidan pulled out a small jar of boneknit salve and a few more clean strips of bandages, and approached the now-drinking man. "Now, those things are going to need to stay there until tomorrow," he said, giving out directions. "No exceptions. As soon as you wake up, take out those bandages, *carefully* clean out your nose-nothing extreme, just a touch of water will do- and then replace them with these bandages. You may take a short break first and breathe easy before you do so." The bone smith handed Komolov the bandages and salve before continuing. "Make sure, however, to apply that salve to the linens first before you roll and place them. It will help speed along the healing." Aidan, done giving directions, packed up his things and prepared to move on to the next patient. "As there are additional people who are in need of my services, I must go now. " He said, giving a polite nod. "And please, don't forget my directions or lose those supplies I've given you, " he asked, gesturing towards the bottle of alcohol in Komolov's hand. "I won't be replacing them if you do. Take care, Komolov, and do try to avoid any further brawls." The bone smith deadpanned as he said his farewell, before walking away; there were others that needed medical attention. Komolov nodded briefly, listening with intent before Aidan gave him the spare salve and bandages as well as instructions on when and how to use them. Depositing the items away in a separate interior pocket within his satchel, the Vaegir nodded again at the bone smith's departure. "As soon as I wake, wash and apply the salve to the bandages beforehand... You have my gratitude, best of luck." He said lastly before standing, taking another drink.

*Unleashes grues in thread to instigate chaos while he steals the win* A winner is you ME! :D

Aidan nodded his head, pleased at the response. "That's good, Bellatrix... doesn't seem you received any serious hurt to your head." Seeing her beginning to rub her temples, though, prompted him to proceed. "Well, everything seems to be in order. Here," he said, handing the potion to Bellatrix. "This will help with the pain. It may not be the most pleasing drink to taste, but, trust me, you'll likely regret not taking it." Gathering his medical kit and supplies, Aidan started to leave. "Now, you'll likely won't be able to swing that arm of yours for at least a day, so don't go thinking of charging into the front lines or anything like that. I won't cater to fools who injure themselves. Be sure to see me tomorrow so I can check up on that injury. Until then, I take my leave. There are others who need tending." With a polite nod, Aidan turned and left, leaving Bellatrix to rest. The bone smith hadn't taken five paces, however, when he noticed a young man that clearly had the shite beaten out of him and was obviously looking for one of the physicians. "Hoy, lad!" Aidan called out to him. "Come here and have a seat, let me take a look at that face of yours... looks bloody awful..."

"Calm down, madam," Aidan said, lifting his hands to show he was unarmed and peaceful. "I am Aidan Airdsgainne, a surgeon here in the Swadian camp. You were wounded in the earlier battle and brought here for treatment." He began explaining as he turned around to grab a mortar and pestle and started work on a potion. "Seems someone mistook you for a log...went clean through your armor and clothes, which were removed so I may be better to treat said injury. They are there in the corner when you feel up to dressing yourself." The man reached for willow bark and started powdering it before speaking again. "I have done what I could to treat the wound, made sure sure that all of the debris has been removed and the injured area cleaned and dressed. Kept the stitches small, if that is a concern of yours. Oh that reminds me," the bone smith paused for a moment, suddenly remembering something. "I smelled some of that vaegir-style drink--vodka, I think it's called-- in the wound; seems someone helped keep the wound clean before you arrived here. You may want to thank whoever did that.... Anyway..." Done with making the powder, Aidan poured it into a small bowl of warm water and added a dollop of honey to the mixture before stirring it well. "I reckon you are still in some pain, so here is a potion for you to drink to help relieve it. Before you do that and leave my care, however, I need to check what else is wrong, if there is indeed anything wrong. So, to begin, would you please tell me your name and the last thing you remember before falling unconscious?" He began, first checking to make sure there were no serious injuries to the head...

We'tak was worried that he said something wrong, seeing the softskin owner stare at him for a long time, then chirped happily as the softskin came out with two eggs. *CHEE!* "Thank you!" He chirped out again, before taking the eggs and feeding them to Pekwe. "Here you go! Two eggs, as I promised." The snake looked at him with a tense glance at first, pretending to be haughty, then relaxed and accepted the eggs happily, as if saying 'Well, I suppose I should thank you, so... thank you...' Now with Pekwe fed (and her cheeky wrath abated for the time being), Takwe asked for some food for himself, then began chatting away with Conall to pass the time. "Conall, I noticed the amulet you wear about your neck..." he started tentatively. "It is like my own medallion from Mother Moon... does Mother Moon bless you, too? Is that why you can change into an animal like the druidss of my people?" He paused when some food was set down in front of him, antennae drooping in disappointment at the not-so-impressive stew, being used to the food on the "bot." Oh, well, it's food, so thank the spirits for that. As the young thri-kreen began to eat, he became distracted by what seemed to be mating pheromones from nearby... *Tck'tck!* he chattered with annoyance as he looked around and finally identifying the source as Leif. "Why does Leif smell like he's in mating season..." We'tak murmured quietly next to Conall, before going back to his food and looking back at Conall, curious about the shifting softskin...

Aidan sighed as more wounded were brought into the camp. This is going to be a long day... he remarked silently as he worked on a knight's slashed arm; it was just past midday and already the physicians were hard-pressed to save and treat the injured troops from the fresh battle. Cleaning the wound and wrapping fresh bandages on it, the "bone smith" (as a few of the other surgeons have called him) moved on the next patient, a woman with what was clearly an ax wound. "Well, better get to work here..." Removing the torn armor and clothing and setting down a sheet to preserve what modesty of hers he could, Aidan went about cleansing the wound more thoroughly with clean linens and freshly boiled water (Aidan always insisted on having such on hand, much to the chagrin of the poor servant assigned to assist him), throwing away the soiled bandages afterwards. "Come on, bloody girl, stop bleeding..." Aidan cursed as his face twisted in annoyance at the offending area of the wound that would not cease bleeding. Reaching into his precious bag of herbal remedies, he took out a small pouch, one filled with powdered agrimony, and sprinkled it onto the wound until it finally stopped losing blood. Once certain that the bleeding was stopped, Aidan once again cleaned the wound and then began to apply an antiseptic tincture made from goldenseal root to help speed along healing and prevent any infections as well. Finished with treating the inside of the injury, he finally began to painstakingly stitch the wound closed, until at last, he was done. Placing a bandage on the stitched area and then wrapping clean linens around it until he was certain movement would not disturb the wound, Aidan stepped back and sighed contently at his work. Now then... time to see if we can't wake you and see what hurts... Rolling the woman onto her back slowly as to avoid disturbing the sheet she now had on her, the surgeon took out a small vial of smelling salts and held it under her nose to revive her...

Welp, here's my little character to add to the mix. Hope y'all like him: Name: Aidan Airdsgainne Gender: Male Age: 26 Physical Description: Standing at 6'0," Aidan possesses an imposing figure, with broad shoulders, a sturdy build, and a muscleature that seems more likely to found in a smith than one of his current profession as a surgeon. Long red hair pulled back in a ponytail and a trimmed beard to match, both beginning to gray prematurely, combined with his analytical pale blue eyes, belies his true age, making him appear as though older and more experienced (an assumption some make that entertains Aidan often). Faint burn marks on his fair skin and calloused hands only serve to further suggest his smithy-like appearance. Nation of Origin: Foreigner Fighting Style: Reflecting his pragmatic, blunt nature, Aidan prefers to use a knighthammer, one that has been balanced for use in one hand should he need a shield but with room enough for a two-handed grip (his favorite way to use it). He realizes that not all combat will allow him to close in with his hammer, though, so Aidan has some proficiency in using the light crossbow he has picked up over the years. Equipment and Clothing: For combat, Aidan wears a simple chain shirt with a dark green surcoat with no insignia. For further protection, he wears a kettle helm and has a kite shield, which is also dark green with no heraldry. Outside of combat, Aidan wears a dull grey tunic and plain leather breeches. He also owns a stubborn painted steppe horse. Background: Aidan grew up alongside his twin brother Aindreas as part of a simple merchant family. Both twins showed a sharp intellect and curiosity, and so, being somewhat wealthy in nature, their parents made sure that both twins received a thorough education. Though they chose different professions to follow (Aidan, being the more taciturn, blunt, and pragmatic, becoming a smith, while Aindreas, the more empathetic of the two, chose to be a scholar and surgeon), both showed a keen interest in what the other brother was practicing (as the two saw their trades to both be smithy-work, just one involved metal and the other flesh and bone) and both proved to be able additions to their family and the small town in which they lived. Reason for Becoming an Adventurer: Exiled. Aidan was forced to leave his homeland for murdering another man. The man had killed his brother Aindreas in grief after the man's son died despite his brother's efforts, and Aidan, in angry retribution, returned the favor. Though understood by the elders of the town, who felt Aidan's crime did not warrant death, they could not leave the smith wholy unpunished, and so instead elected to exile Aidan under pain of death. With a heavy heart, the tools of his trade, and many of his brother's medical books, Aidan left his homeland on a ship to the neighboring land of Calradia, hoping to become, as he and his late brother called it, a smith of both worlds.

*Chee...* was the only way We'tak could respond to Argyros' and Conall's answers. I am going to need to learn a lot more about them, it seems... He could only think as he watched Argyros in awe as the silver dragon (as they call themselves, apparently) pulled them to shore. =================================================== The young thri-kreen was whistling cheerfully as the clutch left the great stone softskin village, glad to be leaving such a place. Though he missed being on the "bot" and its wondrous contraptions, the way that the strange softskins of that placed looked at him left We'tak with a strong sense of unease, thus he was happy his clutch wasn't staying there. Now, he was taking pleasure in the surrounding environment, obviously enjoying time in new lands. "See, Pekwe! Is this not wonderful!" Pekwe gave a withering look at the excitable hatchling, one with equal parts of displeasure at recent events, disapproval, and hunger. "Oh, do not give me that look. See!" We'tak exclaimed at the mention (and sight) of what the fire-skin Rameses made to be a place of rest, excited at the prospect of staying in a softskin home. *CHEE!* "We are almost there! I will even give you an egg once we are there." At another withering glance, though, accompanied with a hiss this time, had him hastily increasing that promise to two eggs, knowing the constrictor when she was in one of her moods. As the group came upon the small structures (he could now see there were two of them), We'tak went to the side of the inn's entrance and opened it gingerly from there. Poking his head from behind the opened doorway, the young thri-kreen chirped out in greeting, head tilted to the side once more. *Chee* "Hello... I am We'tak... do you have any eggs?" *Chee?*

"Iss it finally dead?" *Tck'chee* We'tak spoke between gasps, when the rocking finally stopped, having spent much of his energy leaping across the "bot" and evading tentacles, and the spiritual blessings he'd received earlier finally wearing off. "By the Moon..." *TCK'CHEE* "I think I know why thri-kreen sstay away from deep waters now..." *Tck'chee... tck'chee* As he leaned against one of the masts that remained intact, he perked up slightly at the mention of someone being in the water. "This softskin seems very... lively...," the thri-kreen said to no one in particular as he studied the new arrival, head tilted in curiosity. Drawing closer, head twitching here and there slightly as he took in details. "Very sstrange... you look like a hatchling... but you have fur on your face..." Turning to Conall, We'tak looked at him in askance. "Are all softskins so very different?" Before he could continue with the inevitable chain of questions he would surely ask, he heard the big silver flying lizard say he needed help. "Oh, "*Chee* "Does Big Winged Lizard need rope?" the hatchling cheeped out, distractedly. "I could help with that..." *chee* "Are you Pointy-ear Argyros?" We'tak couldn't help but ask, not sure if he had seen things correctly earlier in the battle. "Can all pointy-ears do that?"

We'tak was exploring the lower parts of the ship, intent on learning more on every single nook and cranny of the "bot," when it started rocking violently and he heard crashing and screaming from above. *Nrak'tck!* Holding his gythka close, the young thri-kreen sprinted upwards... and couldn't understand what he saw as he froze at the sight of giant limbs flailing this way and that. "What... by the spirits... is that?" His hesitation disappeared quickly, only to be replaced with burning anger when one of the appendages left the fireskin Rameses prone on the deck and wounded. Mother Moon, no! We'tak moved to help Rameses, then paused when he felt a great warmth wash over him, and he paused once more as he saw Winged Pointy-ear come out and heal his wounded clutchmate miraculously of all injury. What spirit blesses you? he thought, stunned by such power. When she called down what seemed to be the very judgement of Mother Moon herself, We'tak finally snapped out of it, realizing his foolish gawking would help his clutch none. "For Mother Moon!" He shrieked, then leaped at the tentacle that was still twisting in the air by Rameses, slicing a chunk of flesh out of the creature, but to little effect, as shown when it slammed down at the hatchling in response. Leaping away barely in the nick of time, We'tak cleared some distance between himself and the tentacle, and needing more maneuverability if he were to survive, called upon the spirits to strengthen his legs. Feeling the blessing taking effect, he leaped much farther this time, clearing nearly twenty strides in one jump, and brought his full weight down with his gythka into another tentacle, removing a few barbs from it this time, but still not enough to keep it at bay, as he was forced yet again to retreat to a safer position. This is not working..., the thri-kreen cursed, trying to figure out what to do. Mother Moon, he prayed silently, please grant me strength to defend my clutch... Unexpectedly, he saw his father's medallion begin to glow, and felt a warm strength course through his body, and what seemed to be lightning beginning to dance along his staff (which felt lighter, somehow). Though awed by this, the blessing of the Moon herself set a fire in his soul, and We'tak without hesitation leaped once more, and brought his weapon down on an appendage reaching forward yet again, this time towards Annette. "STAY AWAY FROM MY CLUTCH!!" He shrieked uncontrollably, and sliced off nearly five feet of the tentacle, forcing the rest to recoil in pain. Looking down at his gythka, then at his clutchmate, We'tak glanced upwards. "Thank you, Mother Moon," the young thri-kreen said quietly, then jumped towards the next flailing tentacle....

We'tak's eyes seemed to twitch as he reared back in surprise, mandibles open in what was clearly the thri-kreen equivalent of a jaw-dropped expression. "Over a thousand.... moons...?" The young thri-kreen repeated the pointy-ear's words, almost with a tinge of disbelief in his voice. He wasn't expecting such a shocking detail about softskins. They are so different... The details of this wonderful food called 'cake,' though, seemed to dispel his near-catatonic state. *CHEE!* "That soundss very good! I would be very glad to try this 'cake!' Oh, maybe with extra fruit? I really like fruit! Oh, and honey! Ohh, thiss will be the best birthmoon ever!" *CHEE!* Excitably, We'tak was practically bouncing, his enthusiasm and anticipation for trying this new food with his clutch very palpable. Pekwe was not so amused with this, though, hissing disagreeably but enduring the hyper thri-kreen's antics. In this state of high energy, We'tak kept chittering on about this and that, bouncing between topics at a rapid pace. At one point, he picked up on the banter between Arland and Sybille. "Arland is not very cunning, is he?" We'tak quickly asked Abby and Amendale innocently out of earshot of the softskin in question, before changing pace again. "Anyway, how long do you think it will be before we can have cake?" *Chee?*