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Post by Campion on Jul 12, 2017 8:06:04 GMT
Campion wasn’t sure why he thought going back to the City was a good idea.
Oh right. He wanted some fancy ink from some person with a good name. Yeah, that was dumb. It had been a long time since Campion had been back to the City, but there was a reason for it.
What seemed like a lifetime ago, Campion had been doing some serious illegal activity that had caught the hounds’ attention. He’d stolen from middle class folk, killed a few people for their goods, turned a few humans into daemons, stuff like that. In fact, he was even behind cell doors for a little while before he managed to snag the asshole with his keys. Out of spite, he had turned the guy too for all the teasing and minor torture he’d done. Still, ever since then Campion knew he had a bounty on his head. There weren’t many bunny daemons around either, so it was easy to pick him out.
As he had expected, his time in the City was short lived. It was late at night and dark out, but there were plenty of lanterns in the Red Light District to light the way. The brothels were heavy with the stench of sweat and sex, as were the streets, but Campion wasn’t much of a brothel man. The only reason he was in the district was because that was where the ink artist was.
Of course hounds liked to frequent the area too, and as stupid as he was, Campion had changed back into his male form before they entered the city. He was shirtless now with the red and swollen marks still on his chest from the intense fight he and Keziah had a few days prior to their arrival. She decided to head off and do her own thing for a bit while he did his. Of course before they entered, he had to leave Crawk behind and, reluctantly, left Kali as well. Now he could have really used the Warg’s intimidating look and urge to kill.
There was a band of hounds that were “patrolling” the area when they spotted him. Evidently they knew that a bunny daemon had a bounty, because the first thing they did was shot him with a bolt. He was getting really fucking tired of crossbows.
The dull tingling sensation of pain was there, but not as bad as it would be with someone without golem blood. He looked down and swore; It went totally through his far right side and was sticking out the back. Assholes. From its location, he was pretty sure it only tore through flesh. There were too many of them for just him to deal with, so he ended up bolting down the street, trying to lose them, ears flopping in the slightly more windy of a night.
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Post by Rosalind on Jul 16, 2017 6:18:47 GMT
Rosalind was in the City to buy things. Many of the ingredients she needed for salves, potions and drafts she used in her healing could be foraged or grown in her gardens, but there were some things she needed to purchase on a fairly regular basis. Glass jars, new surgical instruments, rare or inconveniently located components for recipes. For today's trip to the City she had a list with her, scrawled in her neat hand on a short piece of parchment. Two bags of shopping already hung over one shoulder, clinking softly as she walked. She'd been to markets, to stores down winding alleyways, to bazaars and fetes, to fairs and pop up stalls. Now, she wanted needles, and as it turned out the best place to get really good, high quality needles for surgery? Tattoo artists. They didn't make their own needles, they had suppliers, but Rosalind knew some who would onsell to her from their own stores, saving her finding a direct contact. It worked well enough.
She was alone tonight, for a change. She was staying with a friend while she visited and had left all of the children, from Hamza right to the baby, in that friend's capable care. The children had enjoyed trailing around after her during her errands for most of the day - adventurous and curious, they had explored the City under her watchful gaze and protection, meeting sellers and seeing new things and laughing. The swamp children had been reserved and frightened the first time she took them to a city; the crowds of people overwhelming, the busyness unfamiliar. But after a year in her care they had grown used to the hustle, bustle and chaos of her life, and had found things they each loved about it.
It was late now, though, the moon high in the sky over a warm city on a summer's night. Rosalind would not bring the children here, to the Red Light district, where the smell of sex and beer was heavy on the breeze and danger lurked just beyond the watchful eyes of the Hounds. The gypsy kept her eyes down - a Shifter, she was a second-class citizen here, and took care not to attract attention. In her long floaty skirt and white lacy top, with all manner of beaded and feathered jewellery, even with her subtle Shifter mark it was obvious she was no Human, and the Hounds mostly ignored her. She would have kept on ignoring them in return, had they not shouldered her roughly aside without any warning.
"Hey!" Her reaction was instinctive and she shut her mouth in a hurry when one of the Hounds whirled on her.
"Out of the way, you stupid bitch. We're workin' here." Rosalind nodded and avoided meeting his gaze. It was never a good idea to antagonise the Hounds, no matter how much she bristled at the insult. There wasn't any time to respond anyway before a man running full tilt appeared from around the corner and the Hounds leapt into action, drawing weapons and yelling instructions to each other. Wanting nothing more than to avoid trouble Rosalind flattened herself against the wall and waited, hoping for the chase to pass her by.
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Post by Campion on Jul 16, 2017 9:15:43 GMT
Campion wasn’t sure how many were behind him, but he was losing his way quick. Every corner he turned around lead him deeper into a labyrinth of run down buildings in the Red Light District. He was in an area where there were dirtier, more sleezy and cheap brothels, many of which were where women were drugged and forced to live in small quarters. Whatever the hounds had magic in, it was effective because they were right on his ass.
The whole time, the bunny daemon had ended up circling around to the same location he had been just moments before and he cursed. Instead of takin the same way he did before, he took another one and ended up at dead end.
Again he swore. He summoned his spirit guide, which was only useful as a distraction as it was just a small, spectral rabbit that had no real physical presence. It was more like mist than anything else and it zipped past the alley way. Hopefully if the Hounds saw it, some of them would chase after. While he relied on that, he tried to look around for any hiding place or escape, but there was nothing at all but dirty walls and shit-stained cobblestone.
Just as he started to head back the direction he came from, four hounds appeared in front of him. All of them were covered in sweat from the chase, but none were out of breath. Two were silent and watched him with cold, annoyed eyes while the other two laughed at him being cornered.
“Where ya gunna go now, bunny boy? Ain’y nowhere to run.” The air seemed to get colder as the one who spoke summoned ice to make the ground turn into an ice rink. Campion slipped and stumbled, trying to keep his balance. Fucking magic! He was really damn tired of anything that made him fall. All of this was like dejavu: the magic fucking with his legs, the crossbows. All they needed now were some damn animals and it would be just like the raid he and Kez did in the Savannah, but reversed.
Another man laughed, but Campion was done playing games and running. Everything about him changed. His intention was to not fight since the last thing he wanted was to bring attention to himself, but there was nowhere to flee. Ears flattened, he extended his fans and claws and leapt towards the man who laughed at him and just so happened to be the only one with his guard dropped.
The bunny daemon bit into his throat and tore it out in just seconds. Though Campion was generally pretty low key for a daemon, he was fully capable of being anything but calm. This was different than when he had been with Kez. He was more like a rapid animal now, blood spraying all over his face and clothes as the man let out a gurgle before falling to the floor.
More ice magic appeared as Campion could feel his movements being forceably slowed with cold magic, but he kept moving. One of the other hounds summoned a spectral shield and sword and bashed it against the daemon, making him slip (again). The move unintentionally made him slip towards one of the other hounds however, who had just a normal long sword in his hand.
All of this was easy to do even with a crossbow bolt in his side. The dull ache did not hinder him, and he sincerely hoped that there was not too much damage happening from the embedded bolt. The sharp tip was sticking out the other end, so it wasn’t within him, tearing up his insides.
As Campion slid towards the man with the long sword, he let himself fall onto the icy floor and he grabbed the man’s leg as he slip, pulling them out from under him. There was a ‘crack’ as the hound’s head made impact with the solid ground, blood pooling around it. But that was as far as Campion got.
Again, the asshole with the ice magic slowed the daemon and, this time, shot out ice from his hands. It hit Campion in the leg and grew around it, planting it firmly to the ground. He tried to pull out of it, but it was thickening all the while his body movements were slowing.
The other hound with the spectral shield knocked Campion down, badly twisting his leg as it was stuck in an odd position once his back was flat on the round. Dazed, he sneered and snarled at the two that hovered above him. He managed to reach out and slice the heel of the man with the ice magic, who yelled with pain and rage as he too fell to the ground, but just out of Campion’s reach.
Ice from the slippery ground formed around his wrists and neck, completely restraining him. “Fucking make him suffer!” shouted the man with the slit Achilles tendon.
“With pleasure,” answered the other.
There was pain, more than Campion had felt ever before. It was not enough to make him scream or black out like normal people, but it was the feeling was equivalent to that of a human getting stabbed. The only difference was he could no longer feel his right arm. Panic surged through him as he saw the man with the spectral blade covered in blood that that had not been there before. Instead of a blade being held in his hand though, there was….
Jesus fuck, it was Campion’s arm.
Eye burning with rage and black dots as blood pooled out of the dismembered part of his body, he struggled greatly, but with fatigue, against his restraints. The one who cast the ice magic cursed.
“Leave him and let him bleed out. We’ll get the body later. Just take me to a damn healer.” The other hound with Campion’s arm nodded and he dropped the blood thing to the ground. Helping the hound up, they made their way out of the alley and left the bunny daemon. The magic shackling him down disappeared as the man controlling the magic did, and within seconds he was free, but there were only moments to act. He had to find a way to tourniquet the severed area, all the way at the shoulder joint, before he bled to death. Not really sure what else to do, he shouted a very loud and angry ‘Fuck!’ as he struggled to stand, blood dripping everywhere.
He grabbed what was his right arm and stumbled out of the dead end he had been stuck in, the severed part of his body smearing blood against the wall as he slowly began to lose consciousness.
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Post by Rosalind on Jul 21, 2017 10:29:05 GMT
Rosalind's heart thundered in her chest as she listened to the progress of the chase, now thankfully moving away from her, but still easily discernible from the angry shouting and pounding of running feet in heavy boots. Animal instincts were part of being a werebeast, and Rosalind's were that of a flighty, sensitive prey animal. The spirit of the horse was panicked by the claustrophobia of the city streets and the imminent danger of the Hounds but she forced herself to breathe, seeking calmness and clarity despite the overwhelming desire to bolt.
The smart thing to do, as the sounds of the chase receded, was to leave. She should get out of here before she found herself courting more trouble - she'd already annoyed a Hound tonight, and staying here was a bad idea. Tense, uneasy, she crept on silent feet down the road, hugging the wall on one side. As she did the night air grew suddenly cold and she stopped when tendrils of ice crept out of a nearby alley, snaking over the ground between the dirty cobblestones and towards her feet. Shit shit shit...the Hounds had their quarry down there, that much was clear, and even though Rosalind was a helper by nature she wasn't an idiot. Interfering in the Hounds business was not on her agenda, but she did duck into a doorway and wait, frozen, breath coming out in puffs. The sounds of the fighting made her flinch, tremble, but now that she was here and had heard it she had to at least see if the Hounds left anyone behind. Maybe they'd just beat him up a bit then arrest him and take him to the cells...
“Leave him and let him bleed out. We’ll get the body later. Just take me to a damn healer.”
Oh, gods damn it all. Rosalind swore but she waited until the Hounds left the alley, waited until the sound of their boots and their angry muttering faded into the night, then she crept out into the night. The ice was melted now the man who had cast the magic was gone, leaving behind water rapidly mingling with blood. Too much blood. Stumbling just behind it was their victim - a man, staggering, blood pouring from a bad wound on his arm. No...from where his arm had been. They'd severed it at the shoulder and, just as they'd said, left him to bleed out. Rosalind knew he could be dangerous - could be a criminal, given the Hound's treatment of him, but at her proximity to him her magic kicked in and she felt it like a physical pull. Her instinct now wasn't to run but to go to him, gripping his remaining forearm to try and keep him upright. Her magic meant he wouldn't - couldn't - die while she was near him, but that didn't mean he was out of danger. Unless she found a way to stop the bleeding he'd lose so much he'd be beyond saving. Non-magical transfusions were tricky, expensive, and difficult to arrange. Getting one under these conditions would be impossible.
"Hey! Stop, stop, SIT DOWN." Authoritative, she shoved the injured Daemon hard on his uninjured shoulder to try and get him to sit on the curb. She wasn't tall enough to treat him effectively while he was standing, and he was about to faint by the looks of it.
"I'm a healer, okay? Let me help you, you great oaf."
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Post by Campion on Jul 21, 2017 18:59:29 GMT
Campion was bleeding out. Fast.
Losing a whole limb was no joke. It was deadly and as far as he knew, a death sentence without a healer. The daemon was not in the cleanliest of places either, so infection would likely take hold even if he somehow miraculously managed to get the bleeding to stop. At the same time, he was a stubborn ass. He’d gone through a lot of shit in his life time, and he wasn’t going to let a little blood loss stop him now. With another step, his vision completely blacked out, then returned. Everything was starting to get blurry and hard to make out. He shook his head to clear it, but the blurriness returned soon after he regained some clear vision.
The feeling of hot blood running down his sides was somewhat surreal, but familiar. Knees feeling like lead with another step, the bunny daemon struggled to even stand. His ears flicked at the sound of footsteps that sounded a life time away, but at the same time alarmingly close. His first instinct was that the hounds had returned to finish the job and he wanted to lash out, tooth and claw, to defend himself, but all he could do was lean against the wall and smear blood along it.
Someone yelled at him, but all he could register was the heavy sound of his own breath. How much blood had he lost? In a daze, his eyes looked down at the woman who had approached him, muttering something he couldn’t understand. She shoved him and he hissed dangerously, fang and claw still extended. The daemon’s body assumed it was under attack again, and Campion could feel his senses, vision, and the daze he felt drastically improving from the burst of adrenaline. It’d only help for a few minutes at max before he’d go into the same state.
Face already dangerously pale from the loss of blood, he hissed at the woman again, but then registered her words. A healer? Now, out of all times? Campion wasn’t sure he liked being called an oaf, but there wasn’t much time to think about it. He did not need much coaxing to sit. He just sort of…half fell, have sat down as he eyed the woman wearily. “Y….You’re not one of ‘em little gutter snipes that’s just going to harvest my organs, are ya?” It was a genuine question, as genuine as one could get while bleeding out and having an arrow stuck in one’s side, but it was something.
She did not appear to be one though, and Campion didn’t exactly have a lot of options. Adrenaline already leaving his system again, he could see the black dots in his vision again. He wondered if she would expect him to pay. As if. The only coin he had was going to a new tattoo and Keziah’s bow, all of which seemed waaaay more important to him than paying for a healer. Campion had some backwards thinking, one could say.
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Post by Rosalind on Jul 22, 2017 7:18:46 GMT
Rosalind knew she had to work fast. Although she shied away from the Daemon when he hissed, animalistic and to her, utterly terrifying, she knew from experience that this was simple instinct kicking in. He didn't consciously want to hurt her, but some base part of his brain kicked in to defend a badly injured body and fend off potential threats. And yes, it was dangerous, yes he could lash out, maybe she was even misinterpreting this and under the layer of instinct was a very threatening person who really would hurt her given the conscious choice. But, in her profession, you took that risk sometimes, and she wasn't about to let the man bleed out on her watch without even trying to help.
She tore three strips of fabric from her skirt and quickly plaited them together to fashion a tourniquet. It wasn't ideal, but she had no bandages to hand and she'd just have to hope the material was strong enough for the job. Rosalind secured it around the man's shoulder, an inch or two above the stump, then broke a thin branch off the nearest shrub. Thank all the Gods someone in this sleazy street kept a small garden. After jamming the stick through the fabric she began to twist to tighten it - it was a technique she'd used before, given she lacked the physical strength to tighten a tourniquet without help any other way. It was also the man's only chance of survival. He looked concerningly pale and the street was awash with bright red blood, already darkening and going sticky. Her magic would keep him alive, but whether he was beyond saving already she couldn't say. She could only try.
"Your organs? No, you can keep those. Just sit still and try not to move your arm...er, shoulder..too much." She could see the blood flow slowing, no longer pulsing to match the beat of his heart. The skin just below the tourniquet turned pale and strained as it did its job, and without daring to let go of the stick holding the pressure in the tourniquet, she examined her patient more closely.
Daemon, definitely. Mammalian, definitely. The bunny ears gave that away. Male, physically fit, healthy apart from the missing limb. Anything else was hard to say - Daemons were difficult to age accurately. The bleeding had slowed to a treacle-like trickle and Rosalind brushed the hair out of her face, taking the chance to catch her breath after the chaos. A streak of his blood on her brow was her reward but she didn't even notice.
"Sir? This is a very bad injury. If you have the coin for a magical healer I can try and find one for you, to see to this wound. Maybe even reattach your arm. But if you don't you're going to need an awful lot of medical treatment, and if you want a chance to live it's going to have to be me. What do you want to do?"
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Post by Campion on Jul 22, 2017 19:46:39 GMT
The bunny daemon could feel the small lady working on him, despite his instinctive snarls and hisses. There wasn’t much time for him to be impressed, because it took all his energy and willpower to just stay away and try to make out what she was saying. He could feel pressure above the area where he felt nothing but dulled pain and a lack of an arm. The assumption Campion from the way it felt was that the healer was doing a tourniquet, which was what he needed to not bleed out as fast. It was an assumption rather than an observation because she just looked like a blurry blob to him, so it was impossible for him to make out what she was doing.
There wasn’t time to really sit and think about his choices. Campion had very little coin to begin with, but it wouldn’t be long before the Hounds returned. Chances were they would even send someone else to finish the job, and the last thing he wanted was to drag someone else into this. Helping a fugitive was just as bad as being on in their books. At the same time though, he knew his only chance was to drag someone into this mess to help heal him. Otherwise he’d die, and Campion wasn’t much fond of that idea.
He was silent after she was done speaking, not really sure what to say. He’d lost a lot of blood, and it sounded as if she was actually standing far away and not right next to him. The daemon shook his head to clear it again, even if just for a moment. “I uh…” Stumbling on his words, he mustered the energy to speak clearly with his intentions. “No time or coin to go to a magical healer. Just….patch it up and clean it. Do what you need to do.” His voice was strained and aggressive, but unintentionally just as with his hissing. It was hard to sound nice and pleasant went one was armless and dying.
Campion’s body slumped against the wall they were next to. All the energy he was using to sit up-right was tiring. As he slumped back, he could feel the crossbow bolt sticking all the way through him shift and he groaned from that dull pain as well. “T-there’s an arrow in my side too, but it’s….all the way through.” He wasn’t sure if the healer was able to see it at first where she was sitting, what with all the blood that was covering his body and the mess of fabric that he wore on top of it all. That, and crossbow bolts were short compared to arrows.
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Post by Rosalind on Jul 23, 2017 9:53:00 GMT
It was unusual that the man hadn't complained even once about the pain. Adrenaline, following a severe injury like this, could keep someone from feeling it for a while. It wasn't common for it to be so wholly effective, nor so long-lasting, though. For Rosalind it was a blessing - she had nothing to give him for pain, nor much else on her except some coin for the needles she'd planned to buy. A makeshift tourniquet aside, the best she could give him were her hands and expertise.
Just...patch it up. Patch it. Rosalind nearly laughed - it would have been funny if it wasn't tragic. Patch up a severed limb. She wondered if the man knew how deadly this type of injury was without magic to heal it. Maybe it was better if he was really clueless as to how bad his situation was. Still gripping the tourniquet Rosalind considered what she should...could...do. In the end she really had only one choice. Ophelia was going to be thrilled.
"Thing is, there isn't a lot I can do out here. I have no equipment, no supplies, and I'm scared those Hounds are going to be back any minute to deal with your body. I'm going to need to take you to my friend's house to try and save your life, and I'm going to need you to promise me you won't hurt anyone there, assuming I succeed." This wasn't a risk Rosalind was thrilled to be taking - her children were at that house, not to mention a very dear friend who owned the place. But at this point she didn't really have a choice. The one saving grace - the only reason she could even contemplate this madness - was the fact that her magic wasn't giving off any warning bells. Rosalind had good instincts, but her magic made them better, and she saw no evil in this man, no bad intentions towards her. Or anyone, actually. For all that the Hounds had been so intent on him, whatever his crimes were didn't seem to speak of a cruel nature.
"The arrow is unlikely to have hit anything vital. I'll deal with it if I manage to stop you bleeding out." Rosalind lifted his remaining arm and slung it over her shoulder, ready to help him up and support him back to the house. Ophelia lived several blocks from here - it was going to be a difficult walk, holding the tourniquet the whole while and trying not to attract attention. Hard to do, when towing a man missing a limb and actively bleeding to death around, so they'd have to hope those Hounds didn't find a healer as easily as this man had.
"Come on, up you get. And don't you dare pass out, I can't carry you alone."
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Post by Campion on Jul 26, 2017 6:29:52 GMT
Campion was really struggling to comprehend what the small woman was saying. Even though the intense bleeding had slowed drastically, he was still in plenty of danger. Already the daemon had lost a lot of blood, more than he truly realized since he could not feel the pain. Her last words, or rather request, seemed quite clear to him. Of course she’d ask him not to hurt anyone. He was a daemon and one that had just been in a nasty scuffle, at that. Unintentionally, Campion had snarled at her and resisted his body’s urge to lash out with his remaining arm.
His head lolled and for a second, he could make out the tourniquet and stump where his arm had once been, now there being nothing but a nasty, nearly clean cut from the Hound’s blade. Campion did not look back at it again; He’d done plenty of terrible things and had many things done to him, but he felt himself even more woozy from just the site of being dismembered. At the current moment however, there was no luxury to sit and cry about it or to even think about it. If Campion was going to be helped, they’d need to move soon because his strength was still draining even if his blood had stopped spurting.
“Don’t worry, doll. I don’t….got a bad bone in my body.” Well, he did in a way, but killing people out in the Savanna was just a means to survive and thrive. It was not out of malicious intent that he killed caravans.
As she slung his arm over her shoulder, Campion assumed that meant they were moving. Everything seemed to be moving so fast compared to him. Anything he registered with his senses moved like molasses; painfully slow. Most of his weight was put onto her as he leaned against her, trying his best to use his legs and move as quickly as he could without falling, but he really did try to keep up as much of his weight as he could.
Even through all this, Campion found himself smirking, chin resting against his chest as it moved side to side with their steps, ears flopping with the movements. “C’mmon, doll. I think it’d be nice having a pretty lady carrying me in their arms for once.” A natural flirt, even in the state he was in, the daemon simple couldn’t help himself.
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Post by Rosalind on Jul 27, 2017 5:03:30 GMT
Rosalind smiled nervously at the man's assurance - although her magic still wasn't giving off any warning bells it was hard to suppress the prey animal instinct to flee from what was visibly predatory. She did this every day though, cared for people who could be threatening either intentionally or unintentionally, so her demeanour was warm, reassuring and motherly as she helped the Daemon stand.
"Glad to hear it. Maybe, ah, don't look at the injury. Bit shocking for the brain, seeing something so big and important missing, and I need you as unshocked as possible when we get back to the house." Shock would kill him even if she could sort the injury out, and considering treating it required a lot of things she didn't have on her right now, it was important he stay upright and get to a place of safety. He was already fighting the blood loss, and would almost certainly go into shock as a result of it sooner rather than later, but intensely distressing experiences could induce a kind of neurogenic shock that would only make things worse. And Rosalind didn't need things to be any worse than they already were.
"Are you flirting right now? I have to commend you, Sir. Keep those spirits up!" Rosalind grinned, but her hand was shaking from the effort of holding the tourniquet. The walk through the streets of Spirit, past the odd person who gawked and a few who ignored them completely, either unwilling to be drawn into someone else's problems or so damaged in their own specific way that a man with a missing arm, clearly on the verge of death, was entirely uninteresting to them. Rosalind was soon puffing from supporting the man, her hand on the tourniquet aching, but step by step they drew closer to the house. To safety. The prospect of being found by the Hounds was a grim one.
"I'm Rosalind, by the way. What's your name?" Chatter for distraction, to keep the man talking and awake. Chatter to keep her mind off the danger they were in.
Rosalind had been out longer than she said she would be, because of the diversion, and a worried-looking woman met them on the street, rushing out to help Rosalind with the injured man. She looked about in her late twenties or early thirties, her fair complexion scattered with dark red freckles the same colour as the shock of red curls she had wrestled into a green bandanna.
"Rosa! What on earth...?"
"Hounds. Help me get him inside, Ophelia." The other woman didn't hesitate, opening the door to a small but tidy and welcoming two-storied house. Inside, a solemn-faced child, with an almost translucently pale complexion and grassy green eyes, was waiting.
"The others are in bed, Rosalind. Can I help?"
"You can, Hamza. We'll take him to the guest bed, fetch my bag and put some water on to boil. Once it's boiling take it off right away and bring it through to me. I need to get this tourniquet off." Half dragging him now, Rosalind took the Daemon to the room and had him sit on the bed.
"I need you to lie down and elevate your feet, to help your blood pressure. Then I'm going to take the tourniquet off, clean the wound, and stop the bleeding. Understand?"
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Post by Campion on Jul 30, 2017 20:49:26 GMT
Campion didn’t need the lady to tell him not to look at the injury. The shock that his body was on the verge of undergoing was hanging on a thread, and he had no desire to hasten that by psyching himself out from losing a whole limb. Even so, he worked very hard to make sure not to strain the lady much, as much as he could endure without blacking out at least. She was so tiny compared to him and she’d already stated there was no way she could carry him on her own.
Instincts on alert as they moved through the city to wherever the woman was headed, he paid close attention (or as much as he could, at least) to the denizens they passed, watchful mostly for hounds. They brought a lot of attention to themselves, an obvious injured daemon in a human filled city and a small shifter woman.
Finding himself grinning the rest of their stumble through the city, Campion was amused by the lady’s comment about his flirting. It was second nature to him, so with most pretty faces he had no fear of not brazenly flirting with them. Lost in his own though, he’d nearly missed the woman’s introduction of herself. With the little energy that he had, he managed to answer with his own name. “Campion…er no Sasha…wait…Campion. Right. Campion.” The lack of blood was apparent, for he was almost forgetful that he was in his male form at the moment. No doubt the mix up of names would be confusing to the woman that introduced herself as Rosalind.
It seemed they had finally reached their destination, and by that point the bunny daemon was practically dragging his feet and putting more and more of his weight on the small, helpful woman. He managed to pick his head up to see the other pretty lady, this one a red-head which was even more a sucker for. “Nice. I get to be helped by two beautiful ladies? I should get more limbs chopped off more often.”
Oddly enough, Campion felt like he’d teleported to the bed. One second he was outside, the next the daemon was sitting on a bed with Rosalind giving him instructions on what he needed to do, as well as the steps she was taking. There was not a lot of room for doubt, but she did at least seemed to be a genuine healer now.
He followed her instructions and lied down on back, careful to make sure the end of the arrow in his side was hanging just off the bed so that the head was not pushed back into his body, but he had a lot of difficulty mustering the energy to pull his les up onto the bed. Once he did though, they were elevated and he was comfortable, almost sleepy even. Sleeping from blood loss was bad though, right? It seemed like the feeling of pain was intensifying the longer Campion was exposed to it, but it felt like the equivalent of getting stabbed with a knife rather than losing a whole limb, thanks to his golem side. Though his body was not immune from going into shock, it at least helped to not feel the whole thing at once.
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Post by Rosalind on Aug 7, 2017 8:23:39 GMT
Without the magic that kept him alive while she worked, Rosalind thought Campion probably would have died. The floor of Ophelia's spare room was awash with blood and water, and Rosalind herself streaked gorily with it up to her elbows. Campion seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness as she worked but she didn't pay attention to that. There was no time for pain relief, no time for anything to knock him out properly - there was only so long you could leave a tourniquet on before you risked permanent and life-threatening damage to the tissue around it.
He lived though. For now, anyway. Rosalind didn't like how pale he was, and the stump he was left with wasn't pretty, but he was still breathing. The amulet magic was so new that Rosalind didn't know how far someone could go towards death and still come back. She hoped that with some time his blood volume would regenerate naturally, because she was pretty sure he'd lost enough that he should be dead, arm fixed or not. If not she figured he just wouldn't make any improvement over the next little while, and would die as soon as she left him. A depressing thought.
Sitting back, Rosalind surveyed her work. Ophelia had helped, ignoring the Daemon's incredibly timed flirting, and while she wasn't a healer herself she was close enough to Rosalind to have helped her plenty of times before. The other woman was an Artisan who made her living with her skill in wood and stone carving, which gave her a steady hand with a knife. Rosalind stayed with her frequently when she visited the City, and Ophelia's daughter Carys was close friends with Amira and Zayn, but she didn't think she'd ever brought such a badly injured patient back before. Ophelia squeezed Rosalind's shoulder once they were done.
"I'm going up for the bath. I'll check the kids, and draw you one after I'm done."
"Thanks, Fee. So, Campion. You still with us?"
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Post by Campion on Aug 7, 2017 21:01:50 GMT
Throughout the treatment, Campion was in and out of consciousness, sprouting nonsense here and there about how great dogs were and how he didn’t have enough of them. He was not aware of any of his actions through the treatment, though a few times he did instinctively hiss and extend his fangs and claws, but never did he end up actually lashing out. On the plus side, there was not a lot of pain, which was nice.
It felt like years for the procedure to end, but there was a point while he was conscious that he felt no more hands holding him down or touching his wound. Part of him was still tempted to look over to see what it looked like, but the daemon was too exhausted to even make his ears go from floppy, to rigid. His head also felt like it would out in the Savanna, hot and laced with sweat from his body struggling to keep up with all the stimulus and shock.
There were some words muttered, and the bunny daemon’s eyes flickered from closed, to open, then back to closed, and his head rolled over to see the beautiful Rosalind again. Everything, including most of her, was just the slightest bit blurry and there were black dots here and there.
Mustering a toothy grin, he managed to speak a little. “If you askin’ that I ain’t dead yet, no I’m not.” That was all the daemon could manage though, because he was exhausted and found himself falling asleep. It was dangerous, what with all the blood loss. Though he could not see himself, Campion was shades paler than he’d ever been before, and falling asleep could mean never waking up, but there wasn’t much more that could be done.
-x-
Dreams were rare to Campion, but for the near twenty four hours he slept he dreamt the whole time. Or well, maybe it was a mixture of different dreams and memories. He dreamt of the days he spent with Ginger, when all he did was raid with her and the other bandits he liked to called the Rats. Another dream was of him and Kez, though that one much more alarming where she’d been critically injured in a fight and was dying, and Campion had no way to save her. That dream alone was soul crushing, as the human girl was much like a younger sibling to him. It was apparent that the dream was bad in the real world though, since he started to stir and shift, forehead sweeting and words mumbling out of his mouth.
When he woke, it was with a gasp.
With no idea what time of day it was, Campion was confused, sitting up on the bed with the raw feeling of his arm well, not being there. He looked over the size of the bed and saw a pail, for blood or puke he wasn’t sure, as well as some water left out for him. There was this weird, itching feeling like something was crawling around in the exposed flesh of his severed arm, but he tried really hard to ignore that.
A challenge though it was, the daemon managed to roll over some and grab the water, being careful as to not down it too quickly since it could just come right back up. He was very dehydrated, and still suffering a lot from blood loss. Campion’s body was no longer in shock, nor was his vision dotted and blurred, but that didn’t mean he was completely out of danger’s way. He was still very pale and a little dizzy.
Alarms were ringing in his head though, and he realized there was no way for him to know how much time he’d been out. Not more than a week at least, because his arm still felt raw and fresh, but gods he had to meet up with Kez after a specific time frame!
The daemon swung his feet around and of the bed, but the movement was too quick for someone still in his state, so he fell over and his feet kicked the pail at the side of his bed, making a lot of noise for something so small. He cursed and pushed himself up with his good hand. Where was the lady that had helped him?
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Post by Rosalind on Aug 20, 2017 8:02:49 GMT
Rosalind checked on the Daemon regularly over the twenty four hours that he was unconscious. Most of the time he was still, his breathing concerningly rapid and shallow, but sometimes he seemed to be dreaming and would move and call out in his sleep. Rosalind pressed cold cloths to his brow and sponged off his chest and shoulders in an effort to keep him cool. Once, she changed the dressing on his arm, washing the wound in an iodine solution before doing so. She lamented being in the City, rather than Spirit, as she had nought but basic supplies with her - those she carried in a colourful patchwork bag from place to place, and what Ophelia kept in her basic home first aid kit. Had they been in Spirit Campion could have recovered in the back room of The Rose Apothecary, surrounded by the salves and potions she made for healing all at arm's reach. He had to make do with Ophelia's spare room though - a study, actually, with a pallet for a bed in the corner. After it was cleaned of the blood and gore from his treatment it was tidy and clean, but barren. And probably not very comfortable. It was hard to accommodate a badly wounded patient in a private residence on short notice.
The clatter of the bucket drew the attention of not Rosalind, who was upstairs in the small two-story apartment and busy cooking, but two small children playing in a tub of water in a tiny laundry adjoining the entryway. Curious, they wandered through to the room where Rosalind had told them an injured man was resting and recovering, and whom they were not to wake up. If he was clattering around, the children reasoned, he was awake and therefore it was okay to go into his room and see. Rosalind had forewarned them the man had lost his arm - they saw her work frequently and were not unaccustomed to seeing injured people - and hesitantly, two small faces peered around the door frame.
One was a girl, small for six years old, with wide grassy green eyes and thick near-black hair that fell in natural waves almost to her waist. Her face was pale and still round with baby fat, and she was chewing the nail of one finger nervously. The other was a boy, younger than the girl by two years though almost as tall as her. He had no baby fat at all and the reason was obvious - he was a Daemon child, with glossy iridescent ink scales around brilliant green reptilian eyes. Wings taller than he was were folded neatly along his back and a long, thin tail waved slowly back and forth, sinuous and snake-like. This child was thin and angular, all sharp elbows and knees, with the same dark hair as the girl cut to shoulder length and spilling in his eyes. It was him who spoke, after they both watched the injured man stumble around for a few moments.
"Who're you?"
"I'm Ramla. And this is Suhail. Are you Rosalind's patient?" The girl's voice was whispery quiet, but she was smiling in a nervous, friendly way.
"Rosalind is upstairs making lunch. Soup, I think." The boy nodded his agreement to his sister's words.
"You should come upstairs," he added, wandering further into the room. He lacked his sibling's shyness, and didn't hesitate to grab the man's remaining hand and give him a gentle tug in the direction of the door.
"Rosalind said you might die. It's good that you didn't, she makes really good soup."
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Post by Campion on Aug 20, 2017 14:40:12 GMT
Many people would be stricken with grief and shock at the loss of a limb, but to Campion it was…well, a bad injury and a slight burden, but hardly the end of the world. His head was pounding from all the strain his body was enduring, and even for a daemon, he was still quite pale. The place where his left arm had been felt raw, and that dull sensation of unfamiliar pain was still there. Still, he avoided looking at it and instead studied the room he was in.
It was nothing fancy, but Campion was used to non-fancy things. There was a part of him that felt unease at the unfamiliarity of his own location, and that in turn made him a little wary and even on edge. Ears facing forward and bright and alert, he could hear pitter pat of light feet making their way towards him.
Hounds or the healer herself was expected, but the footsteps sounded extremely light and…small? The last thing he did expect was a pair of children to poke their heads in to see the arm-less bunny patient. Unable to help himself, the daemon chuckled at himself for his unease and gave a toothy grin to the children. One stood out more than the other, quite obviously a daemon.
Immediately he was bombarded with questions, but the daemon didn’t mind. He loved everything about kids. Their spunk, curiosity, and high energy levels, everything. His eyes shifted between the two of them, one more shy than the other. “Well it’s nice to meetchya, Ramla and Suhail. You can call me Campion.” Anyone that knew Campion would have recognized his change of tone. It was a little higher pitched and filled with compassion. “Rosalind…is that the lady that helped me with my arm?” He vaguely recalled some familiarity to the name, but the night before Campion had been in shock, bleeding out, and well, dying basically. It was hard for him to recall everything that happened.
Right as he managed to push himself off the bed, slowly so he would not fall over, the daemon child had no fear and quickly latched onto his hand, pulling him in gods knew what direction. He didn’t mind much though and followed after. Again, he chuckled at the kid’s brazen statement. That’s part of the charm about kids, he noted to himself. They weren’t afraid to get straight to the point and hide behind a load of horseshit. “Well Suhail, I’m glad I didn’t die too. Otherwise I wouldn’t get to taste this amazing soup you’ve told me about!” Damn, if only Kali were with him. He had a feeling the kids would have loved to play with her.
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