Arthur imagined his newly learned skill would be put to good use. He didn't quite count on the pure chaos that existed inside the tent.
Either the weaver guild stitched some silencing runes in the tent's fabric, or someone was using a powerful dampening card because the sight of injured people -- one of whom was holding his own finger in bloody hand, the smell of vomit and blood and all sorts of unspeakable fluids, and unvarnished sounds of agony nearly sent Arthur back out the tent again.
But he was a hale young man with no visible injuries. Before Arthur could do more than start to turn away, someone yelled that they needed help with a lift.
Arthur was pressed into service grabbing the other end of a sheet and helping to lift a stricken man onto a table. Then someone else called for water, and, well, the jug was right there....
He did eventually practice his new stitches skill. On the man who had the severed finger, no less.
It turned out he was a woodcutter with the very bad fortune of having an accident just as the scourge-eruption started. The initial eruption was enough to make his saw go sideways.
The very good news was his Common card, which he calmly told Arthur about as Arthur stitched his finger back on and quietly tried not to pass out from stress. Apparently, it was a self-healing card. Though as it was a Common card, the healing took a bit.
"This ain't the first time I lost that damn finger," the woodcutter said. "Though it is the most inconvenient. I'll be right as rain in a couple days -- assuming no scourge get to me first."
"Dragon riders will see to that," Arthur said as he tied the last stitch. That little stunt had bumped him two more levels to 5.
The woodsman opened his mouth to reply. He was interrupted by a blood curdling scream coming from the other side of the tent -- the side where the scourge-stricken were taken. Those who had tangled with scourge-beasts, lived, but caught the infection.
The woodsman pulled a face. "If the dragon riders want to help, they'd donate cards to those wretches. They're rich in cards, aren't they?"
Arthur said nothing. Yes, dragon riders were rich in cards. He was, too. Especially compared to these folk. He'd seen more uncarded people over the last couple hours than he had the whole last year in the hive.
Not counting his side-trip to his old border town, of course.
Arthur tried not to think about the cards he'd seen for sale in the hive's store. How he had discounted them as Common and useless. Once again, he had lost touch with his roots. They would have been life or death for some of the people in the next room.
I can't help everyone, he thought but it felt sour.
"So, what do you say, doc?" the woodsman asked with forced light heartedness. "Think I'll live?"
Arthur opened his mouth to tell the man he wasn't a healer, just a volunteer. However, his general nursing skill and a few old memories from the first day in the hive whispered in his mind. "You've still lost a lot of blood. You need to replenish it -- orange juice would be best, and red meat. As much as you can get."
The man blinked at him, then smiled as if thinking Arthur was making a joke. "Juice and meat? You think I'm rich--"
Something big hit the top of the tent, nearly right over Arthur's head. He threw himself to the side as a big something crashed in, whistling in agony. A scourgeling.
Arthur had the quick-flash impression of a fat body and wings before it hit and burst open like an overripe fruit.
He didn't have time to be satisfied the scourgeling was dead. Dozens of tiny scourgelings flew out of the burst corpse and straight at the screaming, injured people.
They were each as long as Arthur's hand, like naked weasels with beating wings and long fangs that jutted from their jaws.
Once again, Arthur stepped into his personal space.
"This is becoming a habit," he muttered and went to the wall to grab an axe and a shovel.
He returned a moment later and shoved the axe in the woodman's good hand.
Then he whipped around and brought the head of the shovel on one of the baby scourge-weasels.
Arthur didn't have a skill for this -- and wouldn't receive one because Master of Combat belonged to Penn -- but he was strong and full of frustration and rage.
The woodsman still ended up doing the bulk of the work. He cut them from the air like the axe were an extension of his arm.
Others rushed into help. One girl screamed and the scourgeling exploded in front of her. Arthur's ears rang afterward.
It was over quickly, and Arthur stumbled to the main corpse.
The creature had fallen from a great height -- no doubt from a battle with a dragon, and it was so burned it would have been hard to tell what it was except he'd seen the babies.
Arthur located the glowing chest and harvested the Common card inside.
"Charm Weasels?" he muttered, looking at it. Not a card he wanted, but he caught the looks from others in the tent. It represented more than what the card's charm could do.
Others were already collecting from the little ones, but Arthur doubted they'd have more than Common shards.
Some of the healers had come out at the noise. Arthur turned and extended his hand with the card out to them. "Here," he said gruffly. "Use this to save one of them."
The healer took it. "Thank you."
Arthur had already turned away. He didn't want to be thanked for that. A real leader, he was sure, would have strode in the other room himself and bestowed the card personally. Made sure whoever got that card was worthy of living.
He didn't want the weight of that choice on his heart.
And the truth was... he could be doing so much more with his skills. Two Legendary cards in his heart and he was stitching wounds by hand.
He had to do better.
He had to make himself worthy of being a companion to a Legendary dragon.
He just had no idea how.
The front of the tent flap opened just as Arthur was about to step though. He nearly came chest-to-chest with Penn.
"Whoa." His cousin looked past Arthur, eyes wide. "Looks like you've seen more excitement than the rest our team."
"What do you want?" Arthur asked.
Penn gave him a look for his abrupt tone, then tilted his head outside. "The rest of the team's tired of sitting on our thumbs. We're going hunting."
"Hunting?" Arthur repeated.
Penn's smile was sharp. "What if the leaders weren't looking for us to play nice with the locals. What if they want us to bring back proof we're scourge-killers."
In the form of cards, Arthur thought. He carefully didn't look back toward the healers in case that one he'd just given the Common card to was still there.
He didn't want Penn to know... and Arthur didn't want the temptation to take it back.
Instead, he looked up at his cousin. "I'm in."
Arthur imagined his newly learned skill would be put to good use. He didn't quite count on the pure chaos that existed inside the tent.
Either the weaver guild stitched some silencing runes in the tent's fabric, or someone was using a powerful dampening card because the sight of injured people -- one of whom was holding his own finger in bloody hand, the smell of vomit and blood and all sorts of unspeakable fluids, and unvarnished sounds of agony nearly sent Arthur back out the tent again.
But he was a hale young man with no visible injuries. Before Arthur could do more than start to turn away, someone yelled that they needed help with a lift.
Arthur was pressed into service grabbing the other end of a sheet and helping to lift a stricken man onto a table. Then someone else called for water, and, well, the jug was right there....
He did eventually practice his new stitches skill. On the man who had the severed finger, no less.
It turned out he was a woodcutter with the very bad fortune of having an accident just as the scourge-eruption started. The initial eruption was enough to make his saw go sideways.
The very good news was his Common card, which he calmly told Arthur about as Arthur stitched his finger back on and quietly tried not to pass out from stress. Apparently, it was a self-healing card. Though as it was a Common card, the healing took a bit.
"This ain't the first time I lost that damn finger," the woodcutter said. "Though it is the most inconvenient. I'll be right as rain in a couple days -- assuming no scourge get to me first."
"Dragon riders will see to that," Arthur said as he tied the last stitch. That little stunt had bumped him two more levels to 5.
The woodsman opened his mouth to reply. He was interrupted by a blood curdling scream coming from the other side of the tent -- the side where the scourge-stricken were taken. Those who had tangled with scourge-beasts, lived, but caught the infection.
The woodsman pulled a face. "If the dragon riders want to help, they'd donate cards to those wretches. They're rich in cards, aren't they?"
Arthur said nothing. Yes, dragon riders were rich in cards. He was, too. Especially compared to these folk. He'd seen more uncarded people over the last couple hours than he had the whole last year in the hive.
Not counting his side-trip to his old border town, of course.
Arthur tried not to think about the cards he'd seen for sale in the hive's store. How he had discounted them as Common and useless. Once again, he had lost touch with his roots. They would have been life or death for some of the people in the next room.
I can't help everyone, he thought but it felt sour.
"So, what do you say, doc?" the woodsman asked with forced light heartedness. "Think I'll live?"
Arthur opened his mouth to tell the man he wasn't a healer, just a volunteer. However, his general nursing skill and a few old memories from the first day in the hive whispered in his mind. "You've still lost a lot of blood. You need to replenish it -- orange juice would be best, and red meat. As much as you can get."
The man blinked at him, then smiled as if thinking Arthur was making a joke. "Juice and meat? You think I'm rich--"
Something big hit the top of the tent, nearly right over Arthur's head. He threw himself to the side as a big something crashed in, whistling in agony. A scourgeling.
Arthur had the quick-flash impression of a fat body and wings before it hit and burst open like an overripe fruit.
He didn't have time to be satisfied the scourgeling was dead. Dozens of tiny scourgelings flew out of the burst corpse and straight at the screaming, injured people.
They were each as long as Arthur's hand, like naked weasels with beating wings and long fangs that jutted from their jaws.
Once again, Arthur stepped into his personal space.
"This is becoming a habit," he muttered and went to the wall to grab an axe and a shovel.
He returned a moment later and shoved the axe in the woodman's good hand.
Then he whipped around and brought the head of the shovel on one of the baby scourge-weasels.
Arthur didn't have a skill for this -- and wouldn't receive one because Master of Combat belonged to Penn -- but he was strong and full of frustration and rage.
The woodsman still ended up doing the bulk of the work. He cut them from the air like the axe were an extension of his arm.
Others rushed into help. One girl screamed and the scourgeling exploded in front of her. Arthur's ears rang afterward.
It was over quickly, and Arthur stumbled to the main corpse.
The creature had fallen from a great height -- no doubt from a battle with a dragon, and it was so burned it would have been hard to tell what it was except he'd seen the babies.
Arthur located the glowing chest and harvested the Common card inside.
"Charm Weasels?" he muttered, looking at it. Not a card he wanted, but he caught the looks from others in the tent. It represented more than what the card's charm could do.
Others were already collecting from the little ones, but Arthur doubted they'd have more than Common shards.
Some of the healers had come out at the noise. Arthur turned and extended his hand with the card out to them. "Here," he said gruffly. "Use this to save one of them."
The healer took it. "Thank you."
Arthur had already turned away. He didn't want to be thanked for that. A real leader, he was sure, would have strode in the other room himself and bestowed the card personally. Made sure whoever got that card was worthy of living.
He didn't want the weight of that choice on his heart.
And the truth was... he could be doing so much more with his skills. Two Legendary cards in his heart and he was stitching wounds by hand.
He had to do better.
He had to make himself worthy of being a companion to a Legendary dragon.
He just had no idea how.
The front of the tent flap opened just as Arthur was about to step though. He nearly came chest-to-chest with Penn.
"Whoa." His cousin looked past Arthur, eyes wide. "Looks like you've seen more excitement than the rest our team."
"What do you want?" Arthur asked.
Penn gave him a look for his abrupt tone, then tilted his head outside. "The rest of the team's tired of sitting on our thumbs. We're going hunting."
"Hunting?" Arthur repeated.
Penn's smile was sharp. "What if the leaders weren't looking for us to play nice with the locals. What if they want us to bring back proof we're scourge-killers."
In the form of cards, Arthur thought. He carefully didn't look back toward the healers in case that one he'd just given the Common card to was still there.
He didn't want Penn to know... and Arthur didn't want the temptation to take it back.
Instead, he looked up at his cousin. "I'm in."
