First Responders (Gar/Ichabod)

[Gar]

“That town’s devastated.” Gar said quietly to himself as he looked through a spyglass. Gar scanned the caved in roofs and waterlogged streets. There was still activity, signs of life, but Gar couldn’t be certain if they were survivors or raiders. The pirate lowered his spyglass and put it away. I’ll have to get a closer look. He was on a scouting mission for his crew, but this took priority. Any honorable person would offer a helping hand to a city in need. Gar shook his head. Aye, but I gotta remember I’m in the Western Isles, there’s no honor here.

Gar descended into the town slowly. Trees and debris made a ring around the base of the hill he was on. Gar hopped over a fallen log and landed on the opposite side in what remained of the town. To his annoyance the boots he wore sank into the mud. Gar knocked his shoes against the log and continued into town, avoiding driftwood and rubble. There were tracks in the mud other than his own, indicating someone else was in this town as well. Gar squatted down to get a better look at the footprints. One set from what must have been a child led deeper into town. The kid must be lost and alone. Why would they head deeper into this wreckage?

Gar straightened up and continued walking. Some creaking planks from the nearby homes helped break the silence every so often. A glint from below caught Gar’s attention. He bent down again to retrieve it, grasping onto a chain and pulling it up through the mud. The pirate wiped the mud clod off on his pant leg, revealing a silver locket. With a push of a button, the locket opened up to a picture of a family. Mother, Father and Infant. I should see if they’re still around. The wave could’ve taken them all out though. Gar pocketed the locket and continued his stroll through the town.

The tracks led to a doorstep. A sturdy door and stone frame kept the house standing. Gar knocked forcefully on the heavy door. A few moments of silence were the reply. He knocked again. “Oy anyone in there?” A few muffled noises replied this time. Gar placed his hand on his axe but didn’t bring it from his sash.

“Just get out of here! Don’t you raiders think we’ve had enough?” Gar took his hand from his weapon. “Hold on now. I’m not a raider, I wanna help.” Some mumbling came from the opposite side of the door and it eventually opened revealing what must have been a shelter for the tidal wave. Many people were injured or sick and the looked short on medical staff. ”Don’t make me regret letting you in.” said an old man. “Aye.” Gar replied as he entered the shelter.

[Ichabod]

A pair of strong fists pounded on an old man's chest. Then, those hands moved to the mans face lined with wrinkles and parted his cracked lips. Placing his mouth onto the old man's, the man whos hands were so powerful breath a calm breath into the old man's lungs. Nothing, how could there be nothing? This is exactly what the old man had shown him. Well, not exactly, when the old man had shown him back in Northern Bern, he hadn't exactly pounded onto the man's chest. So the big hands lightly hovered over the man's chest, and pressed down. Not fiercely, more gentle than anything. He pressed down five times with maybe a second and a half between each press. Then slowly he placed his mouth on the old cracked lips of the man who was no longer breathing. After another calm stream of breaths, he thought he might have felt the elderly man's weak lungs begin to pump. Placing his hands against the feeble old chest, the pressure was applied once more, and the snow haired survivor started to cough.

"C'mon, up ya go. D'n't wanna be one a th' only ones sittin' 'round." A burly man with a shock of purple hair atop his head draped the arm of the elderly man hurt in the disaster over his shoulder. Rising from the murk, Ichabod began a walk to the shelter. This would be the fifth person he carried back, second he'd been forced to use the breath technique. The man he carried was dragging his feet, and that meant he was dragging through the mud. Ichabod lifted him just a little higher, and patted him on the back to try and keep his circulation regular.

Ichabod kicked the door a few times, and got an answer, "That you preacher man?" Ichabod sighed and said, "' aint a preacher man, but 'ts me." The door creaked open the tiniest smidge and the burly healer shouldered his way in. He looked around at the ragged mass of people, huddled together with grim faces. Yawning, the healer shrugged the old man off of his own shoulder into the arms of a pair of young men. Looking around, Ichabod recognized nearly all of the faces in attendance, though there was one that stuck out. Ichabod put his hands on his hips and let out a long sigh, closing his eyes. He was tired.

He'd not get time to rest however, a woman cried, "Preacher man, please save my husband." Ichabod began to move over towards the woman standing behind a man layed out on a table. He wouldn't even comment on the preacher man comment this time. The man had a deep gash along his stomach, that had been poorly bandaged up. He began to remove the bandages, and the woman started to move to stop him, but Ichabod removed her arm. He removed the bandage, and pulled from his belt his trusty staff. It was a deep gash, but most of the bleeding had stopped. "Anyb'dy got s'me alchohol?" The town tailor handed a flask to Ichabod, and the healer poored it into the wound. The man moaned but Ichabod rubbed the wound with his cloak. Then Ichabod placed both hands on his stave, and lifted it speaking, "By th' strength of m' faith in bonds, do not all'w this man t' die." A light in the stone of Ichabod's staff blasted into being and flashed violently for a brief moment, and Ichabod felt a warm energy wrap around each of his fingers that touched the staff. He could feel the invisible energy traveling from the staff to the wound and working furiously to salve the pain of the man's wound. Then suddenly the heat left Ichabod's hands, and so did a bit of the big man's will to stand. The man's pain seemed to lessen just a bit, and the wound looked a bit smaller. Not his best work, but he could tell the man would be able to move freely relatively soon. He grabbed fresh bandages and bound the wound again, properly this time.

[Gar]

Gar scanned the room, his eyes coming in contact with a lady’s. She was visibly upset, most likely due to the bandaged man on the table by her side. Gar turned away from the sad scene and spoke to the man who let him enter the shelter. “What happened here?” The old man spoke softly as if to suppress the stressful memories. “Too much… A monstrous wave crashed into town a couple days ago. We were prepared for that however. We have shelters like this all around the town. What happened afterward was the real tragedy.” Gar raised an eyebrow, curious as to what would be worse than the wave. The man continued in his hushed tone “Looters and raiders came to take advantage of the situation. We were helpless.” The man turned his eyes to the ground and Gar patted him on the shoulder. “Tragic. Listen I want to do whatever I can to help. Just let me know.”

The old man raised his eyes. “Yes well I would like to know how the other shelters are doing, but were in no condition to walk the streets here. Maybe you could deliver a message for us.” Gar nodded. “I’m on it.” Before Gar could turn to leave the old man continued. “There is another, a preacher, you may want to wait for his return. So you can venture together.” Gar nodded again and moved to stand against a wall as he waited.

I wish there was more I could do. I mean I have that whole sacrifice thing, but I hardly know who needs it and who doesn’t. I've also only used it one time. Gar heard a pounding on the door. A large man with purple hair and beard carried a victim into the room. The man certainly wasn't what Gar had in mind, but he carried a staff, so he had to be the preacher or perhaps a raider. Based on how the others reacted the man was clearly not a raider. Two others took to tending to the victim while the purple haired man’s attention was turned to another. "Preacher man, please save my husband." Gar removed himself from the wall and approached the man, who claimed to not be a preacher. The man held his staff and visibly focused his efforts on healing.

Gar watched in awe as the wound healed before his eyes. He had never seen healing so up close before. In battle wounds are covered in blood and armor, but here he could see it clearly. It was truly magical. Gar returned to his task and tapped the purple haired man on the shoulder. “Hey there, you the priest? I’m Gar. That old guy wants us to deliver a message to the other shelters. Let me know when you’re ready to leave again.” Gar reached out a hand in introduction.

[Ichabod]

The healer took a quick sip from the flask, it tasted like watered down brandy but he couldn't be sure, his senses were always a little dull after a bout of healing. Looking around he saw a woman clutching her shoulder, her limp arm hanging over her knee. Her husband knelt next to her speaking softly in her ear, and Ichabod could see that both had tears in their eyes, her likely from pain and him from worry. The burly priest made his way over to them, and knelt down to look the woman in the face. He cleared his throat and tried to speak softly. "Looks like yer should'rs outta place there." The young woman looked at him through misty eyes and nodded, her twisted nose and mouth showing pain. Her husband spoke, "Can you heal her Preacher? With yer magic?"

Ichabod stood and said calmly, "Aint no Preacher, and ' can't fix bones with m' staff." He thought to himself, Well, maybe someday, there's no way of knowing what a master with a staff could do. He looked down at the woman. "' c'n put it back in place if ya want. It'll be painful." She simply nodded, and he lifted his chin, signaling for her to stand up. She complied, and Ichabod turned her around and lifted her left arm. He heard a faint whimper as he wrapped his own meat arm around it. Lifting it and pulling it back, he took in a deep breath. Then without warning, he jammed her arm back towards her shoulder, and hear a faint pop noise as the woman cried out. Her husband's face looked moritified but the woman turned around, her face still wrought with pain and said, "Thank you, it hurts but I c'n move a little better." The priest merely nodded and scanned the room once more, looking for any others that might need help.

His search was interrupted by a rough and tumble seeming man who approached him and said, "“Hey there, you the priest? I’m Gar. That old guy wants us to deliver a message to the other shelters. Let me know when you’re ready to leave again.” The big man sighed, then said, "Aint no priest, but alright, 'll go." As the two made there way out o the shelter, Ichabod looked to the old man and said, "Message'll be abou' five more." The man merely nodded with his grave expression, and then Ichabod was gone.

As the two walked through the ravaged town Ichabod gave the man a few good looks. He didn't look like the picture perfect view of a good Samaritan. He looked more the type to loot a place like this than to try and salvage the well being of the people around. That axe on his belt was a bit more threatening than the staff on Ichabod's. Pointing his eyes in front of the two as the other man led the way, the purple haired man said, "M' names Ichabod, what's yers?" [/i]

[Gar]

Gar walked slowly alongside the burly man. He noticed the man eying his axe and smirked lightly. A man such as himself had nothing to worry about from Gar. Gar shook his head as he scanned his companion. This guys doesn’t look all too holy either. Guy’s built like an ox and he’s got scars on his face. If I hadn’t seen his magic with my own eyes I’d call that staff he carries a prop for some sort of con. Gar carried on in silence for a few more steps. He was about to speak to break the tension but the purple haired man beat him to it. "M' names Ichabod, what's yers?"

Gar was a little annoyed but quickly let it go. I introduced myself earlier. Oh well he must’ve been busy with the healing. “Name’s Gar. I’m uhh a sailor. Nice to meet ya Ichabod.” This wasn’t the first time he introduced himself in that manner, but he still figured it was easier for people to hear. Not many people would want to accompany a self-proclaimed pirate to a shelter of injured civilians. “I saw your healing earlier, but apparently you’re not a priest. So what would you say you do?”

Overcast skies gave the town a gray tone, making it appear like even more of a ghost town. Gar felt a small chill from the breeze. He shook it off and stopped as they approached a crossroads. He lifted his arm and extended a finger to the right. “This way.” Gar continued down the path, stepping on wet pieces of wood along the way. He noticed a small creature flee into the shadows of an alleyway as they passed. Gar crouched and put his hand to his hip. He took a moment and straitened up. He had reacted to it before he recognized it was just a rat. “Har Har, This town’s got me jumping at mice.” Too small for food, but if it survived that’s good news right?

The duo approached another building of similar construction to the shelter. Gar pounded on the door. No response, he didn’t even hear movement inside. “You might want to do the talking here.” Gar wasn’t even sure if that was the best call. From what he could tell the pirate might be more eloquent than the healer. But a staff is certainly less intimidating than an axe.

[Ichabod]

Yeah right. This man looked like a sailor like Ichabod looked like a nurse maid. Well, that wasn't fair to say. Ichabod might not be able to nurse a baby but he knew enough to keep one of the poor things alive. Although any man could learn the trade of sailing the sea. Maybe his analogy worked. Then however the man said, “I saw your healing earlier, but apparently you’re not a priest. So what would you say you do?”

"Eh, people get in scrapes er things like 'at. Fellas are ones to get in s'me trouble s'me times, s'me times I'm around an' fer the right price I c'n patch 'em up. S'metimes a group o' sellswords 's goin' on a job 'n they need s'me help keepin' em'all alive. I pervide 'em with a bit o' patchwork 'n help 'em stay on their feet." Then Ichabod watched as the man gave a rather large reaction to a rat, and chuckled along with him. "Rats're sickly beasts, carry s'ckness. ' can't blame ya." The duo continued on until they were near another shelter. Ichabod took in a deep breath through his nostrils as he looked at the sky. He'd always liked gray skies. The world was messy, and people could always do with a walk through the mud to remind them of it. Of course, bad weather wasn't helpful when it made things this messy.

"Think yer right." He approached the door and slipped his staff out of the loop on his belt, tapping it against the door a few times, hard. "Ey, it's the healer, 'm s'posed to come'n check on ya."

[Gar]

So he’s not a priest, just a man trying to make a living. Fair enough. Gar respected freelance healers for some reason. Perhaps it was because a few had saved his life over the years. Gar sighed as a few drips landed on his shoulders. Ichabod spoke to the door, they heard nothing. Rain had begun falling down lightly and Gar had no patience for it. “Ey let us in already! It’s raining.” Gar began getting annoyed as water soaked through his bandanna to make his hair damp. A few more moments of silence in the rain made Gar take matters into his own hands. “Forget it. We’re friendly and we’re coming in.”

Gar lifted a leg and kicked the door below the handle with a grunt. The door opened awkwardly as if it were already damaged. The scene inside was gruesome. A raid had taken place in this shelter. “Damn, I’ll look for any survivors.” Gar entered the shelter, getting out of the rain just before it began to pour.

Gar scanned the bodies of the citizens in the building, nothing but corpses. A light voice rasped out from behind him. “Help.. me..” Gar turned to a teen with a shallow cut across their chest. The kid lay slumped against a wall. “Hey Ichabod, we have a survivor here. You want to help this kid out? I’m not sure if he needs to be healed, but maybe clean his cut and bandage him. I'd uhh like to help too if that;s possible.” Gar was too proud to ask to be shown how to properly bandage a wound, but he was ready to see how Ichabod responded to the injury.

[Ichabod]

“Forget it. We’re friendly and we’re coming in.” Then, Ichabod's companion kicked the door in. "Alright 'en." Ichabod followed the other man into the small shelter, and saw the dismal scene. It was unsettling to say the least, but nothing he hadn't seen before. As Gar began to do a scan of the whole shelter, Gar began to inspect bodies individually. Forcing their eyes open, checking for a pulse, or even shaking them. Moving slowly, he couldn't find any with anything left to be healed. It was times like this the sword disgusted Ichabod both more and less. Some of the bodies were children.

“Hey Ichabod, we have a survivor here. You want to help this kid out? I’m not sure if he needs to be healed, but maybe clean his cut and bandage him. I'd uhh like to help too if that's possible.” Ichabod rose from the floor, if there was one who must be alive, they were more important than any who may be. He rushed over to Gar, and quickly saw the young man against the wall. Lowering himself he said, "Get 'is shirt off." Once that was done, he looked at the wound. It wasn't deep, but the man could certainly catch something harsh from it. He had nothing to clean it with, and nothing to seal it with. He'd have to use his staff for a second time today, which he still didn't like to do. He'd been using the thing for a while, but still it took a lot out of him.

He slipped his staff from his belt and let his mind go blank for a moment. Then he looked at the young boys face. His stone flashed, and the man's wound emitted a bit of light as a bit of the gash closed and lost its sickly color. Ichabod felt like sleeping for a week, but he reached into his bag and shoved a roll of bandages into the other man's chest. "Wrap this 'round 'is chest twice. Longways onth' wound, then tie itoff." With all the strength he had left, he rose and went back to inspecting the bodies left.

[Gar]

Gar followed orders without hesitation. He bent down and pulled what was left of the tattered shirt off the teen. He then backed away as Ichabod approached to perform his magic. Gar watched again as the staff glowed with a blue-green hue and the wound began closing up. Gar turned to the healer who's posture had become slumped and had shoved bandages at his chest. Ichabod didn't look too hot. "I guess healing takes it out of everybody. Haha I thought it was just me." Gar's hands wrapped around the cloth and bent down over the boy. Propping the boy against the wall, Gar began wrapping the bandages around the boy's torso. Gar was doing as he was told, but without grace. Gar began to tie it off at the end of the second wrap, much to the boys discomfort. Too tight I guess.

Gar untied the bandage and performed the deed once again. The second attempt went smoother, but still wasn't great. Gar tied it off and although it looked sloppy it should do the trick. After the bandaging was done he looked at the boy's face to see if he was doing okay. "Hey, you still with us?" A faint nod replied. "Well since you seem to be the only one still alive here, I guess I'll deliver this message to you. An old man at the North shelter, said to have all survivors head over there for a meeting." The boy smiled lightly and turned his head to rest. Guess I'll have to carry him back.

Gar turned to Ichabod who was now inspecting the remaining bodies in a much different fashion than his own. Ichabod was placing his hand on their chest and his ear to their mouth. He would also place a few fingers to the neck on some of them. Gar was curious as to how the healer could determine survival with such small gestures. "What's that all about? Can you healers sense if a person is alive just by touching them?"

[Ichabod]

"I guess healing takes it out of everybody. Haha I thought it was just me." What? How on earth could this 'sailor' have healed someone? He doubted a man with an axe at his hip could have experience with healing anyone. Though, who was he to talk, years ago he'd have carried a sword instead of his staff, so perhaps there was more to Gar than he could see on the surface. Or he thought that using a vulnerary was healing, and was what he looked like. Ichabod found that more often than not you could actually make very safe assumptions about people. The cover of the book told you at least one thing, its title. "Aye. Healin' takes it outta ya. En'rgy's gotta c'm from s'mewhere."

"What's that all about? Can you healers sense if a person is alive just by touching them?" Ichabod sighed, and scratched his cheek. How to explain a concept that had taken him days to understand. "'Ts called a pulse. Heart beats, 'n you c'n feel it at the wrist, chest, and neck. ' can never find it in th' wrists. S'mtimes 'ts too faint, and ya gotta see if there's any breath left in 'em." Ichabod then returned to inspecting the bodies that lined the shelter floor, but none showed any signs of life. Fantastic, just fantastic to be surrounded by the air of death.

Straightening his back, Ichabod turned and looked at the other fellow of thick chest. "Lets head back, 'll carry 'im if ya want. They're payin' me."

[Gar]

Interesting. I gotta start trying that pulse thing. Sounds pretty useful. Gar hefted the boy over his shoulder with a grunt. “Don’t worry about it. I can carry him, you should save your energy for healing. I’m sure there are others that are gonna need it. I will let you deliver the bad news to the old man when we get back though.” Gar began walking toward the entrance from which they came. After exiting the devastated shelter, Gar noted the rain had subsided. The clouds above were darker and angry, however. The pirate readjusted the boy positioned on his shoulder, much to the boy’s discomfort.

“We’d better hurry back before we get caught up in a downpour.” Gar turned to look over his shoulder at the boy. “This’ll be a little uncomfortable, but it should be over soon.” With that Gar began jogging lightly toward the first shelter. As he neared the shelter thunder cracked in the distance. Damn. Tidal wave, raiders, and now a storm. This town can’t catch a break. In between breaths Gar spoke to the purple haired healer. “How long are you-- in this town’s employment? They might need you around -- for a quite a while-- by the look of things.” Gar noticed a few groans from the kid on his shoulders. I should be more careful. Don’t want to upset the healer by reopening his patient’s wound. Gar slowed his pace in order to be more gentle with the injured teen. The pirate looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Almost there kiddo, hold on for a little longer.”

[Ichabod]

“Don’t worry about it. I can carry him, you should save your energy for healing. I’m sure there are others that are gonna need it. I will let you deliver the bad news to the old man when we get back though.” Ichabod looked at the man for a second skeptically, then said, "Good point." Then Ichabod held the door for the 'sailor' as he brought the boy out from the shelter, and began to jog after him as they made their way to the place of their meeting. As they made their way, Ichabod looked to the sky and saw the grim gray clouds overhead that spelled another fierce rain.

Ichabod grunted at the question, They got me til daybreak, bu' if they payup, 'll stay 'nother day." They kept going, and just after Gar assured the boy that the trip was all but done, a crack of distant thunder sounded. Still going, the other shelter now in sight, Ichabod asked the other man, "What didja mean when ya said that healin takes it outta you? Tha' axe just fer show? 'Timidate brigands?" After the man explained his meaning, they had managed to reach the shelter. Just ahead of the rain if Ichabod could tell. He opened the door for the other man, and they were inside again.

The old man apporached them and looked at the young man. "Is this it? Gods above that life was so thrown out. Were there truly no others?" Ichabod looked at the floor and said, "No, 'm sorry."

[Gar]

Gar nodded as Ichabod explained his contract with the town. That’s good to know. He isn’t being unreasonable with his contract. Ichabod then questioned Gar’s earlier statement. "What didja mean when ya said that healin takes it outta you? Tha' axe just fer show? 'Timidate brigands?” Gar chuckled lightly at the follow up question. After glancing at his axe he spoke with pride. “I can assure you that this ain’t no decoration. I’m not trying to brag but after spending my life at sea, I’ve gotten pretty good with the thing. Har har” Gar claimed that he wasn’t trying to brag, but the way he spoke about his ability said otherwise.

“As for the healing, well I recently found out I got this skill you see. My old captain called it sacrifice. What it does is drain my life force to restore the life of others.” Gar shrugged as much as he could with the kid still on his shoulders. “At least I think that’s how it works. To be honest I haven’t really used it too much.” Gar had wanted to learn the intricacies of how healing worked. Perhaps Ichabod was a good person to ask about it. As Ichabod held the door open, Gar walked through and leaned the kid along a table. Gar paused for a moment as he figured how to ask his question. “Ichabod, would you be willing to show me some more of those healing tricks like the pulse sometime? After we sort this town out of course.”

[Ichabod]

The old man looked down at the young man for a long time, not moving his eyes, but Ichabod could tell that in his gaze he saw a lot more than the boys thin injured body. He saw the life the young man had been given before the raid, and the lives of all the others he'd thought must have been unaccounted for but were likely now lying dead in the shelter the burly pair had brought the young man back from. The look in his eyes as his hard gaze rested on the youth was a solemn one, and one quite familiar to Ichabod. Without much noise, Ichabod managed to stand near enough to Gar that he could speak just soft enough that the only ones who'd hear any words that passed between them.

"I c'n teach ya what ' know later. Hopef'ly enough t' not get ya killed anytime y' use yer sac'rfice." Then he turned back to the man looking at the youth, and cleared his throat before asking, "What more do ya need 'f me? An' Gar here ' 'spose." The man gave the bunker a solid look all over, and then he said, "I do not know son. I don't know what to do, I am terribly afraid. Never before have I seen death like this, in such a short time. Raids I have seen, disasters I have endured. The Isles are not a peaceful place, but the death like this, in such a short time... I am afraid I cannot think of anything else."

Ichabod knew the sight of senseless death, the man's pain was natural, but not something which could be healed with his staff. "Where might food've b'n stored?"

[Gar]

Gar nodded his thanks to Ichabod and whispered his response. "Thanks in advance. Yeah, not dying would sure be preferable." Gar was unaware of how insensitive his statement was to those who had suffered the recent tragedy. Luckily, Gar made the claim quietly enough for it to go unnoticed by the survivors. The old man shared a few dismal words about the isles which got Gar thinking. Aye the isles are a rough place, but they'll get through this. The isles have a way of making tough people. Gar clasped the old man's shoulder as a gesture of reassurance. Gar spent some time in the momentary silence. His eyes scanned the scene again. Some folks were still in tears, others had cried so much their ducts had dried out. Injuries and fatigue were common, but these people were still alive.

Ichabod spoke of getting some food. "Aye its getting close to supper time. Seeing as there isn't any real use for me here, I'd better start heading back to the ship." Gar motioned toward the door before turning back toward Ichabod and the old man. "Listen, I believe you guy's will be alright, especially with this healer with you." Gar said gesturing in Ichabod's direction. "I'll be back as soon as I can, and maybe I can convince some of my mate to come help rebuild. Either way, I'll at least be back." Gar nodded toward Ichabod."And it was nice meeting ya Ichabod, you're a solid guy." With that Gar made his exit and began his trek back to his crew.
[Exit Gar]