Light in the Darkness [Althea/Donovan]

[Althea]

It was hard to take enjoyment in the fact that the thing that had done this had returned to its eternal rest. The revenant speared by lances of light, torn and sundered like the rest of its grotesque kin. It had taken... several attempts to determine where to aim, and her emotions had been running shamefully high, hampering her accuracy. It was the kind of performance she expected from Ereshkigal. Not her. Althea could take some relief in knowing she had not been too late for many of these people. Most even. Objectively speaking, the losses were few. Statistically irrelevant. Their corpses, and the remnants of the attackers, were being burned atop funeral pyres outside right now.

But not irrelevant to those that had lost the ones they cared for. Not for the woman crying before her now, weeping over the corpse of her dead boy. Already on the brink of death when she arrived, and she was - not Remus. Her grasp of healing magic was frustratingly weak. It didn't seem to - to work the way it should. Elder magic was easy, in a... very complex way, admittedly, but it had rules, equations, mechanics that could be dissected and understood. As difficult as any other sort of magic on a base level certainly, but to her strictly structured mind it came easily enough. This... feeling... thing in healing was not. There was nothing to solve. Nothing to study, per se, besides an understanding of the human body. It was more in envisioning the actions, intuitively understanding the flow of magic, how the healing was progressing, and despite Remus's instructions, most of which Ereshkigal had hopelessly garbled, there was still a great distance for her to go to progress beyond the basics.

And no one would blame her!

It - infuriated her, almost. These people, they had nothing. Ryerde was under eternal siege from the dead and the damned that made it past Worde's borders. Their livelihoods died by the day. Their loved ones disappeared or died. She had arrived too late to save all she could from this wave of revenants. She hadn't been able to save those who were already fatally wounded. She hadn't even been able to try to help those who died in the first waves of the attack; she could still remember the gnawed corpses and scattered limbs outside. But they were so... gracious. Even those she failed to save wouldn't take out their frustration on her. The ones she had been able to help showered her with gratitude, effusive in their thanks, as if unaware of what else they had lost. People just seemed happy to have SOMEONE here at all, the attempt at help more than they had expected.

In eastern Lycia, this wasn't such an issue. The marches there kept a strong hand on monsters, for the most part. Here, the war - and it was a war, she knew now, regardless of what anyone wanted to say - raged on eternally, without respite. Humanity was losing it. And she couldn't really stop it.

What was she supposed to do, stay here forever? Leave the rest of Lycia to burn, drop her research, and toss aside Ereshkigal's hopes and dreams just to... do nothing? She had some grasp of tactics, but she hardly knew which end of the sword was the sharp one much less how to properly organize and train a phalanx of spear militia. And she didn't - WANT to. All her life she had avoided getting attached to people for exactly this bloody reason. She had watched her parents burn to ash. She had seen countless episodes of suffering through her travels. Caused a few herself, though the dark mage was almost fundamentally unable to care too much about the bandit and pirate scum that had thrown their lives away assaulting her. But she had always handled it the same way; passing through, handling the issue, and leaving before she allowed herself to open up. All this time with Drei, with Aura, with Ereshkigal, had made her a little too slow, a little too open, and now she was remembering exactly why she had avoided those kinds of attachments for so long.

What a time for an attack of conscience.

[Donovan]

Men and women were frantically running around trying to put out fires. Building had been broken into. The sound of sorrow and pain pierced the wayward warrior’s ears. Another attack. Another wave of the dead. It’s like it was all that Donovan ever found these days. He’d heard rumors of the town in danger and taken a detour from his traveling companions to check in and see if he could help. If he could make amends for his time away.

But all he found was the end of the battle. Sure, he’d made quick work of a couple of stragglers. Revenants seemed to remain one of the most consistent monstrosities to plague Lycia. Certainly is easy to maintain their numbers when each person they kill joins their ranks unless their body is destroyed. But it seemed the bulk of the work had been done by some other group. From the word around town, as he wandered from street to street looking for ways to make himself useful, some mage had been using magic. Elder magic. An unusual strategy against the dead, but it seemed to have been working.

A moan for help caught his attention, and Kitchi ran toward a pile of bricks and started sniffing with great purpose before yipping for Donovan to come over. He made haste and began shifting the weight, careful to not accidentally pull the wrong brick and have the pile collapse onto this poor soul’s face. After a few minutes he saw her face. She was young. Maybe 13 years old or so. Blood and dirt caked her cheeks and forehead, and she started to cry when she saw her rescuer’s face.

“You’re going to be okay -” he started, but her panicked breathing and pain alerted him to something worse than just being buried under some bricks.

“I didn’t - I thought I was. I can’t get out, I -”

Find out what’s wrong, Liar. You need to calm her or she’ll hyperventilate.
Yeah. I got it.

“It’s okay! It’s okay. I’m here and we’re going to get you help. Take a deep breath. What’s your name?”

The girl listened to his words and took a deep breath. At least, she tried as she cried out in pain. “I think - I think that something’s… wrong with my shoulder-” Her breathing returned to its labored and panicked pattern. And Don began gingerly removing bricks to see the damage. What he saw, he didn’t like. The girl’s arm was sticking out at an uncomfortable angle. If it wasn’t broken, it was certainly badly dislocated.

“Okay, give me a minute to go get you a healer. Is there anyone in to-?”

“Please don’t leave!” She cried out, more fear in her voice than ever before. “Please don’t leave me alone!”

Donovan smiled reassuringly. “No one said anything about leaving you alone." He picked up Kitchi and put him near the girl’s face. The fire coated fox began gently kissing her forehead, removing the dirt and blood a little at a time. “Kitchi is going to stay right here and keep you safe. Okay? I can’t fix this on my own though, and it’s a lot safer if you stay laying down.”

She nodded, fear still filled her eyes, but she gingerly lifted her good arm and began to scratch at Kitchi’s ear. With a soft smile, he turned and ran toward the center of town, hoping to find some sort of medical tent.

[Althea]

In the end she left the woman with her son's body, unable to offer much more than an awkward hand to her shoulder. At this point, the critically injured from the attack were, well, either dead or not, there wasn't much in between. She had healed those she could, and eased the passing of those she couldn't. There wasn't much of it on her face even now, and by the time she had decided to step outside there was nothing at all. She was far too experienced in just - repressing it. Methodically, clinically picking those feelings apart and storing them in neat little boxes, clearly labeled and mechanically organized for a later breakdown. Or nothing at all, if it worked. Very healthy coping mechanism.

Althea couldn't decide if she regretted getting involved. That fact bothered her. Had she been happier just focusing on her archaeological work and magical studies, or was that too just a coping mechanism to avoid reality? Sh didn't know. She had the vague sensation that she had gone from a victim to... something else... but she didn't really know what. Not a hero by any means. Not an adventurer. And she was ill suited to be much of a savior. But she had agency now. She was no longer the helpless little thing she had been when the monsters attacked. Trying to hide rather than be eaten, thinking of herself instead of anyone else. And yet, in the end, she still thought mostly of herself. That was what all this was about. She didn't want to care about them. But she did. It was a paradox born of petulance, paralyzed by power. She shook her head. Linguistic shenanigans could only do so much to cheer her up. She needed some fresh air before she had a bloody fit.

'Fresh' was something of a misnomer, it turned out. The stench of burning flesh and raging fire as survivors hewed corpses onto pyres. Not quite the most relaxing and wonderful sight she had ever laid eyes on. But at least they were at rest now. Human or undead. They would never move again. It was sad, in its way, but almost calming in another entirely. They were finally, truly, done with this world, and no force in existence could bring them back. If there was an afterlife, they would find out soon.

A familiar mop of black hair streaked in silver caught her attention. Eyes and mind divorced from her thoughts, cast away in directions previously unknown. It had been... some time to be certain. It took a few moments to jog her memory. With equations and magic it was easy enough to commit to memory, pull it back up on demand. People... well, not so much. She'd spent enough of her life actively ignoring them that even now it was still a bit of a struggle. But not an entirely hopeless proposition.

"...Donovan?"

[Donovan]

He ran as quickly as he could toward the sounds of people calling for the names of their families and friends and away from the stench of burning corpses, and it did not take long to find where everyone was gathered. His eyes and mind worked together as fast as they ever had, searching for someone who knew anything about healing. There were so many people gathered around that it was hard to make out anyone who was in charge of a specific task. In fact, it seemed like this small town seemed to lack any organization in the aftermath of the attack.

He leapt up onto what he assumed was the town’s gallows to gain a better vantage point. The mercenary needed to be faster. He felt useless having nothing to fight and no one to lead. The only two things he’d ever really had in a crisis situation like this. As he took a breath to cry out for a healer he heard a voice. A familiar one that reminded him of the moon.

Looking down he saw the woman he’d met a year or more ago. Back when he was traveling with Doogan and Malkary and that whole lot. They were good men and women. Strong, smart, and honest. He didn’t even know if any of them were alive anymore. But it looked like she made it. Her white hair and red eyes seemed to glow in the firelight. She was a striking figure in this dramatic moment. Not the wisp of a thing he had found unconscious in a crater.

“Althea,” her name escaped his lips before his mind had even remembered it. But there was a time to reconnect. A time to find out how she’d been. And there was a time to act. Now was certainly the later.

“Althea,” he said, bold and decisive, “There’s a girl down the way who’s been trapped under some fallen rubble and seems like she’s seriously injured her arm. Is there a healer anywhere?” He felt like… himself again. The crisis. The pressure. The Purpose.

You’ve missed having a reason to be, Mercenary.

[Althea]

At a better time she would have been very likely to offer a dry, witty(?) crack at his decision to climb a gallows. It was an unusual act at the best of times... less so now. And it wasn't really a good opportunity to show off her newfound comedic genius. Besides, since when did SHE make jokes? Next you knew she'd be turning cartwheels down the road before exploding into confetti.

Levity was most assuredly not the order of the day as Donovan spoke though. She... didn't know him well. She had only ever met him once, when she was half conscious, and even then she hadn't been able to get a very good read on him. And she hadn't suddenly turned into a master of socializing. But it only required one to listen to his voice, hear his words, to tell that he was quite serious right now. And for better or for worse, Althea was fairly simple in that regard. She took people's words at face value for the most part unless there was a clear reason not to. Not guileless per se but certainly no master manipulator. So she had no reason to doubt him in the least and the thought never even crossed her mind.

Instead: what could she do to help?

"Yes. Take me to her."

Her voice was - tired. Not so much physically as mentally, emotionally; flat and lacking in concern or joy alike. She registered the request, accepted it. A small part of her might even have been glad to help. She didn't really know. She just recognized the necessity of it, recognized that it was an efficient use of available resources to use the only available healer to repair injuries that she could manage rather than those she could not. Simple. Practical. The thought of refusing never occurred to her either. She had no reason to. She wouldn't have refused even if it was beyond her means, either, though. So perhaps it was not quite as logical as she assumed it was.

[Donovan]

The mercenary was surprised by Althea’s response. She must have grown a lot to be able to use healing magic, he knew how taxing it could be on the wielder’s body from his time with Remus - who was often left drained and occasionally unconscious during some of the old guards more brutal battles. But Althea sounded tired. Almost like she was running on autopilot. She’d probably be on the scene for a while now.

Leaping off the gallows, Don smiled at Althea, “Looks like we have a lot to catch up on, little Archeologist.” He gestured for her to follow him and began to retrace his steps through the city. “So you’re healing now?” He said through labored breaths as they ran, “You learn any other fun tricks while I was away?” They came to a crossroads and Donovan veered left, looking for the crimson fox to guide him to the specific pile of bricks that the young girl (Welp. I never got her name) was buried under.

A sharp bark caught Donovan’s attention, as Kitchi stood besides the pile drawing his person back to the girl who had been so in need of help. His run slowed to a walk and he came to kneel down beside the girl and finish taking the last of the bricks away from her body. Kitchi happily ran in circles around Althea’s legs. It seemed the fox remembered her after all.

“Althea here is a healer. She’s going to fix you right up!” He did his best to make the girl feel safe and secure. “What’s your name?”

She took a breath and gasped out, “Marta.”

“Should we move her or leave her where she is?” He asked, looking up at Althea for guidance.

[Althea]

Oh! They were running. Her absolute favorite pastime, especially after a long day. Still, if Donovan was in such a hurry, she couldn't very well deny it; trying to ignore the possibility that someone was dying, too injured for her to help, she followed him without complaint or qualification. Hers was but to do in this situation. She had tried with all the others, she could offer no less now, regardless of her condition nor the chances of success.

...She hadn't realized quite how exhausted she was, though. Worn out by killing a number of Revenants and then further by healing all evening, she didn't feel as if she was out of magic so much as that her body was simply too weak to keep up. No amount of stored prana was of much use if you couldn't use it, after all; sharing a body and to a degree essence with Ereshkigal had given her more magic than she originally did, but none of the reflexive, natural control the spirit had over her power. Weren't you supposed to get phenomenal cosmic power after you got possessed by an evil spirit?

And why did they have to run so FAR?

"Perhaps a few" was about the most conversational she managed to get, responding to Don's question about tricks. Not out of intentional rudeness so much as the limitations of her current condition.

By the time they got to the fallen girl, Althea was thoroughly out of breath, each gasp ragged in her throat as her chest heaved with exertion. Slightly cross with jealousy than Don seemed completely unperturbed by the activity and resolving to try and work on her personal fitness a bit more, she steadied herself against the nearest standing wall - not as many of those around as she had hoped - to catch her breath. By the gods, was this how that Remus fellow had felt aiding Ereshkigal in defending that town? He had been healing for some time by the point Eresh showed up as well... though he was also a far better healer than she, so maybe it got better the more you practiced. She hoped so. The mage felt like she had fought entire battles without being as worn out as she was now. But she hadn't given up then, not even in the times she fought until she collapsed unconscious. And she damn well wasn't going to give in now. Not if people still needed her. Not when she still had something to prove. To them, to Don, or to herself, she didn't really know.

Focus. What did she have to do? This self-pity wasn't like her. All she had to do was heal. What did she need to do that effectively, efficiently, without mistakes or wasted effort? "...On her back," she managed after a few moments, trying to speak with the ruthless efficiency in communication she usually managed. It didn't work out as well as she'd hoped, but better than nothing. She couldn't see anything overly wrong with the girl aside from a clearly injured arm, but in the end it didn't really matter - any healing she could do would be much more effective if the patient was at their most natural state of immobility. "Arm - as straight as possible, angled from her body. Don't force it." As far as she knew, it wasn't REQUIRED to do that - properly applied healing magic should get it back together right regardless - but as she had learned the hard way, forcing something back into place without room to move could cause its own issues if located or angled awkwardly enough. This way, when the girl's arm righted itself, it would have some room to move.

[Donovan]

Donovan’s focus had been so concrete that he hadn’t noticed how exhausted Althea seemed to be. Her breath was short and she was leaning on one of the few standing walls in the area. “Sorry, Althea. I didn’t realize how…” His voice trailed off. What was done was done. Now was the time for him to follow her directions. Carefully and slowly, he lifted her from the pile and laid her gingerly onto her back. “This might hurt. Like. A lot, okay?” He took his belt off from his waist and folded it before he holding it forward. “You’re going to want to bite down on this. Trust me.” She had a terrified look in her eye as she took the belt and bit down on it. But she was brave, she had an absolute resolve in her eyes as she nodded for him to go ahead.

As carefully as he could he moved her broken arm away from her body. The girl’s screams of pain were stifled as she bit down on the belt. It felt to both of them like it took hours to get her arm in a straight enough position, but it really was only a few seconds. The girl tried to look over at the broken and bruised state of her arm, but the mercenary caught her eye and just shook his head.


He stood back up and stepped away. "She's all yours." He’d done all he could. Now all that was left to do was wait. He took a deep breath and his nostrils were filled with the smell of burning homes and bodies. "Things have gotten so bad out here."

[Althea]

"It's fine." Neither frowning nor friendly; there was little value in blaming him for overestimating her physical state when it was ultimately her decisions that had led to that result. That didn't change the fact that she needed a moment to rest, though. She would rather have been able to help reposition the girl, and the muffled screams did wear at her, but this was the most efficient way to handle the situation she could perceive - they would all just have to bear through this.

Donovan did a good job with his role, helping the girl calmly and patiently, much as he had done for her... how long ago had it been now? A year or two? She had never been very good with time and this unending adventure had worn at her sense of time even worse than usual. She wasn't feeling any less exhausted than she had, but with her breath returned to her, the dour dark mage still resolutely forced herself away from her resting place and treading the short distance to kneel at the girl's side. So young and terrified. She didn't look much older than... mmm... if she had to guess, she would say somewhere in the early tens. Eleven, twelve, thirteen-ish. Too young to die here, of that she was sure. And thankfully it didn't appear that the damage was... too severe, though she would know more when she started. Still... this would not be quick and easy.

"The pain will dull soon, but the process will take time. Stay as still as you can." Althea's words were calm, flat, bereft of affection or overt kindness, though saying them at all was in fact her best attempt at kindness. Her attempt at beside talk over and done as far as she was concerned, she focused on trying to gather her thoughts and align her focus on the task at hand. Knowing that this was doable, but difficult enough it would be far more in depth than a wave of her hands and whistling a jaunty tune. Bringing both hands to the girl's arm, at what she tentatively guessed to be the major fracture points. Willing the magic to flow. Not like a river of shadow, as she so often did. She did not call upon the Nether, or indeed anyone's aid at all. She simply called on herself. Trying to imagine the internal structure of the arm. The bones. The tendons, ligaments, muscle around them. Veins and blood. Flesh and skin. From bruise to bone. And she thought: heal.

It was only a dim glow at first. Rainbow light dully sparkling in the flickering flames and shifting shadows of the evening. But the flow of magic rapidly intensified as the first waves of pulsing healing magic flowed through the girl's body, helping her to understand the injuries better - ah, this bone is fractured her, that one is broken there; these bruises hide more damage, these can be repaired later. She could sense the bruises the bricks had left in the girl's body here. A small amount of internal bleeding there, almost interrupting her focus, worried it was far worse than it was. It would be wisest to focus on the arm for now, where the greatest pain and the greatest injury had occurred, but her work would not end there. She shifted her hands a bit and focused harder.

The glow intensified, tinging blue as sparks flew, coursing down the girl's arm like an army of mystical beavers. Following veins, muscles, delving more deeply into each injury. Granting her better understanding of what they did even as they slowly began to congeal and heal. In theory, if nothing unexpected happened, her job from here was essentially just to oversee the healing process from here, carefully metering the flow of magic and directing it as best she could, but it did not require her full attention, and she heard Donovan's despondent comment. Even she could hear the sorrow it carried. And she could not argue against it. "...Yes, it is. These people have no one. And there are so many who had even less as they died. Villages left to rot and burn in darkness."

[Donovan]

Althea seemed… colder than he remembered - less ethereal than when they had last met. It was probably just the concussion that made her loopy. He tried to remember everyone who had been there that day. Doogan and Brandon. Allie and Malkory. And… Gods above and below. How could I forget the other’s names?

Turning around he watched as Althea worked. The blue glow of her healing hands seemed to slowly ease the swelling at first. That’s always the first step, he remembered, Ma always tried to reduce the swelling first, while she analyzed the injuries. The thought of his mother stung - but not like it used to. It was a familiar pain that was almost… comfortable now. Her time in Etruria was limited, and she’d only learned so much healing magic - just enough to mend a broken bone, really.

He remembered when Tenzin had fallen from the rafters of an old playhouse they were performing in, and had completely broken his leg. Even with his mother’s healing stave, it had taken days of work for his leg to be in proper order again and she had barely left their caravan for the next few days, it had taken so much out of her. She always was more of a dancer than a medic. The smile crept its way onto his face for a fraction of a second. But he was fairly sure that Althea was too focused on her work and Marta on her pain to notice. Now isn’t the time for smiles, Liar.

“I wish there was some way to help them. Something… Tangible. There aren’t enough weapons or warriors to protect these smaller villages. Their marquess wouldn’t even pay them if their were.” He couldn’t help but blame himself. After all, he’d abandoned all the work he’d helped build to combat this thread. He’d put his personal quest ahead of the world. And the small folk had lost another defender for it.

“How is she looking? It’s pretty much just the arm, right?” He didn’t want to bother Althea, too much, but he felt that the girl needed just a touch of reassurance.

Did you hear that? Frag’s voice rang sudden in his mind. Behind Donovan, Kitchi’s big ears had perked and the fox’s head turned to stare at a seemingly rotting home across the street.

[Althea]

"Marquess Lucius is doing what he can," she responded absentmindedly, pausing a moment after she said it. Since when did she defend authority figures blindly? No. Not blindly. She had heard tales of how bad it was here. Althea was no politician, but as she understood it Ryerde had been a dumpster fire long before this undead menace. Some kind of political intrigue - she had mostly tuned out the details. But it was also possible that she was somewhat pleased by the discovery that this new Marquess had funded the country's magical academy quite nicely.

"As I understand it... they are investing heavily in infrastructure to build the march up, but the promise of a brighter future means little if there are none left to appreciate it." In the end, politics would go on, as they always had. Men seeking power, prestige, profit. And the lesser beings - the mortal mongrels walking their hallowed lands - they would pay the price. They always did. They always would. It was not something she could even comprehend how to fight. Even the best intentions of the mighty were often divorced from the reality of the weak.

The glow continued as the light continued to flow through Marta's body, dulling the pain just as the mage had promised. Not entirely negating it sadly, since her lesser injuries were spread far beyond the confines of her arm, where the magic was focusing both its healing and pain-suppressing capabilities almost entirely. Occasionally the girl's arm twitched, slowly sliding towards a more proper angle, but Althea knew better than anyone that her work here was... little more than merely begun. Getting it aligned correctly only allowed the next phase of healing to begin. Still. It was - gratifying to see some progress. To know that she wasn't too late, or too weak, to handle this much at least. "She will be - fine. There is some minor damage in her abdomen to attend to after I finish here. But given time she will recover completely."

Focused almost completely on her work, however, Althea entirely missed whatever the fox was looking at - she hadn't actually noticed it, either.

[Donovan]

The long away warrior had never heard of Marquess Lucius - he must have been a newly appointed Marquess. “You took the words clean out of my mouth, Althea. Without a people to protect, there’s not much that infrastructure can do for any of the Marches. I will say, if it weren’t for the seemingly endless waves of undead making their way to Ryerde, some work on Infrastructure would be exactly what the doctor ordered. This March always needed to work a little harder for its people.”

Marta’s teeth continued to bare down on the mercenary’s belt, but not with nearly as much force as she had earlier. It seemed the healing magics were working alright - even if it was taking some time. “Hear that Marta? Althea’s gonna fix you up. Just a little time and you’ll be back at it,” he looked around, realizing that there was a decent chance that Marta and her whole family was likely going to be uprooted and moving to another town. Hopefully they’ll move to a safer March, too.

Mercenary? Did you hear me?

“Hold on a second. I gotta check something out.” Donovan walked away from the pair and scratched Kitchi’s head between the ears as he passed, not quite catching the beast’s intensity.
Of course I did, Fragarach - I literally couldn’t NOT hear you if I tried.
Well, there is something over here. Make yourself useful and check it out, Layabout!
Donovan looked around at the rotting building - the windows were planked over and scorch marks were clearly visible around their edges.
I can tell you for certain no one lived here, he thought. It’s probably been abandoned for months. Maybe years.

His hand reached out and pushed the door open, but it was barely hanging on by its hinges. The home was littered with trash and broken glass. It seemed that the local kids probably used this as an escape from their parents. Donovan walked carefully, taking note of the rotting floorboards and the creaking that each step conjured. But his investigation of the abandoned home was cut short as he heard Marta’s voice calling out for him. “Donovan? Where did you go?”

“Right,” he muttered, hurriedly leaving the home to return to the pair he’d left outside. . “Girl is stressed enough. I shouldn’t go disappearing on her, too.”

[Althea]

There wasn't much else Althea could really say to that - she simply didn't follow the political structure of Lycia that well, to say nothing of the rest of Elibe. It seemed as though western Lycia in particular was forced to simply do the best it could with an untenable situation, little or nothing offering solace against the tide of undeath that crested upon its shores relentlessly. She nodded, but it wasn't much of a meaningful contribution to the conversation, and she focused on her healing as Donovan disappeared from her field of vision, seemingly distracted.

Privately quite thankful that her initial impressions had been correct, her healing was indeed having good effect - the girl's arm had visibly straightened out entirely, though internally the bone was still mending, cracked but no longer so severely damaged, and the bruises on the surface had nearly disappeared. There had been some damage to muscles and the like from the bricks falling on her, but most of that had been repaired now - at least as far as healing magic could handle.

"Your arm is nearly repaired," she stated simply and bluntly in her best attempt to cheer the girl up while informing her of the progress, "but there will be some residual soreness as your body finishes healing. I strongly recommend not exerting it too heavily for a day or two if possible to ensure there are no complications, but do not favor it for too long or it will weaken." An expert healer could certainly have repaired it more quickly and almost beyond complications, but even they usually recommended that victims did not overly stress the afflicted parts of their bodies in the immediate future; healing was magical, but it was no miracle, and the human body was fragile enough that allowing it to heal was generally wiser.

Donovan returned as she was finishing with the girl's arm, sparking some interest in his actions from the dark mage as she glanced at him. He didn't really strike her as the type to get bored and wander off, especially given the circumstances, and for obvious reasons she had been nearly blind to her surroundings during the healing process. Her voice was still even but tinged with a light note of concern as she addressed him. "Is everything alright?"

[Donovan]

Donovan crouched down and looked over at Marta’s arm - while once crooked and broken, it seemed to have come as close to being fixed as standard healing magic could accomplish. “Great job, Althea.That should heal really nicely!” Standing back up straight, he looked over at the abandoned building he’d just exited. “I think so… but I’m going to want to check that building out later - after we’ve gotten Marta back to the rest of the townsfolk. I’ve got a bad feeling is all.”


The wayward warrior took his water skin from his satchel and offered it to the moon lit woman with long white hair. “You thirsty?” He took off his cloak and sat down next to Marta, folding the long cloth garment and resting it under the young girl’s head. “Is that a little more comfortable?” He tried to make her feel like they were safe, but, ever the pragmatist, that did not stop him from keeping a watchful eye on the falling-down door across the road.

Marta seemed exhausted - suffering an injury like that would tire anyone, even after being healed as she was. He’d likely need to carry the girl back to the town center. But she was light and thin - probably malnourished - she’d be rather easy to carry. Hard to grow crops safely this far west, I’d wager. Fragarach’s voice sounded weathered and sad for these people. Don couldn’t blame the blade. Times were hard.

“Did you want to head back now or take a moment to rest here?” Then, after having a moment of calm to actually realize who he was talking to, “It’s good to see you, Althea. How’ve you been?” His voice was genuine and kind - the same as it had sounded on the day that he had found her in the dirt in a town decimated by some force unknown.

[Althea]

It was - strange to see Donovan being so kind to the injured girl. It made sense, logically. Rationally speaking there was no reason to be surprised; a silver tongued devil like him, with a tendency to help others, of course he would. It was simply a bit... discomfiting, perhaps? The one time she'd ever saved by a handsome prince had been just another day for him. Althea seriously considered punching herself a few times to drive out the pernicious thought. She wasn't anyone's princess, and she never again wanted to be a damsel in distress. She had found power, friends, perhaps even purpose now. But it still felt like she had lost a little something in return.

...Definitely not her sense of humor, if she could find that delightfully ironic. As the villager and the wanderer chatted, she brought her hands to Marta's stomach and spent a bit healing some of the relatively minor injuries she found there. As much a matter of finishing the job properly as simply being too stubborn to give up because she was 'tired'. But it would be a bald faced lie to say that when she could finally lean back, free of the necessity of healing anyone or focusing so thoroughly, it took some force of will to keep from collapsing like a puppet whose strings had been cut. She WAS exhausted, the magus silently accepted, realizing that she would need to sleep or at least nap soon if she was to be of any use whatsoever to these people. It was either that or she started draining people's life forces, and for a wide variety of reasons, she did not intend to even try that alternative.

It was oddly comfortable, almost relaxing, to have the three of them just sitting there. Two of them chatting about meaningless things she tuned out completely. Her, a stranger to the conversation, but enjoying the ambiance nonetheless. At least as best as she could. She didn't think she really 'enjoyed' most things the way normal people did. But it didn't mean she had to dislike them, either.

It took a few moments to realize Donovan had switched to addressing her, as much because she was having trouble focusing as because she had actively been tuning them out, but Althea marshaled her remaining mental resources nonetheless. His voice sounded - familiar. More than it usually did. More than it had, anyways. Feeling like she was thinking in circles and frustrated about it, she ignored the thought. "It is... good to see you as well." Was that the truth, or a pretty lie, mere courtesy to match the dance of trite chatter? Hmm. It was accurate, as far as she could tell. She hadn't really thought about it that much in the interim, but seeing him now did bring to mind the sheer number of things that had happened since they first met.

"I have been -" possessed by an evil spirit who REALLY sucked at being evil? Learning to kill monsters and people very efficiently? Meeting multiple dragons? Fighting for my life on a regular basis? Watching people around me die? Making and losing friends? "...busy," she lamely continued with a very mixed expression. "It certainly seems that Lycia is no longer any place to merely observe and study the past. Monsters, madmen, and magic to master. At least... it hasn't been boring."

It was a strange sensation, to know that she was in one of the most active eras in Elibe's history since the Scouring. Assuming that had happened as it was written. She HAD kinda met two living dragons after all, so apparently not all of them had died, and they both went around helping people. Were there more? Was there some grand conspiracy among the powers-that-be, or were most dragons just better at... camouflaging themselves than Shara and Jalid had been? Dammit. She had forgotten to even look into that.