Lt. Ailill wasted no time in organizing his assistants. A quick check revealed that those patients already here were stable, and so he set Garkhen to taking an inventory of the supplies they had available. They were depressingly small, especially in such vital items as clean bandages. The elf seemed unsurprised by this, and sent one of the other healers out to gather some of the Company’s supplies.
“I’m sure we can convince our employers the lives of some of their soldiers are worth some compensation after this is over,” he answered when one of the others questioned the decision, “Especially if reminded we could fight for the other side next time.”
Before more supplies arrived, however, the first casualties were carried in. Garkhen stopped a moment in shock as he saw them. There had been few injuries on the march—cuts and scrapes, a broken bone, and so forth—so this was his first glimpse of the sort of wounds battle inflicted. Some were clearly mundane, wounds from swords or pikes or arrows. Others… were not. Horrific burns were likely the result of a wizard’s ball of fire or bolt of lightning, and the half-dragon preferred not to think about what could have caused much of a man’s side to seemingly have simply disappeared.
The little group of healers were soon hard at work. Lt. Ailill gave Garkhen and the others brief commands to bandage and tend to the less injured casualties, while he himself took the worst cases. The elven priest occasionally used a spell-prayer, as did the other healers, but he more often used non-magical methods of healing. After looking at a few of the casualties, he simply shook his head and moved on.
After what seemed hours, but was likely only minutes, the influx of wounded ceased, and the Company healers settled down to giving more long-term care instead of emergency aid. Garkhen, for a moment without orders, stopped by one of the men Lt. Ailill had passed by. He was horrifically injured, but somehow still alive. Garkhen was shocked he had not been treated. Glancing briefly at the others, he pulled out his symbol of Bahamut and uttered a spell-prayer of healing.
“Private!” Lt. Ailill shouted as he finished. “Have I yet ordered you to call upon your god?”
Oh, look, it’s a cliffhanger! Sort of. Kind of. Not really.
Anyway, apologies for the late post. It’s entirely the fault of FTL.