Filth Fever

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A06: The Soldier's Defense *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

         This hospital is composed of rock from the surrounding Redridge, which lends it a comfortable feeling of solidity. Inside, frescos line the walls. They depict warm, cheerful scenes intended to encourage healing among the sick and ailing. A small fountain towards the back of the foyer is fed by the nearby river, and a number of benches surround it, providing a place for conversation.
         The entrance to the hospital is guarded often by Sunblades, its interiors tended to by the Hearthguards. Older Hearthguards tend to patients and oversee its operation, while for the younger it is an opportunity to practice their skills and hone their trade. The servants garb themselves in Althea's colors, with a stole representing the City of Alexandria on the outside, to recognize their service to both.
         The building itself is quite large, though built in a way to make it appear to be a collection of smallar buildings rather than one large one. The Soldier's Defense is known for its ability to feel "like home." While it is still a hospital, it arguably accomplishes this feeling of peace and serenity better than many counterparts, with the benefits passed on to its patients. Across one of the walls are a series of paintings depicting the hospital's many benefactors over the years. The first in line is the painted face of an unknown soldier, who the hospital was first dedicated to.

Vaalyun usually takes care of patients here. But in the life of any adventurer, there comes a time when you /are/ a patient, and that time has come for the Hearthguard. He is in a chair with his leg up, bandaged. He has a blanket wrapped around his shoulders to fight off the chills that seem to strike him every now and again, and a bucket is in his lap - for obvious reasons, as he leans over it and retches powerfully, though there is long since nothing to expel.

Well. There are days and then there are these days. The Hearthguards and those of Dana combine to run the Soldier's Defense. But its defense? Well...it falls often enough to the soldiers of Althea, Her defenders. ...and those allied to Her.

Like the Sunblades. Svarshan is one such. He rests near Vaalyun, having been assigned there. He's quiet and exhudes an aura of comfort, of brotherhood. Of quiet. As the Hearthguard retches, he leans forward and offers the man a warmed towel, to wipe himself.

Again.

There are notes by the Sunblade's side. Notes and scrawl, sketches. Numbers and figures were one to look at them--though written in bursts. The lines unneat. <re!>

There are Temple uniforms one is happy to see. When one is oppressed, the sight of Serriel's Lance brings courage. When one is threatened, a Sun-In-Glory enkindles hope. When one is ill, a blue rose soothes the spirit in anticipacion of a soothed fever.

There are very few times then the scales of Vardama is a welcome sight, and almost none of them are in a hospital.

Yet, that is exactly the device on the mantle borne by a bespectacled blonde woman who peeks into the recovery room at the sound of piteous retching.

"Oh dear," she says, her tone that of a worried big sister, whose favorite little brother has been flattened by a terrible but recoverable fever. "That sounds horrible... Is there anything I can get you, sir? ....Oh hallo, Sunblade!" she chirps, waving enthusiastically toward the Sith.

This is *altogether* too chipper a mood for a house of recovery...

Of course....with one blonde woman, comes another. In this case, she'll be very familiar to Vaalyun as she comes in. She chuckles a little at Silmeria before she looks to Vaalyun....and takes a much closer look at him. And Svarshan and Silmeria would notice the shift in her expression. One from a happy jolly friend....to business. In this cleric's case, an Althean is almost always a doctor of some sort. "Hey Vaalyun. Is your leg hurting bad enough to make you puke?" She's not shaming him....but it's a very simple question.

Vaalyun wipes his lips and then spits a few times, shivering miserably. "Rrrrrrrrats!" he says, through chattering teeth, "Can you believe there were actually rrrrrrrats in the cellarrrrrr...!" He shakes his head as if he doesn't believe it himself. "I didn't think that happened outside stories. It's nevvvvver /really/ rrrattts." He balances the bowl long enough to hug the blanket closer to himself, then shuts his eyes and puts his head back, exhaling slowly. He looks up at his colleague, "No. It's only a small bite. Barely hurrrrrts at alllll."

"Peasse to you," Svarshan replies warmly. He offers a smile, as much as a reptilian may smile, to Silmeria, and then looks back to the Hearthguard. "Perhapss you may help me hold hiss. Head?" he suggests in quieter tones.

He gets up then, from his seat, and moves to Vaalyun's side. Crouches there.

"It will pass. You have good care, here," he says. Flicks his tail towards Sasha, and the other Hearthguards. "...they may even. Make the medissine tasste sslightly less bad. For you."

"...there are rumorss," he 'admits' in undertones. Tarien's own spark.

"Here, let me help too," Silmeria says, smoothly picking up a bucket and swapping it out for the hopelessly inadequate bowl while Vaalyun has his hands off it. The bowl's noisome contents are dumped into a nearby metal bedpan, and through it all the Vardaman manages to not lose her expression of gentle pity for the briefest moment.

Of course, one would imagine spending her time around more ghastly proceedings help to inure one's nose to the dark side of biology...

"And the rats are what made you ill, sir?"

Sasha takes this time to unwrap the wound and take a look at it. "Yeah. it's definitely a dire rat. It's filth fever." She says with a sigh. "Lady Silmeria.....would you find me a bigger bucket please?" She then looks to someone to the side. "bring some food for him. Whether he wants it or not. If he's not going to feel well, at least he's going to eat well."

"Offfff course it's fffffilth fffeeeever." Vaalyun says, with a tired laugh. "Jusssstttt toast or ssssomething, pppplease. If I can even keep that down." He shivers again. There is indeed the half-moon shaped bite of a rat on his foot, and while it's been cleaned, with nicely red with the infection caused by being bitten by something that eats in the sewers. "Went right through a gggggood pair of bbbbbooots, too." he laments.

Well. Sunblades lend strength and courage, and so. So, that is what the reptilian does, crouched there. Quiet, just quiet and breathing in and out as he listens to Vaalyun recount his story, and Sasha respond.

Now and then he moves his hands, ready to catch the man if he lurches forward, but other than that? Quiet. Peaceful.

"Certainly," Silmeria says, and moves to rummage about in a side closet. "Dire rats? *In* a basement? That's interesting... I suppose somebody's going to have to sweep the sewers again. Honestly, you'd think the Guild actively *keeps* the artificers from coming up with some way to keep them clear, if only for the training."

Sasha says, "if only it was just the training." She says to Silmeria. "but.....at least you're sick now. It gives you a bit of empathy when someone comes in sick themselves." She says softly. "Anyways....." She then looks to Silmeria. "....How come you're so cheerful all the time? I always thought Vardamen were a somber bunch...."

Vaalyun laughs again, then grabs for his bowl and retches once more, turning into a gurgle-laugh-spew that leaves him coughing and spitting. Yuck! He takes a few deep, ragged breaths, and says, "This is nothing." He lifts the bowl with one hand and then pulls up his robe enough to show that a deep, ragged scar goes almost the entire length of his thigh, some of it showing evidence of surgery. He throws the robe back down and catches his breath, then wipes his lips again, "But it still isn't eeeeenjoyable." Another fit of shivering. At least he's not seeing any pink elephants. Yet.

"Perhapss the artifissers. Are bussy thesse days," Svarshan says with a kind of humor. A kind of humor that might only make sense from a warrior-caste or a hunter. "There iss that plasse beneath their Guild." Ah, there's a kind of relish to it.

One could imagine the salivory glands working. Wetted. And yet--yet. He remains quiet, ready to lend a hand should the priest lurch forward.

Again.

Filth fever really is no fun at all!

"I love my work," Silmeria says simply.... and a few moments later she pauses, rewinding that statement in her head. Clearing her throat, she decides to clarify. "When people are dying," she begins, "they don't always have loved ones there to hold their hand at the end. Sometimes they have things left undone, or feelings they never shared. Things that would keep them from resting peacefully. So... if they can't have a loved one to take care of that, I can at least make sure they have a friend."

Standing, she toddles an empty -- though perhaps not for long -- feed bucket to Vaalyun's bedside. "That's my work, and I do it for love and gratitude to my Lady. If not for a kind Mourner to help me, my father may not have died as peacefully as he did."

Sasha says, "I know you don't enjoy the death aspect, But you do seem to enjoy helping others with their final wishes. I imagine that's all the reassurance they need before they go to meet her." She then smiles a bit. "So....we take care of them while they're here....and Vardama lets them rest when they go to meet her.""

"Thhhank you all for your hhhhelp." Vaalyun shivers. The blanket can't get any tighter, so he's just going to have to ride it out. "I'll be ffffine in a day or two. I did smash a couple of the rats. Guess I should have used a bill, like a ppppproper Althean. But I've nnnnever beeeen very good with it."

"Peasse to you, Hearthguard," Svarshan returns with warmth. He grips the man's shoulder, briefly--who are the scaled, with their claws and fangs, to hug? and then steps back to his chair.

"One iss here, as you need. Or not, as you need," he says. And well, he will be. The same feeling of strength comes forward, of comfort.

And, there's his papers and paperwork. He glances down at them, thoughtful, and then back up again.

Sasha says, "Depends upon how you do battle. I'd have used a blessing to create a force bill type...and attacked them with that. But that's me.""

"Ideally," Silmeria says, bobbing her head at Sasha... then chuckling at Vaalyun's moanings, shaking her head. "Oh, I'd hardly think one's choice of tools could ever determine one's fitness to serve! I'm far more comfortable using the gun my father taught me how to build, rather than my Lady's favored sword. But in the end, either will kill my Lady's enemies just as dead, it's simply the philosophy behind the choice and how it helps me serve."

Glancing over her shoulder, she raises an eyebrow at Svarshan. "Routine work to do abed, Sunblade?"

Sasha says, "if you relied upon me to use a bill to get you out of trouble? Yeah....prepare yourself to join Vardama. Cuz...I suck with a bill. Now.....using a blessing? Yeah, I'll make it work.""

"Ressources, hunter." Svarshan looks up with a hunter's humored look. He lifts the ledger just enough, so that she might glance, and then lowers it again.

"The world churnss, and one iss resolved to. Do ssomething for it. The Teacher hass wetted hiss clawss onsse. Too often." Again, the glitter, though there's nothing of Tarien's mirth to it.

Yet, the comfort, the warmth does not leave. He looks over to Vaalyun, watching the man.

"Bettter with a mace, at least. For now." Vaalyun says, then laughs - this time managing to do it without retching - "Better still with a healer's kit or mortar and ppppestle." He starts to get up, "I think I shall get some sleep while I can."

Svarshan looks up as the Hearthguard heads to bed. Or starts to. Then, tucks his ledger away, the inkpot.

"One will return," he says, because the Sunblades have jobs.