Post by Eliandor Ayzalth on Jan 17, 2018 10:57:25 GMT
The slash had been worse than he thought.
Usually he got a few nicks, scrapes, and cuts while hunting a mark, and occasionally dislocated a joint or broke a bone, but all such injuries Eliandor could treat with various degrees of success. He rarely visited any sort of medical center, out of both a lack of need and a distaste for them, but those that he did were seldom healers in nameless villages, outside of the newly established Cendra City. The wound hadn't been terrible, at first. Nothing more than a deep strike to his upper arm, painful, yes, but not something Eliandor would consider life threatening. He had cleaned it out, bandaged the slash, and figured he would be fine.
And yet, somehow, it got infected juts a few days later. Or perhaps it wasn't an infection. Although Eliandor seldom ran across marks that used poison in self defense, it was possible. The estranged werebeast hadn't even earned him a lot of profit to begin with, something that turned his mood sourer than his pain already had. Work had been slow after the treaty was signed, and although his reputation didn't put him out of business competition was high, and risk higher. Most of the human soldiers turned sellswords had died out at that point, but they had never been much of threat. Eliandor supposed things would eventually settle down, given a few centuries.
That was the least of his concern for the moment, though. He wasn't in the mood to lose an arm anytime soon, so finding a doctor was a pressing demand. Granted, it wasn't his sword hand, but a missing limb would still certainly put a damper in his abilities. Muttering to himself in an assorted mangle of languages Eliandor followed the directions he got from a nearby villager to a small house. Releasing the grip he held on his left arm the man knocked at the door, gritting his teeth to the slightest degree.
Usually he got a few nicks, scrapes, and cuts while hunting a mark, and occasionally dislocated a joint or broke a bone, but all such injuries Eliandor could treat with various degrees of success. He rarely visited any sort of medical center, out of both a lack of need and a distaste for them, but those that he did were seldom healers in nameless villages, outside of the newly established Cendra City. The wound hadn't been terrible, at first. Nothing more than a deep strike to his upper arm, painful, yes, but not something Eliandor would consider life threatening. He had cleaned it out, bandaged the slash, and figured he would be fine.
And yet, somehow, it got infected juts a few days later. Or perhaps it wasn't an infection. Although Eliandor seldom ran across marks that used poison in self defense, it was possible. The estranged werebeast hadn't even earned him a lot of profit to begin with, something that turned his mood sourer than his pain already had. Work had been slow after the treaty was signed, and although his reputation didn't put him out of business competition was high, and risk higher. Most of the human soldiers turned sellswords had died out at that point, but they had never been much of threat. Eliandor supposed things would eventually settle down, given a few centuries.
That was the least of his concern for the moment, though. He wasn't in the mood to lose an arm anytime soon, so finding a doctor was a pressing demand. Granted, it wasn't his sword hand, but a missing limb would still certainly put a damper in his abilities. Muttering to himself in an assorted mangle of languages Eliandor followed the directions he got from a nearby villager to a small house. Releasing the grip he held on his left arm the man knocked at the door, gritting his teeth to the slightest degree.