Hero
Kaz’ran carried the dog gently, his large arms and hands cradling him. Even the Goblin downstairs looked stricken at the sight of Hero. He lay the dog on the bed, and headed back downstairs to do the same for Bjorke. She protested much more than the dog, and he grinned at her. “I like carrying you,” he said in Orcish, knowing she didn’t understand clearly.
She hit him anyway, and he laughed. The look in his eyes showed he was deeply worried for his friend, and her companion. He set her down next to the bed, and she knelt over her beloved dog. His fur was matted with blood, and he lacked the strength to whimper. She stroked him gently, speaking softly to him.
“Kaz no help ‘Eero.” His voice was filled with despair, and Bjorke understood what he was trying to say. “I can’t heal him, either, Kaz. He’s… too bad off.” She reached into her bag, and pulled out her hearthstone.
“Myrre…. You gotta come help me.” Her voice broke off as she went into of fit of violent, gurgling coughing – the kind that signals a punctured lung. “It’s Hero. He’s… he’s hurt.”
The Druid looked at her ‘stone, checking the location. “Where in Nagrand are you?”
“Rachet.” More coughing. “Hurry, Myrre, please. Please.”
Myrre blinked a few times at her ‘stone before responding. “I’m on my way, Turid.”
“We’re on the outskirts of town, Goblin named Jazzik will let you up.” She managed to choke this out before coughing again.
At the sound of the elf’s voice downstairs, Kaz’ran moved to the top of the staircase. He was a fearsome sight, covered in blood – most of it Hero’s and Bjorke’s, with various cuts and bruises littering his huge green body. But the look of fear in his eyes was probably the most worrisome thing. Fear can take over reason in a heartbeat.
To her credit, Myrre remained calm. “Let me past. I’m here for Bjorke.” She could see her Turid over the railings.
“No.” Came his reply in clear Common.
“It’s ok, Kaz. She’ll help.” Bjorke spoke to him in Orcish, and then to Myrre in Common. “He’s up here.”
Myrre carefully moved past the Orc, who had taken a few steps back. She looked at the blood covering her Turid. “What… happened?”
Not taking her eyes off Hero, Bjorke replied simply, “Trolls.”
The Druid crouched by the bed, and ran her hands over the dog, feeling his life-essence. “I won’t lie to you. He’s bad, as you said. But… I think I can save him.”
Myrre wove her healing magics over the animal, using spells she had learned over the years in her travels through the wilderness. Bjorke watched, her eyes brimming with tears, occasionally coughing fitfully into her gloved hand. She was oblivious to the blood covering the glove, more and more with each cough, but it was not unnoticed by Myrre.
“As soon as we’re done here, I’m finding you a priest.”
“I’m fine. Doc’ll see to me, later.”
Once the dog was breathing easier – Myrre had said his will to live was strong – she turned her attentions to her Turid. She cleaned her wounds, and was allowed to offer a minor rejuvenation ward. But these injuries were greater than her capabilities, even if the stubborn woman would allow her to try.
“Call Truitt. He’ll know where to find the Doc.” She sank to the ground, leaning up against the bed, not taking her hand off Hero’s back, except to remove her hat, and gloves, tossing them on the floor. Myrre blanched, seeing the gash in Bjorke’s head. She nodded, and spoke quietly into her ‘stone, dialing the Exchequer’s private channel.
Every now and then, Kaz’ran would begin chanting again. Myrre finally gained the courage to ask. “He’s meditating, for the dog’s spirit,” Bjorke said, her eyes closed, as if willing herself to heal. The Druid dabbed at the wound on Bjorke’s head, cleaning it as best she could.
“And what about him?” Myrre jerked her head towards Kaz’ran, who was still chanting. “How did he get hurt?”
“He pulled me out of there. Me and Hero. Good friend.” Bursts of coughing punctuated her short sentences.
“Can I ask about what happened? Why’d the trolls attack?”
Her eyes remained closed, and she shrugged slightly. “The deal went bad. Seems when you hang a troll’s head as a trophy on your wall, word gets around.”
