Is there a Doctor in the House?
“My, my, the scenery in Nagrand sure is lovely this time of day.” Iophon switched from prowling cat to dapper elf with his usual grace. “Having a party, are we?” He eyed the chanting Orc for a moment before turning his attention to Bjorke. He frowned. “I don’t suppose she’s far enough gone to let you do any Light-based healing?” He spoke to Myrre, all the while assessing Bjorke’s wounds.
“No, not really, but… even then, I fear my skills are not up to the challenge.”
“Hey,” Bjorke rasped. “I’m right here. I can hear you.” She coughed again, pulling away her blood-spattered hand, frowning at it. “I hate when that happens.”
The Doctor chuckled dryly. “And does this happen often?”
She shrugged. “Often enough.”
“Myrre, you are to be commended on your work thus far. If she is this pleasant after triage, I can only imagine how difficult she was when you arrived. Now, see if you can scare up a kettle, and boil this up.” He handed her a sachet. “Not for drinking, mind you. She’s to breathe in the vapors, so nice and hot.” Myrre nodded and set off to talk to the Goblin, downstairs. He crouched down next to Bjorke. “Now, I’m just going to nudge things back into place, and I’d appreciate it if you don’t punch me for doing so.” He concentrated, and sent a healing wave of Light-energy over her.
“Just get on with it,” came her less-than-grateful reply.
His ministrations continued. The steaming kettle was brought forth, and he explained it was a clotting agent, and she needed to breath in the steam. Myrre settled at the foot of the bed, curling up, exhausted. The healing spells she had used on Hero had taken a toll on her. Once the druid had drifted off to sleep, Iophon settled down to ask questions.
“What are you doing out here? And who made such a lovely mess of you?”
Bjorke explained, slowly, between coughs and breaths of steam, about her delivering supplies. “People are skittish about cross-faction dealings. My partners don’t trust many, Alliance side. The more people that know what I’m doing, the harder it is for me to work.” She paused to breath in more steam. “It was easier… before. But public leadership has a way of garnering a great deal of attention,” she said rather wistfully.
“Contraband…. Or basic supplies?” He asked cautiously.
She leaned over the kettle once more. This time the coughs sounded more forced than involuntary, but she took her time inhaling. When she was ready, she leaned back against the bed, her eyes closed. “Do you always ask this many questions? Must drive Truitt nuts.”
“You should hear the questions he asks,” Iophon said mischieviously.
Bjorke groaned, rubbing her face in her hands. “I… don’t want to know.”
“Look, you need rest. A week of complete bedrest would not be too much, in my opinion.”
She shook her head. “Only way I’d stay in bed a week wouldn’t involve rest.” It was Iophon’s turn to groan.
“Very well, but I must do something. Let me help.” He nodded at the Orc. “I can’t talk to him, but I can get things from Point A to Point B. “ He continued on, offering his aid, wanting to be a part of the Order. Bjorke frowned while she considered this. Each problem she brought up was countered by a logical solution.
“I’ll think it over. Can’t afford to get behind, that’s for sure.” She turned, and crawled into the bed, curling up protectively around Hero, her hand on his neck.
Iophon stood, bowing graciously. “Promise me you’ll wake her if you get worse, or if you fail to get better, will you? I’d best get back before someone wakes up, and starts wondering where I’ve been.”
Bjorke tried once more to raise an eyebrow. Why the face? Why did they have to go after her face? “Tell him… he can take the morning off.”
