The Elf looked to the free appendage which Oliver held, consideration shadowed by his veil. He briefly considered the use of a preservation cant but quickly recognized the futility. Flesh rotted beyond the point of even Sitha's renewing grace. What would eventually be done with it was not his decision in any case. That which was removed was not always easily cast aside. A problem for later.

Syr Veth continued on with the final steps of the procedure. He nimbly began to stitch the 'flap' created earlier over the now open muscle and bone. The needle pricks would likely seem inconsequential compared to the earlier...carving. A final piercing of unpleasantry heaped upon all the other indignities.

Exactly one-hundred and twenty-three seconds later, the healer wiped his brow as he set aside his tools.

"Might be your best work yet," Syr Zirain chimed in. Her words also drew Castor from his reverie. The Elf responded with an appreciative nod before turning back to the others. "Under normal circumstances I'd recommend at least a day's rest before trying to move..."

Normal could slap Castor 'cross the face and he'd not recognize it.
 
Teeth near ripped through rope pulp. Jaw slatherous with a look of madness deep in dark eyes wide with snarled twist of brow. Chest heaving, shoulders rising and falling, as dark curls stuck to sweat wet skin. Sticky with old blood turned to sludge. Tumbles of midnight hair, turned to streaks and splits and spidering rivers of black there beneath the tattered turban.

Breaths, heavy and full with force. Desperate waves against the sands of time still there in his hour's glass.

Bebin spat. Rope jig fell unto the dirt, half tumbled a worm set to inch. Breaths. Teeth. More like fangs. Eyes cold as the thief's moon, and glittering scales of blackberry sprouting there beneath them. "We move as soon as we are able," he hissed, ragged.


-Fin-​
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom