Constablebrew says:
Time travel - at camp before the soldiers arrive
Finished tending to all the wounded, Gennadius agitates the old bandages in a small pot of water, cleaning out the grime and scabs. He is waiting for a second small pot to boil, which he will place the bandages in as the final step in cleaning. After which, he'll pack them away carefully in his healers pouch.
It's quiet while he scrubs the cloth strips. But the space around Damanandros feels even quieter, a space that pulls in and drags down the air around him. Gennadius knows that, or at least has been around others like that before. Many of the veterans in the arena had the same aura about them. They were the most dangerous too, often snapping out at those around them for the smallest disturbances. Those men were wounded, but those sorts of wounds were scars on the mind and heart, not the sort that was cured by a poultice or tincture.
Gennadius' own self-chastising fades into the background as he considers Damanandros. A sense of duty as well as sympathy, and even discovery push Gennadius into action. The man has wounds that must be cleaned and stitched so that they may heal, but how does one do so without the normal tools to do so? Hiding a wound under a garment just lets it fester. It is always best to look at it directly. Take the pain of cleaning it, pulling out the dead flesh so that the healthy flesh can mend. After that, the patient must be distracted from the pain, allowed to focus on other things, tasks, jobs that avoid atrophy and keep the mind occupied so that it can remain healthy while the healing takes place.
Gennadius wants Damanandros to fully describe to the group, or at least to Gannadius, what happened back with the goblins. He needs to get the wretched story out. That story, kept inside, only rots Damanandros' mind and stalls healing.
Once that is out, Gennadius doesn't want to dwell on it too much. In-fact he has been meaning to ask the mage about the sleep spell he cast. How did that work exactly? It's an exciting topic that he is earnestly interested in and probably would be a great distraction for the mage to discuss once the horror is out of him.
"Your wounds, Damanandros, they heal fast. It's horrible still, but thankfully it were just needles it seems instead of blades. I know it was terrible, but, what exactly happened?" Gennadius lets Damanandros tell his story...
Damanandros stares deeply into the work being done by the skilled hands of the healer. In this way he can be present with his companion without exposing the conflict going on within.
His words settle in and it becomes apparent that he is probing into the events of that long night. Even as his own memories reach into that chaos, it is painful and he winces outwardly, forcing his eyes shut.
He sighs and opens the valve to allow only a trickle, maybe it would help to share it, maybe he could trust, maybe Gennadius will understand and not think him weak or stained by the defilement.
"It started with the song, while I stood my watch." Damanandros exhales, his breath easing the mounting pressure.
"It was the most beautiful sound I have ever perceived. It called to me, and I was unable to deny its influence." His lips begin to draw tight around the confession of his sin, a loss of control.
His throat tightens and he is forced to clear it before he can speak again.
"I am sorry, it is hard to talk about." He clears the air for a moment.
"In my studies, I have learned that control over my mind and body is vital to my success. It has become taboo" Damanandros makes eye contact, to see if he understands. The connection urges him to continue.
"Once I was away from camp, even as I fell into the trap set by the goblins, I longed to find her, the source of the enchanted song." He reaches across to place a hand on Gennadius’.
"You understand that I was disarmed of my logic and will, I was unable to see clearly or to think rationally. I only knew a longing for her presence." It is important that Gennadius understands that the post was not abandoned willingly, he was under her control.
"Even as she revealed herself, she appeared as a goddess, a creature of unsurpassed beauty and light." Damanadros’ pulse quickens and his face flushed with the coming emotional surge.
"There is nothing I would not do for her, she asked that I submit myself to her will, and I did, take my right eye if I did not." His voice is raised and he stands as he is swept up in the moment. Still she influences him, still he is hers.
"And so I answered all her questions, and she wrung from me everything." His face contorts as the emotions push through the aperture he had allowed; tears begin to fill his eyes. He sniffs, pulling back away from Gennadius. Shame twists his visage, and he breaks.
"I am sorry." The only words he can muster through the emotional torrent.
Last edited April 29, 2023 10:40 am
