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Forbidden Temple of the Great Falls

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The gryphon's eyes snapped open, as at last wakefulness punched through his alcohol-induced stupor. He felt warmth on his head, and against his side; for a moment he had the terrible thought that he was in captivity, but lifting his head showed that it was merely Mary and her pet using him as a bed. He couldn't help the warmth he felt in his chest, and despite his better judgement questioning why exactly he was sleeping in a hallway, he only laid his head back down and slightly curled his long body around Mary, enveloping her in protective warmth to keep her safe from the noisy battle outside.

...Wait, noisy battle?

He lifted his head, and this time stood on all four legs; he rose slowly so as not to disturb the child, and considered moving her before realizing the barracks were, at the moment, possibly the safest place. He lept forward down the hall to start into a sprint, but landed on his wounded talon, and a sharp bolt of agony up his foot slowed him to a limping walk before it subsided enough to let him run.

Emerging from the door to a scene of victory, Swiftbeak was quick to realize he had missed the majority of the battle- And his chance to lend aid to the Hellguard. His ears flattened and his tail drug along the ground as he walked to match ranks with the remaining 'guard, penitently searching out Sir Morr.
 
Morr slowly pushed the small pile of corpses on his person off, his dented breastplate almost cutting off any air his lungs could take in. Forcing every breath, the knight rose to his knees, his entire frame bathed in gore. Coughing, the asphyxiation making him almost blind, his fingers scrambled over his chestplate, trying to unclasp it.

The Hellguards meanwhile were busy finishing off the rest of the mutated madmen, the remnants of the demon, still leaking copious amounts of acid, slowly eating their way into the ground. The battle was as good as over and the first of the soldiers began to account for the fallen and take care of the wounded, some of them saying their goodbyes to friends that would not survive the night. Sergeant Belatia, bleeding heavily from a vicious bite that had almost fully torn open her throat, was one of the few remaining officers, commander Kurze unconscious due to loss of blood caused by a ripped out leg, appeared to have taken command for now.

Sister Elia, her work cut out for her, sometimes literally, set to work tending those who could still be helped.
 
A small bundle of what appeared to be bedsheets sat in the corner of the room sobbing silently to itself.
 
The battle appeared to be over. This was good, now Zato could return to Mary. With luck, she was still asleep. It was remarkable that she had not awoken from his carrying her earlier. He stepped into the room where he left her, hearing the clicking of talons on wood as Swiftbeak passed.

The old man opened the door.
"Mary?" he called softly.
"Are you awake?"
 
With his work here done, and his robes in dire need of a good cleaning, Valetni turned and started walking up the stairs, the click click click of his cane announcing his presence. There was still other mysteries to be solved tonight, and he suspected sleep would not be easy tonight.

Those wounded Hellguard sure did put up a racket.
 
"M-m-mister Zato?" a small voice choked out across the room.

The pile of bedsheets moved slightly, A face appearing from a gap in them. Mary's cheeks were wet with tears, and her red eyes, peeked out staring at the Monk.

The little girl's voice was high and trembling.

"Don't let them get me Mister Zato..."

The bedsheets shuffled closer dragging across the floor with a small *shfff...shfff...* sound, interrupted only by the slow, quiet padding of bare feet on the wooden floor.

She grabbed his habit.

"T-They were after me Mister Zato, and I was running but they were faster, b-but then looked round and they were shadows with horrible glowing eyes, then I t-t-tripped and t-t-t-they caught me and-and-and then they were screaming and I was crying s-s-so I woke up but the screaming wouldn't stop, t-they're still coming for me Mister Zato, please don't let them get me, I-I-I don't want to..."

Mary was cut off as she broke down again, her little voice nothing but sobbing and tears as the tiny girl's legs gave way and she fell into a lump on the floor at Zato's feet, she'd let go of his habit, and her hands were balled up into fists which covered the young girl's eyes as she desperately sought to wipe the still falling tears from her face.
 
"VALETNI!" the voice of sergeant Belatia intoned from the ranks "GET THE HELL BACK HERE AND HELP! OR BY THE GREAT BUZZIAH, I WILL YANK YOU BY THE SCALP AND SLAM YOUR HEAD INTO THE GROUND UNTIL YOU HAVE BECOME A BETTER HUMAN BEING!" the bloodstained figure of the irate sergeant was rapidly approaching the limping monk.

Finally, unclasping the last binding, Morr tore the breastplate from himself, revealing a bruise where the dent had forced the metal to grind into the flesh, his choking becoming mostly-normal breaths again, blood welling up from his mouth as he kept kneeling, as he tried to shake off his exhaustion.
 
Zato knelt down and held the girl in his arms.

"Shh, Mary, it was just a bad dream. Nothing can get you here." Zato stated, trying to calm her. The old monk made a mental note not to let Mary look downstairs; he was not sure how much of the yelling was a dream or the battle.

For now, he set about to attempting to soothe the girl, and hoping that a second wave wouldn't approach. No doubt, the girl would be traumatized if she were so suddenly introduced to such a sight. His mind raced to think whether there was anything else he could do to calm her, or whether this was enough.
 
Valetni turned, one foot on the first step. He cringed back, bringing his cane up in front of him defensively. "I killed that...thing, I've done enough." He declared.
 
"REALLY? WE'VE BEEN DYING HERE JUST SO- wait, ah heck, Junkins! Go look for sir Morr, anyway, Valetni, we've been dying over here, quite unlike you, so SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET THE FUCK DOWN HERE! I WON'T HAVE IT THAT ANYMORE OF US DIE ONLY BECAUSE YOU WEREN'T IN THE MOOD TO HELP!" Belatia shouted and ordered, while steadily making her way towards Valetni.
 
"I don't really think there's anything I can do to help, you seem to have the situation well in hand." Valetni said, one hand on the railing as he slowly backed up it, the other hand slipping inside his robes.
 
Belatia, fuming now, quickly began to close the distance between herself and the older monk, when

"That is enough, weibel Belatia." the grating voice of Morr reached her ears, making her stop mid-movement "I am certain that brother Valetni's inherent goodness will- will-" Morr's words were interrupted by a slight coughing fit, some slight trickles of blood running down between the small opening between helmet and neck "- Brother- brother Valetni's goodness as a monk of Buzziah will certainly sway him."

For a moment, Belatia looked at Morr as if he had finally gone insane, but Morr continued "After all, Valetni, look there." Morr pointed at the battlefield, in particular at the scene of a Hellguard having nested a wounded's head in his lap as he quietly spoke to her, her arm almost torn off while her chest cavity had been ripped open "The wounded is that man's wife, he is saying his goodbyes to her. I am quite certain the sight warms your heart enough to realize that the man would be very upset to know that you decided not to help where you might have been able to.

Know, brother Valetni, that it is not I that would tell him, but merely those Hellguards from the Temple that are here will know of your capabilites and they will know that they could not find you here anywhere when your surgical abilities were needed most."
 
Valetn's eyes narrowed as he looked at the knight. He had not expected such...underhanded tactics, such explicit blackmail, such unknightly behavior from the knight. It simply proved the old adage that power corrupts. The old Morr would never have stooped to such tactics, an appeal to his so called 'goodness', or maybe pleading, but not this. He would have to take note of these changes. He mentally reclassified Morr as a potential threat, the scarred man would bear watching, though Valetni dared not make any overt moves against, not over something so petty, and certainly not while in the presence of the Hellguard.

Valetni slipped his free hand from inside his robes, where he had been clutching the gas protection apparatus, before turning to face the scene Morr described, avoiding making eye contact with the younger woman as he did so.

"The left brachial artery has been severed, and there is extensive damage to the associated musculature and mammary. The arm is a write off, and death from exsanguination is a near certainty at this point." Valetni stated matter of factly from his position on the stairs.


"I doubt any intervention of mine could possibly change the outcome...But I could possibly take a look." He said at last, descending the stairs towards the scene. "I could possibly use some assistance, weibel Belatia? I am sure you are most willing to help save as many of your friends as possible."
 
Kaleed's eyes snapped open. All at once, the pains and throbbing of the beating he had taken hit him.

With a groan, he rolled off the bed onto his hands and knees, breathing heavily. Air whooshed in and out of his nostirls, slowly becoming calm and even.

From downstairs, he heard no signs of battle.

Craning his neck around around, he inspected the room he was in. Filled with mostly beds, it seemed like a normal sleeping quarters. It was rather plain he thought.

Shuffling down the length of the room, he exited through a door, and found himself at the top of a set of stairs. Bracing himself on a rail, he shuffled down the steps, coming to another room where a small girl sat at the feet an old man, sobbing uncontrollably. He hesitated at the entrance of the room. The sounds he could hear coming from the far door told him that was where the battle had taken place, and they had brought him to the bed to recover.

He leaned on the wall next to the bottom of the stairs, slowly breathing in and out, he was already exhausted from the short trek down the stairs. Trying to look non-hostile as possible, he shuffled forward, favoring his left side where he was pretty sure he cracked some ribs.
 
Valetni stood before the couple, tapping his cane impatiently against the floor. "Move, please, you're not doing her any good." Ignoring the look the man gave him, Valetni kneeled down to inspect the damage.

The woman's face was pale, presumably from blood loss. Maybe.

Valetni placed one hand on her throat, feeling for a pulse. Slow, sluggish, but it was there. He ran two fingers down her throat, frowned, and repeated the procedure on the opposite side of her neck. He squinted, looking closely at he flaring nostrils.

"First, we need to arrest the bleeding, the arm is a writeoff, but we can hold off on the amputation for the moment." He said to Belatia. "Keep pressure on the stump, don't let go until I tell you to." He looked up, and spotted the stitch faced man making his way down the stairs. Everyone else was dead, dieing, busy, thirteen, blind, or a griffin.

"You, fetch some bandages." He ordered.
 
She continued crying for a while, the tears soaking the bed sheet her small body was wrapped in.

"I-It was so real Mister Zato... The noises wouldn't stop..."

Eventually though, her eyes dried up, although still pink and puffy. She pulled the bed sheet back exposing her hooded head.

"Mister Zato, where is everyone?" she asked, looking around at the empty room.
 
Zato took a second to register this question.

"They're left to the other rooms, but they'll be back soon." he replied, relieved that Mary had finally calmed down.

"You should stay here though. You need sleep" he added quickly, thinking of downstairs.
 
Kaleed's body involuntary jerked when the older monk commanded him to fetch some bandages.

He gathered himself, after a moment of recollection. He had some fresh bandages, already starched with a poltice, somewhere in his knapsack. Luckily, a guard came walking through the shattered remains of what used to be the door clenching it in a fist.

Lightly jogging to the man, he held out a hand. The guard stared at him for a moment, before wordlessly handing over the sack, and went about his business.

Kaleed held the sack with one hand, as he moved to the other side of the near dead woman. Dropping to both knees and resting on his heels, he arched an eyebrow questioningly at the old monk on the other side.
 
"Right, form a tourniquet just above the wound, I'd prefer to save as much of the arm as possible, sloppy work to take any more than necessary, but I'll settle for stopping the bleeding." Valetni said, half to himself.

Moving from the arm, he studied the gaping chest wound. "Let's see, several broken true ribs, I'd say three. Massive damage to epithelial, connective, and muscular tissue, and definite respiratory issue." The blood oozed up out of the wound, painting a very hard to read picture. He shuffled bloody hands around inside his robes before extricating his 'surgical' kit. It saw use more often for dissection, but at least he kept them sterilized. He withdrew a trocar.

"Help me with this." He told the stitched man, as he attempted to roll the half armored guard onto her side.

This completed, he took up the trocar, and stabbed her in the back.
 
"I've never actually done this on a living person before." He said out loud as the trocar encountered some resistance. No doubt muscle or cartilage. He merely drove it deeper, gauging its progress almost entirely by eye and feel.

"Vhat ve got here, is a buildup of air outside the lung that prevents it from properly inflating." He explained to the shocked looking husband. "Vhat I want to do is relieve that pressure, and allow the lung to reinflate." He said in a casual manner as he withdrew the trocar. He put a finger over the hole, unmindful of the gore. "No suction, I guess I should go in from the front after all, we'll just slap the bandage on that." He said.

Rolling her back over onto her back, he slipped the Troca into the opening wound, pressing past shattered ribs. There was a faint, barely audible hiss as the pressure was relieved. "What I'm doing now," He said as he placed the troca down and picked up a hollow glass cylinder, "Is to allow the air to continue to drain without being blocked up by all this." He said, gesturing at the mess that was the man's wife's chest not too long ago as he slipped the tube into the whole he had created. "All this? Superficial, scar real ugly, bad chance of the infections, but no life threatening bits." He explained. "Any fool can pack and bandage that, for now, ve return our attention to the arm."

He maneuvered the limb into position, drawing a weak groan from the woman. "You know, there are two Vays to take off a limb." He reached inside his surgical kit and extracted a knife, with a blade about six inches long, and a saw, with a larger blade. "You can do it quickly, vithout much pain, or you can do it slow, and correctly." He began humming a song to himself, a popular folk song comparing tobacco to a rose.

"Normally, my patients do not much mind if I take my time," He smiled ghoulishly, "But I think you may be vanting some speed with this, no?" He said as he began cutting away.
 
Kaleed knew quite a bit about first aid, and had a pretty good sense of medical knowledge. Knowing how a body works just makes it easier to figure out a way to kill someone, he supposed.

At the mans direction, Kaleed deftly fashioned a tourniquet out of a broken piece of chair and a strip of fabric. Settling the device about 2 inches above the wound, he brought it around the arm, and after a dozen twists, had it nice and tight. He noted that the bright red blood had stopped seeping, that was good. Bright red meant arterial bleeding. He then set another even higher, near the top of her arm. He had discovered that you could keep tourniquets on for quite longer than most people thought. 8 hours was the max he had ever seen it still on and managing to save a limb.

It took him less than a minute to complete his actions, at the older monks instruction, he stabilized the woman's neck, and helped him roll her on her side.

He watched on, watching with intrest.
 
It was unfortunate that the wound happened to centered over the bicep. It was fortunate that Valetni's knives were sharp and and the woman was barely conscious, even so, his actions were definitely having an effect as she twitched and attempted to move.

"Hold her down tightly," He instructed.

The first incision was actually in front of where he planned to cut, light slicing skin and pulling it back, strip by strip, rolling them up like cuffs on a shirt. That would come in handy later. Taking the knife, he began slicing through the musculature. Making slow, careful incisions, he wished he had his journals right now. He would simply have to go by memory.

"You know, my record for an amputation is five minutes, but sometimes it take much longer." He supplied helpfully before setting to work.

He worked his way, unmindful of the blood, around the bone, stopping every now and then to ligate an artery or vein. Eventually he manage to clear away the underlying tissue, exposing the the bone.

With a smile, Valetni took up the saw blade. "You know, bones are quite interesting, excellent combination of strength and flexibility, vonderful building material I'd imagine." He said as he made his first stroke. "I must say, you're vife's bones are either quite tough, or I haven't sharpened this in avhile."

The sound of the sawing filled the room for nearly half a minute as Valetni merrily sawed his way through her humerus. "I much rather cut through one bone, than two, at the forearm, or a joint like the elbow." He commented to anyone who was listening, as he finally cut through, separating the arm entirely.

"There, perhaps you vould like to keep this, as a momento perhaps?" He said, handing the limb to the husband, who merely watched dumbly.

Placing the saw down, he picked up the brush, lightly removing the sawdust from the area. "Ve vould not like that getting all in here, no?"

Putting down the brush, he picked up a file. "You don't vant the sharp edges, creates chance of tearing, no?" He said as he began to neaten up his cut. After several seconds of this, he placed the file down as well. Tying any additional necessary structures, Valetni took the flaps of skin he had previously cut away, and folded them over the stump. He then began to stitch it in place, quick, jerky movements of thread and needle that swiftly saw the sealing of the incision.

"Vell, my vork here is done." He said, gathering up his tools. "Someone else can handle any other injuries, she probably survive the night." He paused, standing. "If she survives the veek, she'll probably live."

"By the vay," Valetni said, addressing the husband. "Congratulations on your new child." He paused to let that sink in. "She's pregnant, I assume it's yours." He said, "If it's a boy, I vould not object to the naming of Valetni, if girl, Valnetta." He stepped back, turned, and headed towards the stairs.
 
Kaleed held the woman down as the older monk began treating her arm. Blood sprayed and flew with every cut and sawing motion the man made.

Kaleed would eat the discarded arm if the older monk wasn't enjoying this.

He began to wrap and package her arm and back, using the special wraps he had treated days before. Hopefully they would help prevent infection. She hadn't died yet from blood loss, so that was probably not an issue anymore.

He nodded to the husband go stood nearby, looking very pale.

Standing aside, he watched him collect her and slowly make his way out of the room, carrying her with the help of a couple guards.

Kaleed turned, surveying the room. Most people had stopped to watch, and upon meeting his eyes, became startled as if they had forgotten something. The crown slowly dispersed and went back to repairing and cleaning the area.

His stomach rumbled audibly. He turned toward the older monk. Valentni? He thought that was the name he heard.

Kaleed bowed slightly, trying to show respect to the man, if not for his knowlege and medical prowess, tonight would have been much more terrible.

Reaching into his knapsack, he pulled out a small tablet with a string that had been attatched and hung it around his neck. Most people didn't understand the finger language that he had learned in his own country. He supposed he would have to learn how to better communicate with the symbols of this land.
 
She looked up at him.

"Ok..." her hands fumbled with the hem of her sweater.

"b-but don't leave... at least, not until I'm asleep..." she stood up and grabbed a section of his sleeve.
 
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