Rune casters IC

[AvisCrown]

The city of Ashchaven was always busy with traders and pilgrims flocking to the city everyday. it was the glory of Rothinya. Today was a particularly important day. Rothinya had been raged by civil for nearly a decade. Peace had come at last only for the kingdom to be ripped back into chaos by the death of King Alaric . Today however brought a new beginning as the king's heir, Prince Ferdinand was to be crowned king.

Just barely a man at the age of nineteen Ferdinand was a rather short but stocky individual. He lacked charm, brains and all else. The one thing he did not lack was ambition and determination which made him popular for a kingdom desperately reaching out for hope. With the right council Ferdinand could perhaps be a great monarch or at least keep the kingdom standing. Still, despite the doubts many had of the prince, it seemed nearly half the kingdom had flocked to the capitol to see him be crowned and shower him with praise.

The city was decorated with blues in honor of the new king. Street preformers and thieves took advantage of the crowds, both making out with a pretty shilling. Stalls lined the market street with decorative mementos of the event, as well as deadly festival food.

The sanctum took advantage of this event. to flex their own muscles and to remind people the evils of magic and the wildlands. The sanctum often used events such as this to display their prisoners, the rune casters they had caught. Some were only as guilty as the birthmark on their flesh. The sanctum was popular as always and few questioned it's teachings. After all the goddess Imea saved them all from the age of chaos and guided them to safety where she would continue to guide them along the path.


The sanctum had not taken all their prisoners out to be put on display to be humiliated. One remained in the sanctum's dungeons. Only a small bit of light shone through a small barred window into the damp cell. A long thin figure hung from his arms, not quite high enough so he could stand up right but not low enough so he could sit. He should consider himself fortunate he had lived longer than most prisoners of the sanctum. He was stripped to just a pair of ragged pants. His meatless chest exposed. Scars both new and old where scattered across his body. His head hung low, his black hair hiding his face. One of the guards grabbed him harshly by the jaw, forcing him to look at him. His limp body did not protest the action.

"Call for a blasted healer!" He shouted to another. It would seem they were a bit to harsh with their treatment this morning. A trail of blood ran down the side of the prisoners face. The other guard did as order and went on search for a healer, a task made harder considering the events going on that day and most had left to watch the event for themselves.

[Vaidia]

The revels of the kingdom were not something she would easily partake in. Her place in the recent civil war was a token act, nothing more than her usual work of taking down the rouge rune caster that had dared infringe upon her Kingdom. In fact, it was from such an excursion she had just returned from. It was a bandit, one with the affinity for fire and extorting some small borderland settlement for money in exchange for safety, that she most recently had to dispose of. A small act, but one that had taken some time to accomplish.

There was not much rest for the wicked it seemed, but she did her best to repent and prove her worth under Imea's Grace.

Vigil.

It was easy to stand and wait and do nothing, but to a wise man there was nothing more a challenge. Within the smallest fraction of time, there existed an infinite amount of possibilities to occur. Every breath was a chance to speak the most pristine of words, or to make sure none were spoken again. To move with the grace of the beasts of divine construct, or to be one that rended flesh most tender. She had been reading of the sanctity of a moment in recent times, and often wondered what she could be doing with them other than the nothing she was now a victim to now.

Nothing. Waiting. Was she simply jealous of the partakers in the festivities above that these moment may be bitter weights upon her mind? Or perhaps this melancholy was more deeply set, a corruption set into her soul from such filth around her.

Vigil. Purpose in serving in wakefulness and observing.

The man-- a rune caster from the wildlands-- had been there when she had left, and remained there upon her return. Mercy recalled his name, one spoken in hisses amongst the other Enforcers and between the drunken chortles of the common guards. Orlander. The one whose impurity also brought great clarity. She did not see why the sanctum kept him as a wretched beast of theirs, locked in stone and chains, a slave as much as a saint. It would be better if he were one of the others in the wild lands, then he would be something she could hunt and deal with. Yet, the Sanctum was absolute. She would hunt, no matter where the intel came from.

"Call for a blasted healer!" A voice. Young, if not in age than in mind. Mercy glanced over to the cell where the man was grunting out an order. To her. He smelled of soap, and his hair was trimmed to precision, every strand seeming the same length from the top of his head to his mustache and beard. One of the newer men on the guard details, instilled sometime during her absence. He did not know her.

Mercy stood as rigidly and poised, but she did not need the polished appearance of the other guard to insert her authority. She regarded him in a few moments of silence, taking in those small little details and tells of the guard, like a tonic that simply was all taste and no substance. His mustache bristled. Patience was indeed in short supply.

"Well, are you just going to stand there? Or let this sod bleed himself paler than he already is?" The guard called out in a bellow like voice. It was pitched in a high wine, but nothing like the fruity drink that had grown so popular from the trade from other kingdoms in the past century. Sour and rotten.

Mercy was still silent. The man opened his maw to wheeze out something else. She lowered her gaze slightly, looking down onto him. His mouth shut with a nearly audible snap. She turned away with a precise motion, exiting the place. Her vigil seemed to be no longer needed, and she was not one to disobey an order, or waste words when they could be so well spent on things of actual worth.

[Xanthuss]

Bella tugged her hood down over her eyes, hiding the vivid green slits as she flitted through the crowds. She was here for ancient knowledge, the type the sanctum kept hidden away, afraid to destroy it should they one day encounter a caster who used it and no longer remember what they were fighting. Her smile was thin beneath the dark garment as she scanned the useless crowds full of joyous peasants.

Her eyes alighted on a podium, displaying the casters imprisoned by the sanctum. She grimaced and turned her head away, staring at the cracked flagstones instead, the horrid sight scaring her vision. This was why she needed this knowledge, she needed to protect what she held dear. The people of the civilised lands were evil. And the ones not evil, deluded.

It might be a century, a millenium, but eventually they'd come. They slow encroachment of civilisation happened inevitably, their greed for new land for their ever expanding population. One day they'd reach Dilthan and her family, her people, would be in their line of fire.

Her fists clenched under the flowing arms of the robe, Bella made her way forward. Always forward. Towards her goal. She had traveled so far and if it meant raising the city to the ground, or worse - robbing the sanctums very inner temple, she would do it for her son.

She had seen what her parents were, and she would use all that existed to be the very best parent that her son could need. To protect him and his descendants for eternity.

Her pace quickened as she slipped into the shadows, leaving revelers behind. Her keen eyes scanned the darkened backstreets, a mission in her heart. To rob the forbidden texts. Now, she just needed a distraction.

[Megilwen]

Assa was in the Sanctum's medical wards completing the cleaning duties for the day. She'd draw the short straw and had to stay behind while everyone else had been able to go to the Festival for the King's coronation. Even Master Emilian, the head of the Sanctum's healers, had gone. Granted such a high ranking member of the Sanctum had to go, not just for proprietaries sake, but because someone was needed to make sure the current prisoner's on display would not parish during the day, unless the Sanctum wished their deaths that is.

Currently she was bare foot mopping the stone floors so as not to get the floor dirty with her shoes while it was still wet. Master Emilian always chided her and the other healers on keeping a clean medical ward. 'How can we expect to heal people when disease clings to filth!' She'd already washed down all the tables and equipment with a heavy lye soap mixture and her hands still stung because of it. She was hoping to get all the chores done before the parade came by so that maybe, she could at least see the King ride by on his way to the Coronation since she wouldn't be able to attend.

Assa unconsciously began whistling along with the music outside as she swept and sent up a silent prayer to the goddess Imea that the young king and todays well-wishers would all be safe this great day.

[BumblingBee]

"I know that tune"
The voice was rounded and broad. It sounded like a beggar from the streets, not an ex prince by far. Asher sauntered into the ward casually. A hand was pressed firmly to his arm while a red stain darkened the burgundy leather. He was dripping blood all over the place, yet it seemingly didn't bother him in the slightest.

He hadn't been here often really. Only every now and then for the odd royal visit. It was nice to see the place so quiet for once really. Asher glanced around in a semi curious fashion before his gaze eventually rested upon the girl. He motioned the the gash upon his arm vaguely.
"I could do with a patch up if you wouldn't mind"

[Vaidia]

Normally the halls would be filled with people going about their day. Guards of parade and scholars breezing down the halls, followed by two or three apprentices nipping at their heels. Tradesmen delivering their wares all the while trying to make new bargain, and messengers hustling to and fro, faces straight and even as to not betray the 'secrets' they held. The seldom permitted rune caster whose path divided the bustle of people like a stone in water.

The halls were empty, save a rather reluctant and motley garrison of guards each baring the same gloomy expression, and hardly the full detail that normally kept the Sanctum safe. And herself now, walking in even steps, echos bouncing off the walls that were normally muffled by the mass of humanity and the noise that came with them. Her gaze remained straight ahead, elevated to a point slightly above the horizon. Any officer that saw her 'march' would be proud. There were only the guards there who stiffened fearing she was such an officer, froze upon seeing the uniform of the Enforcer, and nearly gasped upon seeing the white gloves that she was so well known for. The buffoon in the dungeon might not know her, but she was hardly forgotten. Whispers followed after her, and she paid them no mind.

The Hall of Healers was one of the few Rune Caster building of the Sanctum complex that was easily reached by civilians. Most of the others were kept isolated, even from some of the common Sanctum members. She had, of course, seen the training halls, dungeons, and Old Library filled to the brim with forbidden texts and knowledge. The public was happier not having to worry about of those things existing, especially when those things were often used as threats for misbehaving children or spoken about in fidgety whispers in tavern corners. Mercy's expression darkened ever so slightly. Rumors were poisonous little creatures.

The Enforcer rounded one last corner, entering the main foyer of the Hall of Healers. Sounds of the festival wafted through the open doors, folk songs repeated in jubilant refrains by instrument and singer alike, laying the air thick with an infectious joy. She had come in from the back way, knowing that at least one healer would be left on the premises during the celebration-- and sure enough she could hear the whistle of one of them joining in the miasma of sound. She could feel her feet slide slightly on the ground, and smell the soap in the air. Tainted in nature, but never living in filth. Emilian had changed little over her absence.

As Mercy walked the rest of the way into the area, the healer's whistling stopped, and a man's voice began. An injured man, but one armed. She continued forward, stepping into the light, hand resting easily on Wolf. The blade gave a low hum, one that was swallowed up in the sound outside, so that she felt it more anything. One of the properties of the blade its reaction to rune casters, but it was only reacting to the girl. It rarely stopped humming since she returned to the city.

"Identify yourself." Mercy asked in sharp tones, walking to place herself between healer and man. He was covered in grim and filth, and the air of neglect (and smell) radiated from him. It was probably a town drunk who took advantage of the celebration and hurt himself. Her eyes lingered a moment on the wound on his arm, before returning to his face.

Mercy's eyes narrowed again, as there was something familiar there, like a phantom breeze against her mind. Just maybe... "What are you doing here?" Her grip did loosen on her weapon.

[BumblingBee]

There was a time when she would have bowed to him. A time when everyone would've.

It made him cringe to think of such a think. His repulsion grew at the sightsee glimmer of disgust in her eyes. Asher groaned and attempted to roll his shoulders, however he instantly gripped his arm as the pain rippled through him.
"Shit.."
He glanced at the warrior they called a woman before him. A smirk edged it's way onto his lips.
"Stand back enforcer or I'll stain those pretty gloves of yours.."

[Megilwen]

Assa blushed as she heard a voice comment upon her whistling from behind her. She turned to comment upon how everyone knew the song 'Bonnie Lass of Rothinya', only to have her eyes land on the blood now dropping on her floor.

"I could do with a patch up if you don't mind." The gentleman in the doorway said gesturing toward his arm.

Her look changed from one of slight embarrassment to one of concentration as her attention was drawn to the cut on his arm. She was just about to walk over to begin looking over the cut before she cleaned and healed it when another voice broke the hall.

"Identify yourself." And without turning around Assa knew it had to be one of the Sanctum guards. The clink of metal sounded as the guard put herself between Assa and the man who'd come in and she could hear the disgust in the voice of the guard as she asked what he was doing here. The man threatened the guard, but before either of them could continue their back and forth, Assa stepped around the guard and toward the man.

"He is here my lady because the purpose of this facility is healing. You may continue your interrogation once I am done with him and not before." Normally Assa was quiet and would never dare to step between a guard and their person of interest, especially one that seemed to be an Enforcer, if she wasn't mistaken, but at the moment this was her realm and she was in charge with Master Emilian away and an injured person before her. If either of the two said so much as a word during her healing process, she'd shoot both of them a firm glare. Normally there would be two healers working together on a patient. One doing the healing and one fielding the questions from the patient or the family members.

Walking toward the wounded gentleman, she place a hand at his back and firmly directs him to one of the healers station. "Sit here please my lord." She directs him to sit on an open stool as she goes about gathering what she needed from the cabinets. It was always important to clean a wound before healing it, unless you wanted to seal the dirt and disease in the wound once it was closed.

With alcohol and clean bandages, she lays them on a tall table next to the stool before efficiently beginning to remove the leather armor as well as rolling up the shirt sleeve out of her way. She takes a moment to examine the cut, it wasn't too deep, deep enough to be causing all the bleeding, but not deep to the bone and it was a clean cut, done with a sharp instrument which would make the healing and knitting process easier. She nods to herself, after her examination before taking the water, alcohol, and one of the clean bandages.

"The cut must be cleaned before I can knit the muscle and skin back together." She says to the man as she begins her work. "This will sting." And with her she pours first water and then alcohol into the cut to rinse it out, keeping a firm grip on the arm, so that even if he were to jerk the arm back in pain it would not move very far. The water and alcohol removed most of the dirt, so she only had to pick out a little bit that was stuck on the edges with a pair of tweezers.

"There all clean." She said as she finished wiping the gash gently. "Know I'm going to heal the wound." She drew on the magic that was at her fingertips always, a sort of fluttering in the back of her mind and began to, at first slowly and then gaining speed as she went, knit first the muscle and then the skin back together. The magic did no more than what the body would do over time, essentially speeding up the natural healing process. In most cases this was beneficial, but in some of the extreme cases this could be lifesaving. After a few minutes, the cut had completely healed leaving only a small silver scar in place.

Assa grabbed one of the jars off the table and spread some of the salve in the jar on and around the scar. "Your arm will be sore for a few hours at least, take care not to over use it otherwise you'll split the skin back open here." She says as she begins to wrap up the arm in the gauze. "The healing power of the goddess is for healing, not to remove the reminder of the folly that resulted in your injury." Assa ties a small neat knot as she finishes wrapping the gauze. Stepping back, she takes the rest of the water and pours it on the floor in order to wash the alcohol and blood mixture on the floor into one of the nearby drains.

"Now you may continue your discussion Lady Enforcer." She said giving permission now that the healing was done with. Assa began cleaning up her supplies. She knew there was more to this than just a lone injury. The Enforcer had come from the back of the hall, which could only mean she had originally came from the Sanctum interior and most likely with a purpose.

[BumblingBee]

Asher was pleasantly surprised by the girls boldness. He'd assumed her to be a timid thing, for she certainly looked it. Yet here she was ordering a Enforcer no less. He couldn't help but smile at the warrior smugly as he was herded away.

She even called him Lord. Gods, hadn't been called that in a long time. She obviously had no idea who he was, but then who did these days. There was no reason to protest to Asher did as he was told. The girl began to remove his armour and Asher couldn't help but comment
"I may come here more often if all treatments are like this.."

His wound was cleaned and sealed quickly and efficiently, which was exactly what he'd wanted. As he was placed before the Enforcer once more, Asher tutted to himself softly
"Goddess of healing ... Goddess of healing my arse.."

[Vaidia]

There was an old saying, that getting between a healer and their patient was like trying to stop Imea herself, at least in the case of those who truly had the calling. How the exact quote went, she did not recall. But she did know too often those marked with the Rune for healing made the mistake of seeing the injury more than the person they healed. Blinded by the urge to make things right, ignoring all else. Really, they were not all that different.

"Very well," Mercy responded evenly. She kept her voice calm, though there was doubt of her distaste for the proceedings. Her hand remained resting on her blade, ready to draw it should the man become treacherous, and she watched them much like a cat would an over large rat.

Yes, she was reasonably certain she knew just who it was that stumbled into the Hall of Healing. The exiled son of the late king, and traitor to the Sanctum. She had just joined the Enforcer ranks when the controversy began, and knew him from even before that from a royal visit to the barracks. It was only an official ceremony, she being the star pupil was allowed to 'bask' in the presence of king and sons. There was nothing beyond that she bothered to consider.

The years of dirt and disdain that coated the once prince could not disguise him. Not to her. Even in her youth, she made a habit of observing people. The small details even the abrasive waves of time could not erode away. Breath, words, actions. His physical appearance was much the same, besides.

The healer woman finished her work with the knotting of the gauze and a chiding reminder. One she had heard too often, and she could not stop a soft scoff from escaping. A private distaste for the mention of the Goddess's, and that if people lived in fear of injury, nothing would ever get done.

Mercy switched her gaze over to the girl for a moment, but remained poised for a fight, "You are required, healer, down in the Sanctum dungeon. A prisoner needs healing. The sooner you go, the less... work you will have." She did not think the girl would need much more urging than that, and would wait for her to leave before looking back to the exile.

"I will ask you again: why are you here," her voice was low, dangerous, "Unless you have forgotten what it means to be an exile."