Topic: Illness and Consolation

Issy

Date: 2013-03-11 21:01 EST
It was not unlike a child being banished to one's room as a punishment. Isuelt left the Marketplace that night in the company of Icer. She had finished her patrol nearly three hours previous, and entered the town square to make sure that the cleanup from "Hannibal" was coming along and that shops and stalls were reopening. There had been all manner of commotion, mostly due to a drunken Race and an exploding fruit cart which had seemingly got the better of him. And though she figured that she would be keeping the peace, it was a few friends that had seen fit to keep her.

Isuelt's tireless schedule and constant lifestyle had finally caught up with her. She had been feeling poorly for the better part of four days; though this night, her illness definitely got the better of her. After arguing with the likes of Katt, Icer, Khoom, Arthour and Batosai that it was only a cold and nothing more, her body betrayed her. After a feverish coughing jag, blood was spat onto the cobblestones of the Marketplace. Weakened and in pain, she knew that it was indeed time to go home. Icer was sent to accompany her, and even that Isuelt fought. Do not carry me. Scathachians are carried in one circumstance, and one circumstance only. And since she wasn't dead, Icer complied and simply walked behind her Scathachian friend.

The journey west from the Marketplace up to the Northwest cliffs was a long one; though what began as a simple enough trek, became akin to scaling a mountain for the feverish Judge. The uphill climb, which she could ordinarily take in a sprint became a challenge for her rebellious lungs and her pounding head. Icer, to her credit, remained true to her word. There were several times when Isuelt involuntarily stopped, whether to cough and spit more blood aside, or simply catch her breath. The great blue dragon simply waited on her friend, never varying from her role as companion.

At one point, as they neared the North West gate, Isuelt paused. Dizziness and a wave of chest constrictions hit her hard and as she dropped to a knee, stubborn as ever, Icer merely stood over her so as to shelter the proud Scathachian from any prying public eyes. After all, "Scathachians never show fear, never show weakness, never show vulnerability." For two out of those three, Isuelt was not holding up her end of the Scathachian bargain. Icer's blue body provided the protection for not only Isuelt's body, but her pride as well. And when the pair finally reached the Scathachian Sanctuary high on the cliffs overlooking Rhydin's western shore, the exhausted Isuelt bowed her head to her friend in recognition of what she had done. Isuelt had seen Icer looking at her with a mixture of compassion and protection, perhaps much as Isuelt's own mother had so long ago. She knew very well that Icer had hidden what she could of Isuelt's illness from the citizens (and perhaps enemies lurking about). And for that Isuelt would be deeply grateful to her old friend. After all, no matter how stalwart one is, sometimes it's nice to feel watched over.

Sheryl Resendei

Date: 2013-03-14 14:31 EST
(Inspired by the "From The Deep" SL)

Sheryl's quiet footsteps padded lightly down the darkened hallway. It was late and the moon was not even a fingernail's sliver in the sky. The great blue beast, Icer Shimmerscale, had escorted Isuelt home and Sheryl had been the one to receive her elder Sister. She could never remember Isuelt looking the way she had: sweat beading on her brow, ragged breath, blood in the corners of her mouth and dark shadows beneath her eyes. The anxious young blonde Scathachian warrior looked to Icer for an explanation, and the dragon told her what had occurred in the Marketplace.

Isuelt was put to bed immediately and Sheryl was gathering a few items to try and make her Sister (and one-time teacher) more comfortable. Delphinea was not at home; most of the others were out guarding Old Temple or on patrol, so Sheryl took it upon herself to begin the healing process. She had a large, polished slate bowl with a mixture of fresh herbs of rosemary, willow and meadowsweet, with a bath sheet folded over the bowl. She'd draw the water from within Isuelt's room.

Sheryl knew that she probably wouldn't get a response, still she knocked softly on Isuelt's door. A moment of silence and she entered to find Isuelt still in bed where Sheryl had left her: on her stomach, without her black leather corset. Sheryl sighed as she put the bowl and herbs down on the small table beside Isuelt's bed. The room was shrouded in darkness except for a small lantern which gave off the light of a single candle. "Don't worry, Illea. You'll be fine. We'll send for Kai in the morning..." As Sheryl pushed a few dark tendrils away from Isuelt's temple, she could feel the heat coming from her Sister's fever and decided that no more time could be wasted. She grabbed the bowl and hurried to the small sink in the corner of the chamber. Lifting the spigot, there was a strange pause before the water begin to run. Finally, Sheryl placed the bowl in the basin to fill up. She could smell the aroma of the herbs as the water flooded the bowl. The noise must have roused Isuelt, for she began another coughing jag. Sheryl's blonde curls sprang and bounced over her shoulder as she turned around to look back to Isuelt's bed. "Coming, Illea."

Quickly she shut off the water, hoisted the now heavier bowl over to Isuelt. Sheryl grabbed the bath sheet and thrust it into the bowl, soaking up the herb-soaked water. Her eyes were on her Sister as Isuelt struggled to get her coughing under control. "It's okay, Illea," the young warrior cooed as she rang out the bed sheet in the room's dim light and placed it over Isuelt's bare back. She was hoping to cool her Sister down. It was then that Sheryl heard footsteps in the hallway. She jumped up from Isuelt's bed and went to open the door to look who was home.

"Janie! Thank Scathach you're home! Illea's sick and I think I could use some help until Phin gets home or until we get Kai."

The surfer-girl had been feeling especially mellow, though that good mood dissipated as she looked at Sheryl. "Yeh' Sheila, dunt fret...I can go get her straight aw—-" Janie stood staring at Sheryl, with a look of horror on her face. "Bloody hell, Sheryl! Is she okay' Your hands are..." Pushing past the young Sheryl, Janie burst into the room and thrust more light into Isuelt's chamber.

Surprised by Janie's impetuous reaction, Sheryl looked down to her hands and saw that they were nearly dripping with blood. "What the...?" She grabbed a lantern from the hallway's wall and hurriedly followed Janie into the room.

Now, in the light, the Scathachians saw Isuelt laying on her bed, covered by a bloody bath sheet. "What the bloomin' hell is goin' on 'round here" Sheryl?"

"I...I..." Sheryl was stammering, for the life of her, she couldn't imagine what had happened. "I...thought that she should be cooled off...she had a fever. So I...." In pointing to the slate bowl, realization sunk in. "The water..." she whispered as she looked from the bowl to the sink, both bloodstained. "It's...it's blood..."