| Raw Wounds |
| Summary: | Bruce gets his gut wound treated by the Halfsepton. Jarod and Gedeon rubberneck sympathetically. |
| Date: | 22/02/2012 |
| Related Logs: | Picks up directly after The Grey Gardens |
| Players: |
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| Army Camp — Harlaw Isle |
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| Tents, soldiers. |
| February 22, 289AL |
"May I walk with you, Sers?" Jarod asks of Bruce and Gedeon. There's a nick in his breastplate but he doesn't look wounded. Just drained. He can process on the move, apparently.
Bruce nods weakly at Gedeon and Jard, offering both the Oldstones Knight and Terrick Captain a small smile. He doesn't say anything, though, but his steps are slow and it's like that he wants to conserve rather than from a desire to be rude.
Gedeon ducks a little, offering a shoulder, should Bruce wish to sling his arm around it. He nods towards Jarod for the request. "Silly not to, if we're all headed the same way."
"I've never said I was a good man, you know," Jarod mutters to Gedeon as he clomps along with the other Rivers and Bruce. Slowness doesn't bother him just now. "Should try and find Ser Kell once I'm back. Not sure what to say to him."
Judging by the fact that his smile sticks, Bruce probably appreciates the shoulder. Still, he is determined to walk back on his own power, despite the rather grievous wound he took to his stomach. Thank the Gods for his mail shirt, though it's now split open handily in the affected area. "Nothing to. His honour is his shield."
"Have you not?" Gedeon asks, brows lifting as he considers. "I suppose I've just assumed that's how you saw yourself." He straightens as the quiet offer is declined, keeping Bruce's pace and moving with a casual slowness. "Ser Bruce likely has the right of it. Ser Kell did all that he could and his name is defended, even if the Ironer was not."
"We know each other little, Ser, as we've talked on," Jarod says in reply to Gedeon. Without really looking at the other Rivers. As for Kell, he nods to the pair of them. "Aye. He did all he could."
"The Ironman should have been interrogated." Bruce states quietly, his eyes once more falling to the ground, struggling to make out the shapes of rocks and the undulations of terrain so as not to fall in his state.
"Yes, and the knight's word, respected. To fight a savage enemy does not oblige us to become them," Gedeon says as he walks. "A pity those in command feel otherwise."
"Our quality has been shown to them," Jarod says under his breath, to himself more than the other two. "What they've seen of it. Maybe they aren't wrong." He keeps walking.
"He isn't in command, though he is of higher social rank. He's got no experience, and he's brought no troops. Gods, /I've/ got more troops than him. If anything, it should be the Mallister in charge. More senior, more men." Bruce laments, shaking his head. "But, Ser Aleister is convinced of his cause, just as was Ser Kell. It won't break the Army, in the end." He shakes his head somberly at Jarod. "No one saw anything, Ser Jarod. I made sure the priest's body was disposed. And this man was killed with none of his men around."
"Oh, aye, it's been shown, all right," Gedeon huffs. "We've killed their priest, desecrated their graveyards and murdered prisoners of war. Noble fellows, we." Glancing to Bruce, he notes, "How do you explain what they were calling when they came on us, then? For Grey Garden? The Reaver? Sounds a reference to the graveyard to me, ser."
"The squid spoke as if he saw…something," Jarod says to Bruce, frowning, though it's more an expression of worry than anything else. "He said as we were taking him…'We've seen your fucking honor, Rivermen.' I don't know, Ser, and he can't tell us now. Perhaps he meant something else entirely." He sounds like he hopes it's so. "Aye, it won't break the army. And perhaps Lord Martyn will take Ser Kell's part if Lord Aleister tries anything further with him. I shall. Better than I did tonight."
"More like they heard about the no quarter at Seagard, Ser Jarod, than anything here. I heard those that yielded did not want to do so to the Cape army." Despite his stomach, Bruce lifts a hand to touch at the left side of his neck, the side where a red, deep scar made from another Ironborn chieftain's axe is present the same night he called 'No Quarter'. He frowns. "I don't have an explanation, Ser Gedeon."
"Perhaps they are more aware than we should like," Gedeon replies, "and perhaps we should conduct ourselves with the expectation that we are being observed and that word has a way of traveling."
"Perhaps they did," Jarod shrugs to Bruce's explanation, which could be as well as any. "We'll all share the conduct of those we fight with. However much or little they care about honor. At least the Ironborn tonight was a man-at-arms sworn. I wonder if Lord Aleister will be any different when we come upon women, and children, in the villages. I pray I'll do…better if it should come to such."
"Are you of the opinion that honour will assist us in winning here, or do you believe in honour for its own purpose? Because the Gods deem it?" Asks Bruce of Gedeon, as they pass the outer pickets of the camp. He looks sourly at Jarod. "I am not of the mind that women and children should be put to the sword, though it's been done before in matters of war. But they should be given a chance to yield, before a fight, and if they do not, all the men of the land are forefit, Ser. And their houses, and crops, and whatever else we should true, though the Gods do not smile on women and child killers. Such is the way of war. Once one or two don't yield and suffer the consquences, the others will be more inclined to. I don't agree with what Lord Aleister did, but war requires a hard heart, too."
"Will your heart stay hard should Lord Aleister deem it a necessity of this war to strike down women and children, whether they have surrendered to us or no?" Gedeon asks. For Bruce's question, he laughs softly and then wincing, touch a hand to his chest. "If you will forgive me, ser, honor never won anybody anything. I certainly do not suggest it should aid us in battle, only in our accounting on the day it all goes black for each of us."
"I believe in honor for its own purpose," Jarod replies to Bruce. "So far as we can carry it. As for the rest…we're invaders here. I understand you're right, Ser Bruce, though I wish I didn't. We won't have fine chivalrous choices…good choices but…there's still better and worse, isn't there?" He looks between the pair of them like he's searching for an answer.
Coming from one of the Nayland camps, one of the earlier combatants seems to still not have found time to rest. Indeed, brown robes are still cinched for war, though a leather apron of sorts has been fashioned over and tied on tight. Blood has crusted on bare arms, but all the same the Halfsepton seems to be busy, as a bucket of bloody water's being tossed out to the earth. One hand moves up and runs across his bald pate before Marsden is pausing long enough to look into the firelight. "What's next?" called out over his shoulder.
'Y' still have last rites to do on another. " the voice answers back to which Marsden nods, a chuckle held in his throat. "He'll keep. Who'sit living?"
They're beginning to approach the Nayland area of the camp now, and Bruce looks heartened by that. Some of the colour has returned to his face. "I don't know, Ser Gedeon. I'm not there, and that's not now. But Ser Aleister is a petty noble and a minor lord of inconsequential experience. Once we link up with other parts of the army, he will no longer be in command of anything but his own contingent." A tired nod at Jarod. "Aye, there is. I would have done things differently." He raises a weak hand to wave at Marsden, smiling.
"There is," Gedeon replies to Jarod, "though at times the line is very thin and the difference between the two negligible." His smile twists wryly. "This wasn't one of them. Lord Aleister may have little experience, but he hails from a house wealthier than any of the ones we serve. He will have his influence, there can be no doubt of that. Still, I suppose we can but see what will happen next. We shall travel towards the blaze on the morrow, I hope. May there be allies who await us." The bald septon, with his bloody arms, gets a nod as they approach.
"I pray there is," Jarod says to Bruce and Gedeon soft, as to better and worse. He leaves it at that, nodding. "On the morrow." He looks up at the voice of the septon, not seeming sure whether to be glad or nervous at the sight of a holy man. Or half-holy man. "Oi, Septon! Ser Bruce's taken a bad hurt. Ironmen were at our outer pickets, though we fended them off."
There's a raise of his hand back in the direction of the incoming party. A faint pause before he's chuckling and motioning him back to the 'healing' tent. "Ello gentlemasters." the septon calls out before he's turning to head back into it. "Oh I know, Sers, I know. Trust me, when the Naylands were called to bear, I came as well. Shield an spear I did..Sorrily though the bastards ran before we could really stab em. Stranger take em." still the words seem cheerful enough. "Bring him into the light an lay him down so I can have a look. Marsden pauses for a moment to wait by the door, though he's calling back in. "Watt, get more water once the else is taken off t' boil." A slight bow, is performed as he holds a flap back.
"It matters not. Ser Rygar has command of the forces of the Cape, I was led to understand. Whatever you may personally think of the man, he's the most capable soldier out of any of us, and he's known for that trait. The Freys know, and I can't see that they'd pick someone with less experience." Answers Bruce. "I don't think I'm going to be doing much quick travelling, I'm afraid. But once we meet up with Lord Tytos, I can have a chat with him. I served him for many years, and my brother is his Captain." He slowly walks into Marsden's tent, and once he's there, begins to strip off his gear. With equal speed, or lack thereof.
"Ser Rygar is a capable man and a forthright one," Gedeon replies with a slight shrug. "That we find ourselves in conflict makes me no less aware of his capabilities." He falls quiet to let the septon do his ordering and mending.
"Ser Rygar's a man of honor," Jarod gives his opinion of the Nayland knight simply. There's no sign of effusive love there, but it's stated with respect. "And he's not wasteful. I'd like a word with…whoever ends up in charge of us when we meet up with the rest of our force, myself. Not that it'll carry much weight. If my lord father were here, things'd be different." He says it like he's quite sure Lord Jerold Terrick would just magically solve all these problems. He moves to the side as they enter the tent, crossing his arms along his chest and settling in to do some Hard Ser Rivers Thinking.
The Halfsepton is easy to keep quiet during this talking about Ser Rygar. He's yet to meet the man, his Captain serves, and thus who ulitmately will pay him or tell him to fuck off. There's a glance given to Bruce as he's moving to a newly brought in bucket, and he's dipping his hands down in. "So what's this nasty hurt you caught yourself, Ser?" asked over to Longbough, before he's dipping his head to Gedeon and Ser Jarod. "Don't think I know you blokes..if you pardon my informality." A bit of teeth flashed before he's looking to Jarod. "Can you nab me a strip of leather, Ser?" If the boy wants to introduce himself. as it might tell him who his Lord father is.
"I think it would, Ser Jarod. Lord Jerold is known as a man of honour. Whoever is in charge, they need to restore discipline in this army. We are too much like lords on their fief in peacetime. That will not do. Thank you for walking me back, Sers." Bruce coughs, taking his greaves, and then bracers off. His mail shirt, its abdoment links split open widely, and helmet are already on the ground. Last off is his shirt, which reveals a bandage wrapped around his belly and a bloody dressing under it. "Axe. Big one. Again." He motions at the viscious scar on the left side of his neck, looking like it's still fairly young.
Gedeon hums a faint sound of sympathy as he sees where Bruce's wound is. "They do like to slice at that spot," he murmurs, rubbing idly at his own abdomen. "I'll leave you to the septon's ministrations, ser. Good speaking with you."
"Aye, Septon," Jarod says, ever glad to be given tasks, he goes to fetch a leather strip and passes it off to Marsden. As he does that he introduces himself, "I'm called Ser Jarod Rivers. I'm here with the Terrick men. In charge of them." Boy is apt enough, as he does look very young for it, and with a bastard name on top of that. He offers a parting nod to Gedeon. "I'll see you later, Ser Rivers."
"Maiden fuck me." Yes, a Septon did just say that. "I hate belly wounds.. Bloody lie down on that table.." The table being some flat bit of driftwood, with blood on it, well watery semi washed blood. "Lemme make sure you've got no little metal jiblets hung in there from your maile. That'll kill you, you know. Like worms eating you from the inside.." A shake of his head.
Once Ser Bruce has laid himself flat he's coming over to prod at the man's abdomen gingerly, before he's calling out to his assistant, who is currently fetching water. "Lemme cut these off.." And soon a dagger's produced from his belt, and he'll be cutting away, as if he was reeding out parchment. There's a glance up to Gedeon as he bows out, before he's looking over to Ser Jarod. "Ahh, an Eagles rivers.. Well then, I am sure you're useful.." a jest there in the gallows humor. "Bring me the wine from over there…" Leather strip taken and passed to Bruce. "If you want, Cap'n. You can chew on this, or your tongue. Your choice."
"Gods keep, Ser Gedeon." In keeping with Bruce's forms of courtesy and with those of the central and eastern Riverlands, he always uses a knight's first name after their title. He lays down as instructed. "The mail was good. My guts are still in me, because of it. I poured my poultice in and pressed down on the wound with the dressing, and bandaged it. I didn't see any metal in it, Streem, but I wasn't… fully there." He nods at the leather strip, putting it in his mouth. He's familiar with these, it seems.
Gedeon hums a faint sound of sympathy as he sees where Bruce's wound is. "They do like to slice at that spot," he murmurs, rubbing idly at his own abdomen. After Jarod introduces himself, he says, "I'm another Rivers. Ser Gedeon. Well met, Septon." And then, to Bruce, "I'll leave you to the septon's ministrations, ser. Good speaking with you." Jarod gets a nod farewell and then Gedeon slips back out.
"Half an eagle, on my better days," Jarod replies with a chuckle that only sounds half-forced as he goes to fetch the wine. Setting it down for the septon's use. "Do you favor any of the Seven in particular, Septon?" Bruce's wound makes him wince. Not that he really shrinks from looking at it. Gut wounds are, alas, popular in this war.
"That's better than my days, Ser." a grin from Marsden, as he's inspecting the cut. and pocking a finger in to pull out a small little bit of metal. Hopefully Bruce is ready, for the septon's hands-though quick and nimble-are not too gentle. "I favor them all.." he says before looking back towards Jaord for a bit. "Though.." and the metal ringlet is placed by the knight's hand. "I am for the Father, for he must judge us all in the end. And I would hope he can see past my own shades and blemishes and treat with me fairly." A sniff. And he's motiong to Watt for needle and thread.
"This'll hurt." said plainly to the man as the water is poured over first to help flush the wound and clean it, before he's poor the wine on. Field medicine at it's best. The stitching will go slowly enough to ensure that he man's abdomen is closed up as best he can. "Given we'll be moving Ser Bruce. I am going to close over th' stitches on the morrow with flame. I want to make sure though you've no infection, and don't go into any bloody marshes. Still given the size of this.. Cauterizing is our best bet.." A faint pause before he's looking back to Watt. "Put him in good air. Not where our shitters are. And keep him by flame. Before we move, I'll cauterize the wound and remove the stitches. " And there's a look over Bruce "And we'll be praying that the mother heals you up just fine Ser."
"Gods, after this war, I promise to you that I'm going to get a scale shirt with mail in back." Bruce mutters to himself, his eyes shut tightly. He puts the leather strip in his mouth a moment before Marsden goes digging in his entrails, whereupon a muffled grunt can be heard from the Stonebridge knight. His teeth grip the strip hard, his neck muscles flexing and straining visibly.
"We've all got much to answer to the Father for, Septon. But He's fair, at least." Jarod offers Marsden a sort of half-bow inclination of his shoulders. "I'll leave you to it. Mend well, Ser Bruce. That'd be better for us all." He'll duck out of the tent, with that.
There's a nod as Jarod departs, and he looks back towards the poor Ser Bruce. Lint is lain on top of the wound, to catch what liquid will seep out, before he is carefully bandaging the man up with linen, the scent of some ointment heavy in the wraps. But once it's on good and tight, he secures the bandage and nods to Watt. "Give him something to drink so he can rest. Before dawn change his wraps and bring me the lint in the morning, I want to see if he has pus." said plainly, and then he is walking up to his friend. A bloody hand moving to gingerly slap the man's cheek. "Now you, don' go dying on me Ser. I believe you're the only bloke here who likes me." a chuckle there. "Want me to find the axe that did it to you. Bring it back?" At least Bruce could sell it, if good castle steel it is.
