Book 2, Chapter 9.21: They don’t teach you field triage through fighting goblins
She solo-killed a boss by herself? I guess that’s just an average day for Montreal.
The cavern was suddenly quiet. Fabrisse watched as Tommaso knelt over him, attending to his wounds.
Tommaso’s movements were precise and economical. He handled the cloth and the injured shoulder much more gently than he usually did with, well, anything else. Methodically, Tommaso checked the depth of the puncture, wiped away the blood near Fabrisse’s nose, and cleaned the grime from his forehead.
“You . . . you move like you’ve done this a hundred times,” Fabrisse managed. “Did you learn all this in the army?”
“Not the fun parts.” Tom secured the dressing with a neat knot. “They don’t teach you field triage through fighting goblins, man. You learn this stuff standing in line at the base clinic for six hours, watching the medics work. Or better yet,” he paused with a humorous glint in his eye, “you learn it by trying to stop the endless flow of blood coming from your buddy’s hand after he slipped while on latrine duty. At least it’s better than latrine duty itself.” He patted Fabrisse’s chest. “You’re fine, just need a bit of rest. Lucky that Nymph didn’t hit anything important.”
A shape emerged from the depth of the chasm’s edge—the very place Severa had flung herself moments before.
Severa stood in the firelight with green viscous splatters across her face, possibly insect blood. Beneath the insect blood were bizarre patterns: one thick line ran from her hairline, across her forehead and brow bone, splitting just above the nose to trace down each cheekbone like war paint from some ancient northern tribe. It looked like dried blood. Her twelve eyes were gone.
“Is the wound deep?” Severa’s voice was flat, devoid of the exhaustion or triumph one might expect from a solo takedown of a Broodmother.
Tommaso didn’t look up from Fabrisse's shoulder. “Not bad, all things considered. Just a clean puncture. Lucky.” He pressed the cloth firmly one last time, then finally looked at Severa. “Yeah, we’re fine. But . . . you just jumped down there, Montreal. What happened?”
“The Broodmother’s elemental absorption made a conventional attack useless. The solution required an unconventional method,” she stated again. “I am in good condition, thank you very much.” She reached inside her robe and produced a small glass vial filled with a gold liquid. “This is a Minor Healing Potion. Take it.” She offered the vial to Fabrisse, who was still propped up by Tommaso.
Fabrisse took the vial. It was cool and gave off a faint scent of mint. He twisted the stopper and drank the contents in a single gulp. A soothing warmth spread instantly through his shoulder, and the throbbing ache began to recede.
| [Status: Bleeding Stopped, Wound Healing] |