DB Lazarus
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13. Fights & Potions - II
🕑 Added 2024-10-13 06:00:00 +0000 UTCI didn’t correct his misunderstanding about my past. It was true in many ways after all. Instead, I took another dab of the potion to apply it to the larger lacerations. The viscous liquid clung to my finger. Again, it seemed to call to me. Something waited for me. It was a struggle to find the right analogy. A potential? But if that was what it was, I did not know a way to tap it.
I had spent enough time mulling this over. I wasted no more time. I brought my finger over the laceration and turned it over. Gravity stretched the vivid red liquid until a drop fell into the shallow furrows made by a monster’s claws. As the drop seeped into the tissues, I turned my attention to what came to pass.
Even though the drop had landed in the center, the entire wound began to heal. Before my eyes, the tissue began to knit together. It was as if I was watching a time lapse video. Weeks became seconds. Except, the skin’s regrowth outpaced the underlying tissue.
I winced as a wave of knowledge slammed into my brain, but it confirmed what I had suspected. The order was wrong. It would form a pocket or scar. Muscle before fascia. Fascia before skin.
I put my finger in direct contact with the wound to use what remained of the potion to see if that made a difference, but that just accelerated the rate of skin regrowth.
No. Do it right you, stupid potion.
Before I could lambast myself at the audacity of my errant thought about a liquid my past self would find miraculous, a cool sensation flowed down my right arm and “latched” onto that potential in the potion. I let out a small gasp as a wall I didn’t even know existed collapsed.
I could interact with the potion. I could control it. And direct it I did.
I stared unblinking as my actions bore fruit. The skin stopped knitting together, and the rate of muscle tissue regeneration increased. A wave of dizziness threatened to derail my concentration, but I pushed it down. I didn’t dare let my focus waver.
After I burned through the potential in that drop of liquid, I smiled at my handiwork. Sure, I work on pure instinct, but I succeeded. The potion now regrew the tissue in the proper manner. Now could I repeat it?
My finger trembled slightly as I tried another drop. Like before, the skin tried to knit ahead of the subcutaneous tissue and muscle.
Stop.
It didn’t. I grimaced at the result after the small drop ran its course. What had I done differently before?
The exact memory popped into my head. It was crystal clear, but it differed from my previous recollection. I didn’t see a picture or watch a video. I relived the moment. I could actually feel the sensation of the flow of energy down my arm, and with a couple of reviews, I could identify the moment at which I could interact with the potion.
I needed to be touching the liquid.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. So much for proper hygiene.
I applied another dab to my finger and ran it along one of the smaller of the remaining wounds. I didn’t let my finger break contact. I willed the potion to follow proper healing.
That familiar sensation heralded my success. It ran down my arm into the potion and wound. In seconds, the wound healed like I wanted. I sighed in relief and moved to the larger puncture wounds and repeated.
“Done.”
Dorian moved his shoulder and lifted his arm. “Thanks. That feels much better. How much did you use?”
“A few dabs. Took me a few times to get it right.”
“Just a few dabs? Guess they weren’t as deep as I had thought.”
“I don’t know about that. One was almost to the bone.”
“Huh. We must have gotten better grade stuff this time around if you didn’t need to pour anything on there.” He picked up his pickaxe. “Now let’s go chat with those greedy greenskins.” He spat as he finished.
I raised my eyebrows at his vehemence but didn’t say anything. Hostility like that had to have a history. Also, note to self: avoid using greenskin. That had to be a slur by the way Dorian said it.
Dorian motioned to my pick. “Bring yours. They need to see the blood on it.”
He didn’t say anything more as he walked towards the gathering Ættir. I cursed as I saw them patching up their wounds with potions. Stupid. I hadn’t even tried to triage. Though based on the scowls most gave me as we approached, few may have let me help.
Dorian walked towards the largest of the Ættir, who was standing in front of the breach in the wall speaking to a few other Ættir. The leader?
“Casualties?” the largest Ættar asked one of three other Ættir at his side.
“None. Minor wounds at most. One required a full healing potion.”
“Then this was definitely worth it. Not as rich as I had hoped, but without severe injuries it was without question--”
“Reckless.” Dorian barged into the conversation. The Ættar might have been taller by almost half his height, but it didn’t faze him. Dorian’s natural joviality had vanished. He was cold and impersonal, as if he was a different person. “I don’t care how good you are at swinging axes. A breach that large requires a larger group.”
The Ættir all turned to face the source of the interruption. The expressions ranged from annoyance to outright hostility. Yet unlike me, they showed no signs of surprise.
Not a new conversation then?
It didn’t make this exchange feel any safer. Their scowls deepened when they caught sight of me, and I swallowed, fighting the urge to flee under their intense gazes. These Ættir stood a head above their kin, and each packed more muscle than an Olympic body builder. However, thankfully, they turned their focus back to Dorian’s brazen remark.
“Know your place--”
The tallest Ættar pushed back his companion with a scarred arm. “I am capable of handling this.” His tone was cooler, but it still cut. “He, after all, has a right to speak to his leader.”
The Ættar had emphasized “leader” to make a point, one not lost on Dorian, who immediately bristled. The Ættar waited. Dorian’s fist grew white as he squeezed his pickaxe’s handle, but no blows came.
“Your complaints are getting old, Oresian. You continue to make the same point. Each time you are wrong.”
“There will be a time—“
“There won’t. Your companies are weak compared to us.” Eyeing our pickaxes, “though, I see you have made some contribution, as pitiful as it likely was. Do not worry, you will get your reward.” He paused as if to consider something. “Or are you so greedy that you need to come here doubting my honor?”
Before Dorian could say something to escalate things further, I jumped in. “We are here so that I can introduce myself.” I put on my biggest fake smile, reaching out my hand. The lead Ættar’s eyes narrowed sharply. One of the Ættir flanking the leader growled at the action, and Dorian hissed in warning. I dropped my hand, but I plowed on undaunted, not daring to let my smile falter. Fake it until you make it.
“I was just added to your company, but I am glad I could already contribute. I am—”
“What he means—“ Dorian spoke over me, but the lead Ættar cut him off.
“It doesn’t matter what he means.” The lead Ættar paused, mulling over the situation. Surprisingly, Dorian didn’t offer any rebuttal. What had I just gotten myself into with a simple introduction?
The Ættar finally offered me a smile in return, though his was far from fake. He made no attempt to hide the sick glee at the situation. “Your charge must be a fool, but I can’t say I would expect anything better from someone stuck with you as his mentor. I do not suffer fools, and you, Oresian, already push me to my limit.”
Dorian tensed but said nothing. My mind started racing at the implication of the direction of the conversation. While he spoke about me, never once did he turn his attention to me. Every word he directed at Dorian. “Still, my honor deems I recognize contribution, and I am magnanimous. Your charge’s reward will be that I forget this insult today. Now get the corpses back for harvesting. That is well within your capabilities, and you earned your spoils after all.” The Ættar gave Dorian a cruel smile as he continued. “I wouldn’t dare get between a Oresian and his treasure.”
He started laughing at his own joke, but the rest of the Ættir near him quickly followed suit. Dorian just stood rigid, anger radiating out of him. However, he didn’t say a word until the Ættir finished laughing.
When he did, he spoke through clenched teeth. “Is there anything other orders?”
“No. Now get out of my sight. I have more important things to attend to.”
“Thank you for your mercy, Verndari,” Dorian replied as if saying each word hurt him to say.
Dorian grabbed me by the arm, pulling me back with enough force that I stumbled. Only his support kept me from going to the floor. I got my feet under me as we moved away. Dorian didn’t let go even as we cleared some distance.
Given the interaction between those two, I didn’t resist. However, once we left earshot, I grabbed his fingers trying to pull them free. I would have had better luck moving an iron vice. I finally gave up.
“Can you let go of me?”
He did, spinning me around fast enough that the world spun. “What were you thinking?”
I shook away the dizziness, finally noticing the fine tremor in his hands and the red infusing his face’s natural bronze. Anger? Embarrassment? “I was trying to diffuse the obvious argument.”
He huffed out an incredulous laugh at that statement. “Then you did the opposite. You almost got yourself killed. Next time you want to help, don’t open your mouth.” Hand covering an eye, head shaking, he muttered to himself, “what a waste of a day and potion. We are going to get nothing out of this with salvage duty.”
I, however, couldn’t move on. “Are you serious that my life was at risk?”
Dorian’s eyes snapped open, looking at me with disbelief. “Maybe you are a fool, because you never struck me as suicidal.” I frowned at the insult, but he didn’t notice. “You were in greater danger in that conversation than any time during that swarm. You, a Human, demeaned his honor. What did you expect to happen? Have you not met an Ættar before?”
He stared at me, waiting for something. A response? An admission of error? With everything that happened, I could only muster a blank look.
His eyes widened. “By the Gods, you haven’t, have you? Do you know anything about their culture?” He waved away the answer. “No. Don’t bother answering that. It is plain as day that you don’t with the way you acted. I know that the letter said you were unfamiliar…” He rubbed his face with one of his big hands as he trailed off. Then he muttered to himself, “she is punishing me for all those years I was a brat to her.”
He took a deep breath and looked at me. “Okay. New rule: do not speak to an Ættar unless spoken to.” I opened my mouth to complain, but he quieted me with a pointed finger. “No exceptions. You will not speak to any Ættar.”
“Nobody? How am I supposed to do anything here?”
“It will filter through me.”
I shook my head. This was too much. Despised on sight by both Volki and Ættir and now forced into silence by the only people that showed some friendliness?
“I can’t—at least not unless I know why.”
He goggled at me. “Because you will get yourself killed!” He measured out a distance close to an inch with his finger. “That’s how close you came back there, and it would have been in his right. We operate by Ættarsk rules in this company, and you clearly know nothing of them. I have leeway because of my tier and because I am a Oresian. But you…” He shook his head. “I am positive that if I wasn’t there, you would be dead. He saw a chance to gain a favor and took it.”
Dorian started to pace as he continued. “This isn’t a Human settlement where most fail to break past Tier 2. You are at the bottom rung. If an Ættar approaches you, you keep your eyes down and wait to be addressed. I know that might be hard for you given your upbringing, but you need to get that through your skull. You have enough going against, being a Human and having a non-combat class.”
“Wait. How do you know anything about my class?”
“Really? You’re Mind focused, and you didn’t use a skill once during the entire fight with the terrorvoles.”
I just nodded at his reasoning despite the blatant errors in reasoning. I had kicked up enough trouble with my ignorance. Flawed as his logic was, he still came up with the right answer. While I still had no handle on the term, if classes were anything like what I remembered from D&D or RPGs, in no way, shape, or form could I consider a [Physician] a combat class. As for my upbringing, I would just have to figure out about that assumption later.
He waited for me to argue the point. When I didn’t, he continued, “So if an Ættar from this company starts approaching you…?
“I keep my head or eyes down until addressed, and I find you if they need something.”
He nodded. “That last part is a good addition.”
“I can do it. I may not like it, but I can hold my tongue and play the meek…Human.”
Dorian’s face softened. “I know this isn’t fair. Mum always said life never was, and life seems to enjoy proving her right. Even then, your luck…” He shook his head in sympathy. “You shouldn’t be here. Not at your level and not alone.”
He gave me another opening to explain my situation, but I couldn’t. I needed a friend, but…I couldn’t, not after that dressing down. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. All that because I introduced myself.
He gave me a sad but knowing smile. “We will make this work.” He sighed. “This was probably more my fault. I should never have brought you near the Verndari. I will do better. I will watch out for you.”
“Thanks. I know you took a few blows meant for me from those…”
“Terrorvoles.”
“Yeah. Those things. So thank you.”
He gave me a clap on the back hard enough that I winced. “Good. Now that we got that squared away, let’s get to harvesting. We wasted enough time talking. After our last conversation, the Verndari or one of his Hærliðar will be watching. By the way, those are their official titles. If you are addressed, you should finish up with the Verndari or Hærlið. The same goes for the Vísir, their senior [Healer]. But again—“
“No speaking with Ættir. I got it.”
“Good. We wasted enough time. We will need to get some carts from the entrance, but if we hurry, we can get it done before the next shift.”
