Mellia — Alfa
????, Fire Season, Season/Illusion Week
Context
Fire Season/Illusion Week/Freezeday/late afternoon. [[[s01:session-42|Session 42]]]
Right after the party and Silor’s warband settle down for the night in what used to be a chunk of swamp.
Events
There is a lot of confusion in getting a large wooden cross down from the barn. Then there is a lot more confusion with Silor’s men gathering around to guard it while a chariot is sent for to transport it. Naturally, one of them asks the healer shyly, “Would you mind taking a look at something? Just a bit of a scratch…”
“Of course,” Mellia replies. “Let’s take a look and make certain the filthy water you had to go through to get here didn’t leave a disease demon in it.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he says glumly, and pulls off a boot. There is a cut in the leather and a tear in his foot wrap beneath, and a red, inflamed edge to the cut it has left. “There was an old thorn tree under the surface.”
Mellia sucks in her breath. “Disease is already setting in. Have any booze that’s strong and tastes terrible?”
“Not with us. We might have mead, if you need a drink.” He starts to pull the boot back on. “I can easily go check for you.”
“I don’t need a drink,” Mellia explains. “We need to wash that cut and rebandage it.” You stay right there. Do not wrap your foot up. I just want a few herbs.”
“It’s getting dark,” he says uncertainly. “And this place was a Marsh earlier. There is bad magic here. You should have an escort.”
“Let’s bandage this up,” Mellia tells the patient, “and when we return to the village or settle for the night, we can wash it with mead.” Unless the patient objects, Mellia will clean the wound with clean water and bandage it up.
The patient makes no objection at all, and looks for the mead himself, as it is clear they will be settling down. The light fades as Silor sets out a double ring of warriors on watch.
This area, previously a marsh and now a forest with reeds growing in it, is ideal for hiding in, and probably ideal for ambushes.
If we’re making camp here, it’s time to wash the cut with mead. “Deep breath,” Mellia warns, “this will sting.”
“I once had my ear torn off by a spear thrust,” he says. He does not wince when the mead touches him. Honey is from bees, beasts of Darkness and Light, Yelmic fliers with black stripes. Purification is in it, and honey feels cold but mead feels hot. It is one of the mysteries of brewing. There is not much, and it seems to have come from Silor or his son Hengrast, but there is enough to clean the wound. No wine, but this is good enough.
Mellia tries not to use all the mead up and will return it when she’s finished. “Keep that cut clean and dry,” she tells the brave man. “I want to check on it around breakfast.”
“Of course, White Lady,” he tells her, and gently starts fitting his boot back on.
Mellia smiles and lets him go.
