(It seems like this just died? I've been checking but no ones posted in a long time. Still interested in this.)
(As am I. I'd love to see this continue.)
((My bad. I didn't pay enough attention to the thread. I'm very sorry about that. Should it happen again, feel free to warn me and berate me while you're at it. I should pay closer attention.))
Aearion knelled down in front of the diseased man and held his hand in front of his mouth."By Melora, this is unlike anything I have ever seen before." He said as he stood back."I'll start with calming them. I'll channel some magic through my tunes that should make them feel invigorated." He said as he stood back and removed the lute from his back. As his hair started to lose all sense of gravity, the Merman kept playing, the musical notes relaxing the diseased patients bodies. At least they wouldn't be suffering if actual doctors and priests did their work.
Aearion knelled down in front of the diseased man and held his hand in front of his mouth."By Melora, this is unlike anything I have ever seen before." He said as he stood back."I'll start with calming them. I'll channel some magic through my tunes that should make them feel invigorated." He said as he stood back and removed the lute from his back. As his hair started to lose all sense of gravity, the Merman kept playing, the musical notes relaxing the diseased patients bodies. At least they wouldn't be suffering if actual doctors and priests did their work.
{Then I suppose the story must continue. Let us carry this story to an end, whatever that may be.}
The soldier looked towards the bard, his facial features softening. He lifted his hand to grasp and hold the bard closer, or merely to hold his arm upwards. Tears stained his cheek, his mouth open in a silent cry. His shirt became more pronounced, as his body began to become thinner, his organs and muscle seeming to be dissolved by the vicious disease.
After a while, the man's breathing became calmer, just as he stopped crying. Blood and the black bile seeped from his nose and his mouth, before his body became limp. His arm hung from the cot, his side-long stare lifeless. The doctor and his assistant looked up towards the bard, but remained on the other side of the building, tending to other patients. They seemed to be whispering to themselves as they worked. Finally, after a few tunes from the bard, the assistant walks towards the Merman. He shakes his head, "I'm sorry. We've done our best. It may be too late for them." Though one soldier, tucked into the corner, was having a coughing fit. His mouth expelled some of the bile, and the music was settling him down. He appeared to be younger, nearing his mid-twenties. His body seemed to be faring well against the disease, still muscled, and much less pale.
Constanza walked through the streets, still staring at the letter. She had almost bumped into a few other people, and they had wanted to say something, but thought better of it once they looked down at the uniform she wore. Tucking the letter into her uniform's chest pocket, she straightened her sign and weapon upon her shoulder. After a few minutes, she stopped and took out the handkerchief from her pants' pocket. Dabbing her head with it, she continued towards the opposite road.
As she neared one of the carts that was approaching her, she made a quick glance at the baskets and the fruit within them. Then her gaze sprung upwards at the younger girl that pushed it. Holding her hand outward, she signals to her to stop and asks, "How much are your persimmons? I would like to purchase one."
The soldier looked towards the bard, his facial features softening. He lifted his hand to grasp and hold the bard closer, or merely to hold his arm upwards. Tears stained his cheek, his mouth open in a silent cry. His shirt became more pronounced, as his body began to become thinner, his organs and muscle seeming to be dissolved by the vicious disease.
After a while, the man's breathing became calmer, just as he stopped crying. Blood and the black bile seeped from his nose and his mouth, before his body became limp. His arm hung from the cot, his side-long stare lifeless. The doctor and his assistant looked up towards the bard, but remained on the other side of the building, tending to other patients. They seemed to be whispering to themselves as they worked. Finally, after a few tunes from the bard, the assistant walks towards the Merman. He shakes his head, "I'm sorry. We've done our best. It may be too late for them." Though one soldier, tucked into the corner, was having a coughing fit. His mouth expelled some of the bile, and the music was settling him down. He appeared to be younger, nearing his mid-twenties. His body seemed to be faring well against the disease, still muscled, and much less pale.
Constanza walked through the streets, still staring at the letter. She had almost bumped into a few other people, and they had wanted to say something, but thought better of it once they looked down at the uniform she wore. Tucking the letter into her uniform's chest pocket, she straightened her sign and weapon upon her shoulder. After a few minutes, she stopped and took out the handkerchief from her pants' pocket. Dabbing her head with it, she continued towards the opposite road.
As she neared one of the carts that was approaching her, she made a quick glance at the baskets and the fruit within them. Then her gaze sprung upwards at the younger girl that pushed it. Holding her hand outward, she signals to her to stop and asks, "How much are your persimmons? I would like to purchase one."
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