[Cliffside Cave] In the same boat

[Varthakh]

18th of Ashan

Previous thread

The beast man's vicious snarl didn't curb, even after he'd let go of Abaddon. In a very dramatic turn of events, Fridgar had gripped his cave guest and thrown him clean out off the cliff and across the ocean. It was revealed that the man he'd taken home was actually the past lover of his beloved, and Fridgar had reacted without thinking. Now, Abaddon laid on the waves ahead of him, broken and bleeding. Anger for what that man had done turned to anger at himself and he screamed in rage, an ungodly roar. They'd not thought earlier and they weren't about to start thinking... But damn it all. The first time in arcs that they could sit down with someone and talk like an ordinary person, and they turned out to be one of Alistair's toys.

The Protean, who had entered a lotharren blood rage, slammed his fist against the wall and shook the very foundation of the cave. "FUCK!" They roared, then gripped the wall and slammed his head against it with as much force as they could muster. The blow split the skin on his forehead and sent him stumbling backward. "Fuck..." they whispered as his warm blood ran down the bridge of his nose. They'd long since locked their form by expending ether. The last thing they needed right now was for the lurker to say hello. They breathed a little, then walked over to the mouth of the cave. The tide had drawn out quite a lot by now, there was even some sand visible among the rocks at the foot of the cliff. They fell flat on their behind and looked out to Abaddon's floating, broken body.

Not even three full trials after arriving in Quacia, they'd already killed a man. No... Wait. They looked closer upon the mark in the sea and realized, Abaddon was still alive. Fridgar huffed a little as they mulled over the thought of saving him. On one hand, they'd managed to look him in the eyes and his spark didn't order his death, over their trial of bonding, Fridgar's very soul had accepted his man to be a part of his flock... But then, he'd been Alistair's lover at some point. They could barely recall what Abaddon had said before being thrown, but they could clearly remember him saying one sentence; that Alistair had said there was no one else... Beyond that, they'd broken up now, it wasn't as though Abaddon was deliberately trespassing on his territory, or trying to steal his mate, but his primal mind was difficult to work through. With a sigh, they reached into their domain bag and drew a large bone ax, a two-handed weapon made from the remnants of a lurker. This ax, was in fact, a totem.

They released their ether lock and let the beast manifest his form. At once, they fell from the mouth of the cave and slammed the rocky ground with thunderous force. The ax was assimilated into him while they transformed, then they began walking out to sea as they grew more and more and more. The water reached only up to his waist as he walked along the sea floor, then up to his chest as he walked further and further out to sea. Once the transformation was done, Fridgar stood a full thirty-seven feet and ten inches tall with two massive horns that flowed back across his scalp from his forehead and a thick mane of amber hair covered his head. They had become a Lurker of the Plains. Very carefully, the beast lifted Abaddon from the water and held him in the palm of his hand. His body was quite horrifically disfigured, but he could still be saved.

Quickly and carefully, they turned and began to climb the sandy slope of the sea floor back toward the cave. Gently, he put Abaddon down within, then unleashed into his Lotharren form. They quickly climbed the cliff face and dropped beside Abaddon. As a novice rupturer, they had a field of awareness around them that felt movement... And Abaddon didn't seem to be breathing. Forgoing all inhibition, they relived Alistair's teachings for medical practices. He fell to his knees and carefully rolled Abaddon onto his back, then tilted his chin up to open his airways. Once he was ready to be resuscitated, Fridgar pinched his nose shut and breathed two hard breaths into his mouth. Immediately after, he began to pump his stomach, just below the diaphragm. Thirty hard presses, two every second, worked to dislodge the water in his throat, then he pinched his nose and locked lips with him again to breathe... Come on, Abaddon.

[Abaddon]

In clouds of red mist, Abaddon floated freely through Emea, an awareness of lucidity. His legs were numb, they ached in the outlands of his Dreamscape. The visage of beasts lurked beyond the lightning strikes in the distance, but for now he was given brief reprieve to die floating across the sea. Is this it, do I answer now to the Twins, or will Thetros give me new life? he wondered. Recalling how he’d crashed into the waves, he was sure he was about to die in but moments, and he could feel himself slipping away from this world to somewhere ...else, moment by moment, as if his very soul were leaving his body. Creatures lurked in his mind, possibilities, entities calling out their goodbyes, yet mournful they had never met. Their voices whispered him encouragement.

“Pass freely,” one echoed.
”Live, take your revenge. Wake up. Wake up,” another urged. Those twin voices growled at him, but he could scarcely pay attention as his weightless mind floated on.

Like lightning, he felt his body jerk. The deep abyss he was halfway lost to seemed to shirk from him, this amniotic fluid relinquishing its primordial hold with every thrust of Fridgar’s palms. Abaddon gagged, coughing up water in his mind though not yet in the world above. Will I live?

Is there a way? Am I not who I am? Am I not powerful enough to live?

Fridgar’s resuscitating lips had no effect, but Abaddon weakly thought to himself. There must be a way... my lungs are filled with water, by now. His mind was getting hazy as oxygen began to deplete, threatening to rip him away from his Dreamscape. He had to act quickly. An idea formed in his mind, born of desperation. In his palm, an inky blackness formed and dripped onto the glassy floor below, a black sludge coalescing into a glowing worm that reached for his ankle and slid up his deformed legs. Pierce my neck. Corrupt my body, give more of me to Kielik, and make me more monster than man.

Envisioning in his mind what he wanted, the worm latched onto his neck and began digging with its myriad of teeth, burrowing in. Drawing upon Kielik’s power, he gave it form by his will, a power of creation he’d wrought upon others but never dared to attempt on himself. As he did, he gave himself gills, to bare the mark of the fish. Emea’s boundless creativity filled in the rest, and though they were not perfect, Abaddon’s lifeless body began to warp and change in the world beyond.

Before Fridgar’s eyes, three flaps of skin opened upon Abaddon’s neck, and with one breath water flowed from those newly formed gills onto the stone beneath. The first breath was ragged and weak, but the second was deep, and Abaddon’s mind thrust itself back into the mortal plane, eyes tearing open wide and bulging. Everything felt like death. White-hot pain flashed through his nerves like thunderbolts striking him over and over, and he could barely feel a thing until out of the corner of his eye he saw his leg bent at an awkward angle, Fridgar standing over him.

For now he couldn’t speak, the primitive non-functional gills stealing away his words, only allowing the water to escape his throat enough to free his airways, though they had no way to filter oxygen through the water. His mouth opened, but nothing came out save for wisps of air and throaty gasps. For now, at least, he was alive.

Corruption

► Show Spoiler

Moderate Corruption: Crude Gills
More visual than functional, a set of gills have appeared on Abaddon's neck. They each function as a stoma, hindering his breathing and making swallowing slightly more challenging. They will gradually shrink Trial by Trial, until they become shallow discolored pits in his neck after a few Trials, eventually fading away entirely at the end of the season. These were created by Abaddon's Nitahi ability, Corruptive Influence.

[Varthakh]

Pump after pump, Fridgar kept at his lungs, trying to force the rest of the liquid from his chest cavity. They weren't making progress though, Abaddon just didn't want to cough up the water in his lungs no matter how many times Fridgar pushed down on him. They began to fear that they might have left him too long though... Just how much water had he breathed? By the immortals, had he tried to inhale the whole damn ocean!? It certainly seemed so, for they were running out of time and they hadn't seen any of the water yet. Fridgar had been about ready to grab his two broken legs then shake him upside down, make gravity take the water back... But then, something strange happened. Abadon cast adapt, a master becoming technique, while unconscious?

The Technique allowed the becomer to take the traits of their totems and grow them in an instant. Abaddon grew gills on his neck, which Fridgar watched with a furrowed brow. So what, Abaddon had just bullshitted them about not knowing what becoming was? Water from his lungs began pouring onto the stone with every breath they drew after the first. Fascinating, they hadn't considered using gills as a filtration system for filled lungs before, but it proved effective, for Abaddon lived. With the breathing sorted, the next step of first aid was in the queue; stop the bleeding. So, he reached into their domain bag and collected a large cauterizing iron, a burner complete with brazier. He set the burner to heat the iron with a vial of oil, then got to looking over Abaddon for any punctures or slashes.

"Yes, I know your legs are fucked, I'm getting to it," He said with something of a scowl. They brandished his claws, then slid their claw along the fabric of his trousers in multiple directions, then carefully peeled away the fabric. They were looking for any obvious wounds, particularly around the purple, swollen bends in his legs. "I'm not the best doctor, but I can at least keep you alive until I find one, maybe even put your legs right," they offered. But with their competence in medicine, this was far from doable for him. "Bogs..."

"I'm gonna put your legs straight and splint them," they warned as they took a hold of his leg. "Ready?" The Protean took a deep breath and readied his arm. It seemed as though they were going to try and straighten the leg as quickly as possible, then he shut his eyes and sighed. "I can't do this," they said and let go. "There's a good chance I'll just fuck it up if I try, we need Alistair." They sat back against the cave wall and held their head. Finally, they were clear from their previous fit of anger. "Ilaren... What was I thinking? I'm sorry, Abaddon."

[Abaddon]

Were it not for Fridgar holding the mage upside-down, the water likely wouldn’t have flown through the slits in his neck, but it did, and with Abaddon breathing now, at least he was alive. The pain was so great that Abaddon could hardly speak, let alone the Moderate Corruption upon his neck making it difficult to conjure proper words. “Hhhhhh,” he sputtered, reaching to grab Fridgar by the wrist as he was treated. “No Alistair,” he shook his head. ”He can’t know.”

Abaddon was afraid the rift between them would grow, and Fridgar would only rage. As cold and heartless Abaddon’s lover often seemed, he was wrathful, he knew that much. “Find me another doctor - no, don’t try, you’ll wreck them.” Relief spread through his body, the most pain he’d ever felt in his life radiating through his shattered legs. Deep down, he knew Alistair was the only one who could fix this, but he could never let Alistair know it was Fridgar who caused the injury. For as terrible as their breakup may be, Abaddon still cared about him in more ways than one.

“Another surgeon,” he wheezed. “If you can’t afford them, bring them here.” He winced and shut his eyes, the pain only growing. “Do you have anything in that ...bag?” In his mind, he started praying to Kielik, saying the name over and over again. Give me strength. Let me survive. Don’t let my legs be lost. Fear of losing his legs was kept at bay for the moment, too terrified to even think it could happen. “It’s alright ...Fridgar,” he wheezed. “I probably deserve it.” In truth, he wished it never happened. To live a life as a cripple would be anathema to someone such as himself who dreamed of grander things.

[Varthakh]

Finally, Abaddon managed to cough up the last of the water, then Fridgar set him down gently. "No Alistair?" That was one of his first sentences, why wouldn't he want Alistair's help? "Why not?" They asked, though it might have been obvious. Abaddon was bitter about the break-up and would sooner writhe than accept help from the man. That was strange, Abaddon had seemed like a nice guy, to think that he could hold such scorn for someone was unsettling, but they understood. "Fine, I can try... But I don't want to leave you alone for too long." It didn't take much to convince Fridgar not to try and fix the problem himself, his confidence outside of anything that didn't involve punching things was quite low, after all.

"Sure, I can manage that." How hard could it be to kidnap someone? Not very hard for a saint of the skies, he was sure. That was when he noticed that Abaddon's arm was dislocated from where Fridgar had thrown him, they cringed a little, then went to dig through their bag. Painkiller, painkiller... anything of the sort? When they found just the thing, they drew it from the bag and handed it to Abaddon. Of course, it was a half-full bottle of malt whiskey. "I know you can't hold your drink, so this should do the trick until I get back," they said. Then without warning, he gripped Abaddon's arm and his shoulder, then pulled the two together. At once, the ball joint slipped back into the socket. Horrible pain exploded from his shoulder and in an instant, it was gone and he could move his arm again. "I popped my shoulder more than once growing up. You should be fine now," he explained simply.

Then, he stood and dug through their bag to collect his Sohr Khal totem. "I won't be gone long, drink up and try to pass out," was all the advice he had for the smaller Lothar. After he took a knee and turned off the burner, he let the totem manifest his form. "Deserve it? Gods, no. Shut up, Abaddon," they demanded in an echo of Fridgar's voice. He then leaped from the mouth of the cave and stretched his wings. Quickly, the red and white feathered dragon disappeared from view and they took to the skies. How hard could it be to find a surgeon in Quacia?

~One break later~

Flying was something that Fridgar had been doing quite an awful lot recently, and while they were getting better, it was still something of a struggle. Now though, with a whole mattress wrapped around his back, it was quite the struggle indeed. The Sohr Khal cast a glance to his left, where he saw another, smaller one of their kind with Alistair's bag in tow. The other Sohr Khal was Kleine, Alistair's best friend, assistant, ex-slave, pack mule and mother to his child. They too had once been close, but Fridgar had deliberately kept his distance until totrial. After half a break of searching the shithole of Quacia for a surgeon, Fridgar gave up and went looking for Alistair, only to find that Alistair had left the island just the trial prior to go to Ne'haer.

"It's not much further," The Sohr Khal echoed to Kleine. Of course, failing to find Alistair, Kleine had agreed to come and help with some persuading. Fridgar had almost begged the lesser becomer, despite the grudge he held. Now, they could only hope that Abaddon had either passed out or at least gotten drunk enough to dull the pain. "Thanks, again, for coming," the Protean said without looking in his direction. Then, the cliff face came into view and Fridgar signaled for them to land. Taking the lead, he glided downward and tilted his wings to turn and slow his approach. Once they were at the mouth of the cave, they landed and crawled deeper within to make room for Kleine. "Wakey wakey, I got some help, but also bad news..."

[Alistair]

It hadn't taken a lot to get him to come. Only the promise that they would talk - about everything - reconnect, and recollect. Kleine prided himself in the altruistic spirit that he was, always willing to help others even if he had to writhe in the messy anguish that was transitioning his form. For Fridgar, a man he considered close to him, the Lotharro prepared a variety of different things: reagents, tools and aides for Abaddon's process of healing, a bed, pillows and blankets, and most importantly a single passenger: Devin Valskarr. Devin would act as Abaddon's protector and guardian during his recovery, tirelessly ensuring that no Saltfetcher or Kingfisher crept into the cove and slaughtered him.

But with him came bad news. Quacia was a city deeply divided, and no doctor was ever available to assist an impoverished Heap, let alone a foreign one. He could not find any help even from the Red Cloak Hospital, despite serving as an administrative assistant in the business that Alistair had done with them. None of them were willing to leave the bounds of the city, and as far as he was concerned, it was impossible to move him from what he'd heard - let alone what he saw.

When Kleine and Fridgar finally arrived at the cave, the Lotharro winced at the sight of Abaddon's mangled figure. It was the sort of thing he'd only witnessed back when Kaelserad was back in operation, as now he and Alistair largely worked to assist the elderly in dying peacefully, without undue pain. Such injuries were far removed from him, after so long apart from them.

"Thetros save us," he bit his lip, unleashing into his Self Totem with a pair of breeches wrapped around his lower body. "Abaddon, Alistair isn't going to return for... he told me at least ten trials, and that was yesterday. But that's when he'll arrive, so... probably not until the twenty-eighth, and that's the earliest. But there's not a single doctor in the city who will come here," said the Lothar. "How, exactly, did this happen? Were you attacked by a Saltfetcher? Oh, Lord, Fridgar you need to make sure we're safe in here. Those things are really active in Ashan and Ymiden, and I forgot the code gestures for getting Devin to patrol. He's literally just going to stand here until he sees a hostile," he said, waving a hand over the Revenant's eyes.

"Alistair's going to be so mad. Devin is supposed to be protecting Asher and Winston, but I figure... Daniel, Icarus and Andreas are enough. But what if they die? Vakk, vakk, vakk..." Fuck, fuck, fuck, in Haltunga. "Fridgar, do the splints," he said. "I'm only good at knowing what medicine to give them, and what tools to hand over. I'm more of a nurse-assistant than anything."

Off Topic

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[Abaddon]

Abaddon wasn’t thinking clearly. His whole world was spinning, shin smashed at an ungodly sharp angle. It was a miracle his flesh hadn’t been shorn by fragmented bone, but it hurt. Gods, it hurts. What’s more, his arm was dislocated, the very same arm he’d endowed with strength some time ago. How it survived with little more than a dislocation mystified him, but Abaddon knew the injury well. That would heal after being set in mere Trials. His leg, however...

The arm came first, and Abaddon gladly took hold of the wine, draining the bottle with one long chug and tossing it to the side with a hiss of pain, chest rising and falling as his body began to glisten with sweat from the ordeal. “Fridgar, I’m...” he stopped as his arm was grabbed and popped back into place. “Agh! Fek!” he screamed at the top of his lungs before throwing his head back to whine through gritted teeth. Tears began to pool from the corners of his eyes, streaming down his face. “Fekking shit, how did that hurt as much as my leg?” Nursing his arms, he hugged himself, tracing fingers over his bolstered arm. Maybe a rune could help? I’ve already used so much Ether today, should I really push things? He’d always been weary, but now was an emergency.

Fridgar was going to get help. Good. “I’ll stay awake, don’t worry,” Abaddon smiled, half-tempted to rob Fridgar of his ability to sleep just so he could stay awake, though part of him wondered if going to sleep might actually help if he could impart another Corruption to himself, though he knew only smaller ones could happen now that he’d expended so much of Kielik’s gift.

Carefully, Abaddon lifted himself onto his elbows, trying not to turn, laying his hand upon his thigh. “I’m going to try and make my muscles more insulating. Maybe I can be moved if I do this, or at least more safely. A few bits.” Shutting his eyes as the numbing fog of alcohol emerged, he focused on dismissing the rune upon his arm, the shadowy lettering vanishing from his skin. What followed was a Rune of Strength upon his naked thigh, forming as his will manifested, further intent eventually leading to a full outright dedication of the concept. It wasn’t a rune to help him endure, but the added strength to a limb helped to stabilize it. As this happened, though, Abaddon grew dizzy, his head beginning to spin with the consequences of mild Overstepping. “Not again,” he grumbled, brushing over the rune to activate it before falling back down to breathe heavily.

Laying back, he waited and waited, an eternity of agonizing labor to sit there and do nothing. It was an experience he’d never quite known before, something that would stick with him for awhile, to feel at such mercy to another who might not return for a mind-bending amount of time in this situation. In that cave, he found resolve, and hope in the bitterness of his heart, and told himself that he would try to be a better man as he always promised himself.

Delirious, Abaddon stirred as the two Becomers landed, claws clattering against stone before taking their proper forms. “Kleine, is that you?” Abaddon gasped. Near him was also Devin Valskarr, though Abaddon knew little about the man. “Am I that bad?” Abaddon replied to the remark. “Can it be saved - a Saltfetcher! Yes, by the Gods it was a Saltfetcher!” the raving mage lied outright, trying to save Fridgar from persecution as a favor to the both of them. “Coding gestures?” Abaddon questioned, but shook his head. Irrelevant. Later.


“Alright, alright, that’s good enough,” Abaddon said, putting his head back. “Give me something to bite down on.” He opened his mouth, receiving the inevitable stick of pain tolerance and doing his best to put his mind somewhere far away from the present while he waited for Fridgar and Kleine to operate.

[Varthakh]

To sit down and have a talk with Kleine, all while suppressing how they truly felt about the man, would be no mean feat. Some would argue that Fridgar was overreacting, and Fridgar too was starting to think that. It wasn't so much the result of what he and Alistair had done together that bothered him, it was the act itself. Imagining their bodies entwined beneath the sheets with the intent to make a new child, a child that Fridgar had no part in making, a child to replace Bellator. Perhaps that had been the point where Alistair truly let go of Fridgar, and could they blame him? They could, but they shouldn't have. It wasn't as though Fridgar had any desire to bare Alistair's children either, if anything, the thought disgusted them. So why? Why did he hold such scorn for Kleine, the sweet Lothar that had even cut off a part of himself to help Fridgar remain in society?

Once they landed, Fridgar began to undo the ties on his back and Kleine unleashed into his self totem. The lack of space in the cave was beginning to become something of a hassle, and Fridgar had to move a little deeper into the cave before dropping off the mattress. It hit the stone floor with a hefty slam, and finally, Fridgar's back was free of the cumbersome weight. They stretched the joints of their wings as much as they could in the comparably small cave, then let their Lotharro totem assume their form. Over the course of thirty trills or so, Fridgar shrank and changed shape, returning to their tanned Lotharren hide and thick mane of brown hair. Thetros save us Kleine said, and Fridgar knew it was bad. The Protean had become somewhat desensitized to the severity of injuries, having suffered far more life-threatening things on a bi-weekly basis in the Gauthrien fields. It was easy to forget that those who weren't Becomers could be stricken with life-altering injuries if the wind blew in the wrong direction at the right time.

They didn't say a word as Kleine explained Alistair's escapade and their current situation. It might have been for the best if anything. They needed time to collect their thoughts, figure out their new life, now that it wasn't just him and Alistair... If that was even a life that they wanted to pursue. "I'm sorry Abaddon, I really did try to find someone else but... I don't know, people tend to lose their legs from things like this. If you wanna keep them, we need Alistair." And that was the truth, Fridgar only rarely helped on cases like this one while they were in Uthaldria, and even then, the monsters of the plains didn't usually leave much of the Lothar for them to fix. A saltfetcher? Fridgar didn't know what that was, but they were fairly certain that they'd been the one to do this to Abaddon, not some animal. But if Abaddon was more comfortable with a lie than the truth, who were they to put their morals first? So they nodded to Klein's instructions.

"If he can't patrol, Reiner certainly can," he picked up the bone ax from the ground. "I'd tell you to save your ether, Kleine, but we'll be safe with the two of them on guard duty," Fridgar stood at the mouth of the cave, then poured his ether into the ax before throwing it out to sea. Mid-flight, the totem erupted in a violent explosion of twisting flesh and constructing bone, and a Lurker build around it with the totem acting as its heart. The sudden impact with the ocean kicked up a hefty wave of saltwater around the point of impact, and the lurker roared to the sky with a ferocity that could curdle the blood of all those that knew him. With silent commands, Reiner began walking along the ocean floor a short distance from the cave, the Protean nodded with approval.

"His name is Bellator." Fridgar said at the mention of Winston. "And they'll be fine, as soon as we're done here, I'll give you and the thrall a ride back and I can hold up my end of the bargain."

Inside the Cave, it was time to get to work. "Calm yourself Kleine, it's fine. You might want to give him something to dull the pain before I splint his legs, Kleine," Fridgar suggested, knowing how painful a fracture of that intensity could be. Once Kleine had done so, Fridgar would very carefully pick up the broken man and put him on the mattress for added comfort. This way, the painkiller would have at least a little bit of time to work into his bloodstream before Fridgar acted. Then they collected some of their own wooden splints from their domain bag, and gently pushed one into Abaddon's mouth upon request. "Bite on that," they said before collecting some bandages to wrap the splint with. A glance to Kleine and Abaddon would confirm whether or not they were ready to proceed, and once they were ready, Fridgarheld his leg near the breakage, then forcefully straightened the limp in a sickening, muffled crunch. Almost immediately, the swollen blue lump in the bend would fade a little and his foot regained some color, healthy blood flow had been re-established with the limb.

As soon as Abaddon had calmed from the correction of the first leg, Fridgar took hold of his other one and repeated the process. Once both legs were straight, he presses two splints on either side of the fracture and began to wrap them in layers upon layers of thick bandage. "How do we keep the bone from setting until Alistair gets back?" The Protean asked while he wrapped the bandage, trying his best to ignore whatever sound Abaddon was making, if any.

[Alistair]

Kleine had no idea what a 'Reiner' was, but from what he knew of Fridgar, he figured it was one of his Totem Guardians or some animal... or something. He didn't bother seeking an explanation, largely because that wasn't what was pertinent to him at the moment. Most of his peripheral awareness was diminished from the onset, focusing almost solely on the outward condition of Abaddon and what might need to be done. The moment the suggestion came to dull his pain before Fridgar splinted his legs, Kleine immediately ran forward and uncapped a bottle of Clam Leaf Tonic, nudging Abaddon's lips open and pouring in the liquid. It would dull his pain considerably, but--

"Give it a few bits, Fridgar," he boded him to wait. "The tonic will take a few bits to take full effect. Once it has set in, he will be almost completely numb, but until then it won't help him. Please wait," he beckoned again, and fortunately the man listened to his suggestion. Even though he wasn't a doctor by any means, he'd seen enough of Alistair's practice to know what most of his tonics and reagents did, and generally how long they took to take effect.

Then, he waited, and tried not to observe as Fridgar stepped forward and offered the man something to bite on, before... well, all of the rest of the grizzly actions took place. The crunch still elicited a twist in his gut, though, as his mind forced him to imagine what it looked like and felt like, even though his eyes were averted. Kleine exhaled, trying to calm himself. Despite working on patients all the time, too few of them were personal relations, and it pained him to see anyone he knew in the state that Abaddon was in.

How do we keep the...

"Oh, Gods, uh--well. I have this brew that's mixed with Fuzz and some other things that... well, sort of sap the body's natural ability to heal. Fuzz will numb the pain and prevent the joints from reconnecting wrong, if I remember correctly. I--just, try it. It should work until Alistair gets here," he said, frowning and offering Fridgar a small vial. "I'll make some more, because they should only last for a trial or two at best. I should have ten more tomorrow, promise. But this is all I have for now."

[Abaddon]

With a heavy breath, the injured man shook his head. “It’s fine, I think Alistair will understand. I hope. Thank you for helping me,” he said, ending those words with a wince and a growl, squeezing his fists and eyes tight. “Fek this hurts.” It took a lot of control to keep the crude gills on his neck closed, so when Kleine rushed forward with a tonic, Abaddon hadn’t yet squeezed his throat muscles, causing the liquid to pour freely from the slits in his neck and run down his chest. At first. After a few moments he closed them up enough to swallow, gasping for breath. His head lurched and he started coughing, the bitter taste assaulting his sensibilities. "Hgr, maybe the gills weren't such a great idea," Abaddon choked. "I'm not even sure if they'll go away." He looked to Fridgar, narrowing his eyes. "Let's get this over with. I don't want to even think about anticipating this any longer."

It still hurt like a bastard horse was stomping all over his legs, but Abaddon knew the pain would dull in time. At last the stick was offered to him, and Abaddon squeezed down tight with his teeth, turning his head to the side and screaming through the bit with the most unmanly, awful noise he'd ever made. The cracking sound his legs made was something that would stick with him more than the pain, though he nearly unleashed the bile from his stomach over the both of them. At that point, Abaddon’s eyes glazed over. “I don’t feel... mnnh.” His eyes flickered and lidded, before his head fell to the side. He was breathing, but unconscious.

In his mind, Abaddon began dreaming, or rather, he began having a nightmare about losing his legs, about having them amputated. For all of this, he was lucid, and every moment through the night, his creative mind came up with more and more ways to torture him. For now, at least, he was stable.