Medic 3

[21:40] Well. Muted. Or so she seemed too tired to speak. It did little to still her movements, nor did the chatter from behind. She was a surgeon, after all, another title to add to her growing list of professions. A pointed glance beckoned Andrew over, as with a wave of her hand as she started peeling back her coat.

Oddly enough- baubles. Pleasant chimes. Harsh rattles. Idle patter. They were filled with an assortment of things- but it mattered not. The coat was withdrawn, peeled away, and set by the stand at the other corner of the room.

"Alright, so. Andrew. We were going to talk about toxins, but I suppose we'll be talking about surgery first. This is a level 3 course topic. But experience is experience." said Barca with a snort. She tried to smile, but it was the barest curve as she felt sapped of strength. Yet another old face had disappeared. And probably her last connection to Tyr.

Few would remember him.

It almost made her wonder if anyone remembered who the Black Knight was, underneath that mask. Barca knew little- Just the thought wracked her with guilt. Yet another regret to carry.

But it vanished with a sigh, at least outwardly, with the bitterness in her gaze giving way to tempered professionalism.

"The most important thing about any procedure, whether that be through first aid trauma care to general surgery, is keeping both your tools, your hands, your surfaces, and your patient as clean as possible."

She stood, interposed between Tyrith's arm and Andrew. Without even turning back, she spoke, "It's not going to be pretty. If you're not prepared to see something gruesome, we can have another lesson later, Andrew."

A thoughtful silence.

Should he choose to accept, Barca would turn away, opening the boy up to witness the mangled limb.

Tyrith's arm was now bare. Crushed into a pulp. Like a rag twisted into a thick knot on both sides, leaving all the bones within to snap and poke out like the spurs of a hedgehog.

The skin was purpled, blued, blackened with the dried blood.

"With general cuts and so, what you would do is clear any debris. Tweezers are enough. Debris as in- dirt, stone, mud, anything foreign. Dirty. After that? You clean it, dabbing alcohol or a disinfectant, and it's as simple as wrapping it up. With surgery? And amputation no less? It's a lot different."
(Barca Vandroy)
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[21:40] He frowns for a moment before lowering his head.

"The demons will fall.. I still don't understand why the witches do what they do. But they will go back into hiding one day, once this war is over. I know it. It will stay that way..

… I am sure of it. I am going to return to the park for now. I will keep Tyrith in my thoughts, I hope she recovers well." He declared.

Something about his tone was.. Big. Highly. Perhaps more than you'd see from a commoner. "..Farewell, Atlas. Thank you for getting me up to speed."
(Arthor cos Mundis)
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[21:42] Atlas nods, "Yeah no problem be safe out there Arthor."

He turns to his student, and hugs him, "I'm glad to see you're alright Darroth, how've you been through all this?" Atlas looks nervous, sweating a lot.
(Atlas Daromir)
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[21:46] Darroth awkwardly returns Atlas' hug, looking a bit surprised by it, and then slumps down in the chair behind him, it looks like this is the first rest he's gotten in a while "I'm glad you're alright too Atlas, I've been running around trying to find you guys, now I'm just worried where Suica went. Have you seen him?"
(Darroth Brymenor)
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[21:46] Andrew went over to clean his hands and even putting some white gloves on with a clam look on his face. He did something like this recently, but not to this extent.

"I understand and I've had practice at cleaning wounds and applying stiches already. This sounds like advance stitching, but I'm ready to help you with whatever is needed jsut tell me what to do."

Andrew took off his jacket and it seems like he was going to mess up his pretty pink shirt now. After taking a deep breath and allowing everything to settle in.

"Looking at the wound I assume there's no saving the crushed arm, are we replacing the bone or the entire arm?" He asked while about to preform advance surgery.
(Andrew Mercia)
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[21:48] Atlas keeps glancing over at the surgery breathing shakily, "uh yeah i'm ok." He pulls his sword out and starts sharpening it, trying to calm his nerves.

"He said he'd be back soon, then left, he headed southward, I hope he didn't go off to Moonfall or something like he's been doing." Atlas shakes his head, "He's smarter than that."
(Atlas Daromir)
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[21:55] Darroth looks surprised by the fact that Suica would leave the city at this time, "I hope he didn't go to moonfall, he definitely knows better than that" he says,

Darroth then pauses and thinks for a moment "now, I'm just thinking about the worst case scenario here but, if he does have business in moonfall it would explain his odd actions as of late" After finishing that statement Darroth shivers a bit and tries his best to forget the notion of that ever happening, his friend is better than that.
(Darroth Brymenor)
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[21:57] Tyrith writhes in pain as she's operated on. Her circuits seem to be working quickly - too quickly - to try to repair the damage to her arm. Alas, it's too expensive. An examination of her vitals would find her heartbeat impossibly slow, and her blood impossibly hot. Under the influence of magical morphine, her sclera are almost totally red. Strangely, her nose does not seem especially bothered.
(Tyrith Airgetlam)
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[21:57] Atlas looks to Darroth, his eye studying him, thinking over his words, "That... would be the worst case scenario."

Atlas sharpens his blade once more, avoiding looking at his scarred reflection, "He's not though, he would've told at least one of us if something major came up like that."

Atlas scratches his neck, "but he was acting weird when cosmic magic was brought up." Atlas begins to wonder, faintly about the strange crimson moon cult he'd heard about.
(Atlas Daromir)
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[21:58] Tyrith Airgetlam says, "...With the Iridas dead, the world I wanted to live in is no longer possible."
[21:59] Atlas Daromir says, "Tyrith that's not true"
[22:00] "We'll sever it. Save as much tissue as we can." said Barca, stepping away to the basin beside. She peeled off her gauntlets, cleansed her hands, then peeled out a pair of disposable gloves. With a snap, they were set over her wrists, and they were more or less ready. While Andrew stood by, she circled around to the cabinet at the other end of the room, dipped a knee, and pulled out a large silver case.

Flicking the locks, she pried it open, fanning out tray after tray of tools. Scissors. Pliers. Scalpels. And more. The variety didn't stop with the manual apparatus, but also liquid solutions as well.

She stepped away, taking with her a roll of measure tape, and already she was measuring it over her intact limb- whispering softly under a hushed breath the proportions of her arm, from circumference to length, to the various thickness across the major bones in the extremity, before finally doubling back to scribble down her findings.

"Alright. Sorry about that. For the time being Andrew. Use a bit of tape and a skin-surface thermometer." She turned, leveled a long look, and once they met eyes, she gave a few practice tosses- making the gesture, matching the pace, before finally confirming. "Ready? 3. 2. 1. Catch." It was the slightest bit reckless, but it wasn't bad. Both the thermometer and tape was tossed and caught, and Barca resumed speaking while fixing up the prosthetic.

"Measure the skin temperature across the broken limb and the intact limb. Where it's broken? It's usually colder. Find where the damaged and dying tissue ends and where the healthy ones begin. Check for any redness, and give it a poke to see if its still sensitive to touch. That's how you'll figure out where to cut."

Her hands moved quickly- or rather, the thousand-hand grip of her mana moved quickly, arranging the prosthetic, shifting it in place over the table. It flexed, rotated, and moved, much like a rubiks cube- until it landed on the final configuration.

An arm.

She gave it a test with her mana, tugging at the metal and squishing it minute bursts to match Tyrith's dimension- until she finally had something in her hand worth setting.

"As for prosthetics? Prosthetics are designed by an artificer with layers of runes inscribed. The orchilacum works as the nerves, the mithril the muscle. But its the runes that really make nerve conduction possible- at least with that kind of speed." A more curt explanation. She was already circling back to where the mangled limb was, waiting for Andrew to identify the point of cut.
(Barca Vandroy)
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[22:00] Tyrith Airgetlam says, "It's not safe for you two in Theria...."
[22:00] Atlas Daromir says, "Not now"
[22:01] Tyrith Airgetlam says, "...It's not just the Black Knight. They're attacking everyone who's so much as talked with the Black Order."
[22:01] Atlas Daromir says, "They can't catch everyone"
[22:01] Atlas Daromir says, "and the survivors will come together"
[22:02] Atlas Daromir says, "Osrona is supporting refugees"
[22:03] Atlas gets up from his chair "I need to tend to some business, I'll be back... soon."
(Atlas Daromir)
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[22:03] Tyrith Airgetlam asks, "And what? Trade my free world for the knights' broken one?"
[22:12] Andrew wasn't sure what she was going to have to do, but suddenly he was tossed tape and a skin-surface thermometer. Andrew caught them and prepared to assist her with whatever he needed to do. Andrew took the thermometer and started pressing it against the flesh looking for where the heat ends and the cold stop begins.

Andrew took a little while he tried to find the rick spot so he'd cause her little pain. They were looking to remove the dead tissue from the arm and he believes he's found it , pulling the tape from his pocket he'd tape a around the area.

He'd then pull out a marker and draw a dotted line where the cold aura begins and after he was done he'd look at Barca.

"Where this line is place that's where the cold area and the warm area meet. If we're going to save as much tissue as we can then it's best we start here before applying the kit"

He wasn't sure if he did this right, buthe tried to follow instructions as best as he could.

"What's next?"
(Andrew Mercia)
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[22:14] Tyrith stares down at her arm. She was really about to lose it? This had been her first ever fight. The apothecarist had prided herself on living her life without needing to fight, but that same indifference had led Sajid kill one of the few people she was closest to.

She readies herself for what comes next.
(Tyrith Airgetlam)
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[22:17] Barca herself looked on, glancing carefully at his measurements, at his decision. "Yup. You're correct." In her hands was another thermometer. In the brief moment she circled over she had already taken the general temperature on her intact arm, and already she was giving it a dab across the ruined canvas of her mangled limb.

Perfect.

He's better than I thought.

"Now. Tyrith. We'll be putting you under anaesthetic. That being- we're going to put you to sleep." Already she was working on pinching in the IV- and with a practiced flick, she nocked it straight into her vein. Then came a dab of tape.

"After that. We'll administer a few other drugs. But they'll be mainly to promote blood flow." She looked to Andrew. "What's next is the actual cut. In a way, it's almost like sculpting. You keep the best, and peel away the rest, until you have what you want. We'll start by restricting blood from the mangled limb, then parting skin and flesh- and then bone. Then we'll have to sand down any juts into a rounded sphere to cap on a socket. Connect the prosthetic. Then sew everything back up."
(Barca Vandroy)
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[22:20] Tyrith gulps. She'd be put under? The apothecarist didn't really have much experience with these things. She had purposely never taken a combat role in her guild, and didn't even spar for fun. What magical potential she did have was generally underutilized.

"...Okay," she rasps, in between painful gasps. "Do it."

(Tyrith Airgetlam)
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[22:20] Andrew nods this process was going to be the long and hard, but he'd be willing to see it towards the end. Something inside him wanted to make him say /nurse cloth/ but he chuckles a little bit. He prepares for the next step.
(Andrew Mercia)
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[22:23] Agrien have been there mostly for assistance, and completely silent through the teaching. Barca was handling it and the doctor seemed to be respecting as much, trying not to actually steal her moment or get in her way of the teaching and conducting the surgery on Tyrith.

It was only then that she noticed the door opening and Kalm coming inside with Jewel, to which she nodded at Barca, and stepped closer to the duo.

"Welcome- We have a surgery going; may we help you?" she asked, almost immediately giving an assessing look at them to search for any visual sign of wounds or similar.
(Agrien Vandroy)
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[22:25] Sarante was hefted onto the bed. Still breathing, but exhausted both physically and magically.
(Sarante Parada)
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[22:26] Jewel would stumble in, her eyes immediately falling upon the one person she knew in the room. Offering a small smile towards the lady, though upon noticing the other people over there, that expression quickly faded. It was the one lady that had given her the 35 things to do list.

Quite unfortunate... Either way! She'd take out her notebook, scribbling something down quickly but neatly and flipping it over so the doctor could see.

"Hello again, Miss Agrien.. Sorry, I kind of blacked out the last time I was here, probably wasted your time.. I assume that you're busy now as well, so would you like for me to come back later? I'd like to continue the treatment.."
(Jewel Vixen)
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[22:31] Agrien offered her a calm smile, reaching for the notebook and giving a read, until she shook her head instead, and gently picked her pencil to write down on another page.

"Don't be sorry. And it's not a waste of time. At all. Please move to other bed and we can continue. I can apply an anesthetic for you to be unconscious, or do it with a localized anesthetic that won't make you pass out. Your choice."

The doctor wrote, and handed it back to her, after all the last few things she remembered were Jewel being afraid of being unconscious during the surgery, which would be understandable given the past experience she had with doctors.

A hand gesture was quickly offered them as she motioned towards the empty bed to the right side of room, and she promptly nodded at Kalm.

"Are you a parent, or a friend?" the doctor asked. "We wanted to contact some relatives of hers the first time but we hardly had the chance to given the...Mess...That is outside. My name is Agrien Vandroy, Imperial Head Doctor; it's nice to meet you."
(Agrien Vandroy)
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[22:32] The tube filtered through her hand was branched, splitting in twine, with one feeding the contents of a clear bag through, and the other a stumped jut that could be used to inject something else.

"Alright. Have a good rest, okay? You're in good hands."

She spoke, her voice the slightest touch tender, like the sweet preamble to a restful dream. As the Fae's eyes drifted to a close, she looked back to Andrew, nodding. Already she gave a small hop, puling down a length of elastic string from the ceiling. She wrapped it over the mangled wrist of Tyrith's arm, hanging it up, draining blood away from the extremity.

"Alright."

She moved up- hanging right under the curl of her shoulder. A dotted line had been drawn, and she was already setting surgery towels over the affected area, pinching them in place with a few clips before moving on.

Three knives. Of equal lengths. One to part skin. The other part flesh. The third to reach the base of the bone. A specialized bone saw was set, powered through runes, and such the operation was simple, really.

"It'll be simple. I'll inject a second solution by the base of the cut to relax her muscles even further, then I'll cut open the skin, go deeper into the muscle, then saw down the bone. We remove the limb wholesale after that, cut out the skin flaps, then add this mithril socket so the rest of the limb can be set. Is that clear?"

She held out the first scalpal, clear as day. Small. A thin, brisk slice parted it open, but not even the slightest drop bled through. Then, setting it aside, she reached for the second knife, and with a small cutting motion- like an experienced chef deboning the spine, she sliced through. Before even another word could be said- she was already gripping the saw, vibrating it softly with a tug of her metal magic- and the bone snapped through like a brittle branch.

It almost seemed-- terrifying, how easily the body yielded and broke. Such was the burden of those without magic.

Seamless. The entire limb was pulled out, drawing a slow ooze as it pattered the ground, and it was dispensed over the counter in a bed of towels. She circled back without another word, casting a nod to Andrew as she discarded her gloves, refreshing them with a new pair before pulling out the socket.

In her other hand sat a stick of metal, ridged and bumped. She filed done the jagged jut with one hand, and held the socket to the stump with the other. By the tug and pull of her mana, she sewed it in, locking it along the length of the bone and riding up until it met her shoulder and collarbone. Near invisible. Drawn several decimal places below zero.

With the socket installed- it was as simple as holding the prosthetic arm up like the leg of a chair and screwing it in. A light tap over a few prearranged areas and some scribbles as the necessary runes were installedand configured-

And with that. Completion.
(Barca Vandroy)
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