04-17-2018, 02:22 PM
Even after their technical "victory", it was blindingly obvious that no group could function without at least one person to fix up injuries -- like one of those doctors from T.V. Maybe most of it was staged, but he could understand the gist of it. And, besides, he knew how to wrap wounds from trial and error, evident from the grimy bandaging around his neck. Bandages were only a formality, because nobody wanted a bunch of oily blood seeping from his neck all over them. Well, maybe Valo would like that -- they were a freak. Either way, the scores carved into his neck weren't a bother, but other injuries sustained to his fellow rogues were. They could die, unlike his condemned soul, and they couldn't repair themselves without outside help. Logically, finding the few folks who knew how to heal was his top priority.
He finally returned from his latest expedition into the swamp, apparition failing to track muddy pawprints as he dragged an abandoned plastic bag behind him, the thin plastic stretched by clumps of whatever herbs or medical supplies he could loot from territory, as well as medical encyclopedias from the library. The town did have a few basic first aid tools stowed away for an emergency they couldn't escape, and the swamp was teeming with herbs -- a healer's paradise, if he knew the name for any of them. Dumping his gathered herbs and gauze next to a mossy brick wall secluded from the general foot traffic of camp, Beck was more than happy to sprawl on his mangy belly and arrange the wads of herbs in from of him in no clear pattern, surrounding the shivelled plants with musty doctor's handbooks and scavenged gauze roll. Eventually satisfied with his bizarre display, the boy straightened from his hovering slouch and hollered with his feeble wheeze, "Anybody that wants t' be a medic, get over here!" While he didn't remember what the official names for all of them were, he could recall their archaic uses. So he was at least somewhat qualified to test their knowledge, and decide whether to pat them on the back and give the lucky duck a rank, or to slide them over the hefty books in order for them to actually learn.
[align=center]»――➤He finally returned from his latest expedition into the swamp, apparition failing to track muddy pawprints as he dragged an abandoned plastic bag behind him, the thin plastic stretched by clumps of whatever herbs or medical supplies he could loot from territory, as well as medical encyclopedias from the library. The town did have a few basic first aid tools stowed away for an emergency they couldn't escape, and the swamp was teeming with herbs -- a healer's paradise, if he knew the name for any of them. Dumping his gathered herbs and gauze next to a mossy brick wall secluded from the general foot traffic of camp, Beck was more than happy to sprawl on his mangy belly and arrange the wads of herbs in from of him in no clear pattern, surrounding the shivelled plants with musty doctor's handbooks and scavenged gauze roll. Eventually satisfied with his bizarre display, the boy straightened from his hovering slouch and hollered with his feeble wheeze, "Anybody that wants t' be a medic, get over here!" While he didn't remember what the official names for all of them were, he could recall their archaic uses. So he was at least somewhat qualified to test their knowledge, and decide whether to pat them on the back and give the lucky duck a rank, or to slide them over the hefty books in order for them to actually learn.