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No title.
(2013-04-04 - Now)
No description.
Faruja Senra White and gold make up the majority color choices for the infirmary Faruja has been recovering in; wooden floors, white walls, and golden crosses hanging above every bed. Divided into several wings, this one is rather empty, aside from the occasional white mage that drifts in or out, as well as the Templar in question. Beside his bed, there is a small side table, while at the end of the room several cabinets keep all of the tools of the trade; potions, bandages, ethers, herbs, and various surgical tools that to Artyom's 'modern' views may seem crude at best. Luckily, there are no leeches.

Dressed in green robes, sans armor, the Burmecian is thumbing through a poetry book as he waits permission to actually leave. While he's still fit with cough thanks to all that zombie goo, he itches to be back in the field!
Artyom W. Valodjn Medieval medical care is awful- by Artyom's standards, anyway. If these people didn't have access to healing magic, he'd wager that these facilities would be hard pressed to remedy any particularly severe injury. Vectors of infection seem to be only tangentially recognized by many local healers- it's fortunate, he thinks, that they at least cleanse themselves before interacting with their patients.

Fortunately, the Titanic warrior was not wounded severely enough to linger long in their hospital. What injuries he had endured were treated rather quickly treated by the swift action of Faruja and other healers at the battle. Everything else is being held together by bandages. Further, as a mercenary, there was very little pressure for him to go and take up a bed that aught to be used by a true, sacred crusader of the faith.

This does not, however, stop him from dropping by to visit the facilities and those interned within. Artyom is not in armor, today- he has no need to wear it. Instead he wears his uniform, open-jacketed. The coat and pants have been since supplemented by a long, loosely fitted travelling coat. It looks rather comfortable and unusually clean. He may in fact have enchanted the cloth to repel mud and grime- or maybe Artyom is just something of a neat freak?

His sword is still on his back. It never leaves.

Artyom meanders over towad the surgical tools, observing, but never touching. He mutters curiously to himself, "Mmnn. Perhaps I aught to start manufacturing better tools." The sound of a page flipping catches his attention, and the colossal man glances in the Burmecian's general direction.

"...Faruja," he acknowledges, "You seem to have recovered well."
Faruja Senra Faruja looks up at the sound of Artyom's voice, briefly gazing at the tall mercenary slash high school student with a mixture of respect and wariness. Really, he likes the man; he's proven reliable, strong, and aside from a few issues of heresy, seems to have a decent moral grounding. In short, Faruja would likely be offering the olive branch of friendship alongside the professional relationship if it weren't for the whole 'non-Faram god(s)' thing.

"Ser Valodjn, good 'morn...ahh, eve. Blast this infirmary! More than well! I should very much be out there investigating that chapel, or attending to the other duties piling up. Every second sitting here is a waste. A little cough, no matter its source, shan't stop me." Unfortuately, it seems highly respected white mages and physicians that technically outrank him /is/ enough to stop him.

"Mmm? What is this about tools?"
Artyom W. Valodjn There is somewhat of a problem, having a faith different than the church that you're working for. As far as most Ajorans are concerned, as long Artyom does not speak heresy, and as long as he produces results, then he is at least tolerable. Nothing more, though. Not to most Ajorans, at least. There are some that would see him dead, others who could not care less about what god he follows.

Artyom does not mind in either case. Discrimination is, while unfamiliar, not the most difficult trial he has been made to endure.

"I see," Artyom replies, his gaze still scanning the infirmary. He finds a number of things that he... Frowns on. "Well, it's best to recover completely, first. Do not be hasty. Life is too short to be hasty. If this cough develops into something worse because you have aggravated it, then it will only mean more time in a ward. You're lucky it does not sound like too severe of an infection. Body will fight it off, soon."

The Titanic sighs, not sitting- wood stools would not support his weight together with the weapon on his shoulder. Instead, he leans on a wall. "Nothing. I was just thinking about home. Medical care here- it's relatively primitive. Simple solutions exist to problems made complex. Methodologies, medicines, tools." His nose rankles, "I've seen the amputation saws. Some have rust on them. Rust! Patients would grow sick of tetanus if they were cut by those things. Was just thinking about how to fix things, is all."
Faruja Senra "The life of the /worlds/, Ser Valodjn, is too short in these times. However, I suppose you've a point." Sigh. Even as a healer himself, Faruja can't take his own advice. Such a contradiction, paladinism.

Frown. "I shall have you know, that this facility is state of the art!" Defends the pious ratling, crossing his arms and peering over at the Titan. He pauses. "...Back in Burmecian, all of the saws were rusted, and usually bloody. However, if you've ideas, by all means. The Church, though militant, is also an agent of education and healing."

This scene contained 5 poses. The players who were present were: Faruja Senra, Artyom W. Valodjn