• Solo • [Library] Peter the Prancing Pony

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• Solo • [Library] Peter the Prancing Pony

Postby Kieran » Fri Apr 29, 2016 1:15 am

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23rd of Ashan, Arc 716


Peter the Prancing Pony Prodded Prickly Petals Prodigiously and Patiently Procured Promised Payments.

"This shit is so stupid," he remarked. "Camile the Carpenter Came Curiously Close to Culminating Coppers when Calamity Compromised her."

Stupid. "What is this drab peasantry?" He asked himself. Alistair could never keep his mouth shut in public spaces - library or no - and he could also rarely keep his verbal offspring clean. He was far more likely to find himself cussing at some arbitrary thing he found absolute distaste for.

"Is' called a tongue twisty, mate. Now shut ye flapper, I'm tryna' read." The Highborn scoffed. Some shit eating old peasant man had just told him to 'shut his flapper'? He didn't even possess a flapper. It wasn't like he was a bird or something. "I'm trying to read too, just aloud. 'What is this shit?' was a part of the narrative of the story, dimwit. It's called a satirical novel. You would know that if your milk maid mother taught you proper Rynmere tongue." The man just laughed and kept his eyes trained on his book. His very small book. Looked the size of a children's novella.

"I'll just keep me words to me self, lest I get more squawkin' from this goose lickin' ponce." Ponce?! The man's thoughts resounded. No. He calmed himself. No words of vengeance weren't worth getting forcibly removed from the library over. He actually had uses for this place, like, erm, books on . . . uh . . . well, history at least. He doubted they had many on magic since in Rynmere they seemed to treat magic like the bloody devil. "I'll lick your goose, dear," the Venora said with a shit-eating grin and moved tables far, far away. Well, to the second floor really. Not to Viden or something actually far.

"Jouster Native Nelson Notoriously Nipped Niel Nashvelt Nigh Nameless after Numerous Knockouts. I swear I'm like reading the sodding public paper or something. Jousting news? I thought this tongue twisty bullshit book was more high maintenance than that." He continued to read through the lines, each of the alleged tongue twisters not really managing to screw him up at all. This is bullshit.

"Penelope Peregrine Pounced Predators Preying Precariously on her Precious Pines . . ."

The man sighed, and set the book down. Certainly wasn't going to be borrowing this book. As he stood up to grab another from the bookshelf, though, a yelling duet of men practically smashed through the front door of the library, screaming.

"Someone help this man!" they exclaimed. Alistair climbed partially down the stairs, looking at the entrance. Blood. A dangerous amount of it, flowing from his body. The surgeon immediately grabbed his medical tools from the table and rushed towards the gentleman who had been hauled in through the library. Alistair loathed being forced to work in most situations, so a part of him was tempted to say nothing and allow the scene to unfold. However, this was a public library. He couldn't let a man die in here; it would be a major setback to the scholarly pursuits of the men of Andaris. He stepped forward and spoke to the individuals who had hauled him in.

"I am Alistair Venora, a surgeon," he said resoundingly enough to speak over all of the other booming, arguing voices. "What has happened to this gentleman?" The man grabbed a piece of leather equipment, almost like a large belt. He gestured everyone aside, the patrons of the library gathering in a mass of people to stare interested at the series of events.

"He was stabbed, my Lord! By a man he'd held a debt for or something of the like. I didn't hear the entire conversation." The two men that brought him here evidently pulled him as an act of random kindness. He didn't sense that they were somehow friends or even acquaintances, especially considering this man's state of attire compared to their farmer's suspenders and manure-infused hats. Alistair gestured them away too, the smell - even if residual - bothering him. He applied pressure to the wound to stop the flow of blood, and investigated the rest of his body. Interestingly enough, however, there was more to it all than a stab wound. A very dangerous addition that would be the greatest test to his life. The man was young and of a strong build; he could likely survive the stabbing, especially as it wasn't in the area of any organs as far as Alistair knew. The dangerous part was the evident bruising on his head, one that implied a blunt attack to his skull.
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[Library] Peter the Prancing Pony

Postby Kieran » Mon Aug 01, 2016 9:32 am

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"The brain has been damaged," he said very clearly. The men around him grimaced and the women gasped. One young lady was crying, a man who appeared to be her father supporting her. "He shan't live for long in all likelihood. Judging by appearances," he investigated the head further, "the weapon was swung with intent to majorly harm." This was not at all a babyish disagreement, but one of murderous intent. Whoever had done this was certain to be executed if the man died, though Alistair did not wish for that to happen. This was, if nothing else, a time for him to prove his proficiency in medicinery. He was more than just a lackluster barber surgeon, but a trained medical professional. He could save this man, and he already knew how.

Inside of his medical kit, the man pulled out a drill of sorts. It was very odd looking, and the mere appearance of it caused some of the less hardy individuals in the crowd to reel back and cover their eyes. "I need help to keep this man down!" he exclaimed. Some of the men of the crowd came in. One of them whispered to Alistair that he was training to become a surgeon. The Venora looked at him and nodded, at least slightly relieved to have an assistant of sorts if he was not falsely relaying that information. "Why's ye got ta keep 'im down, sah? He totally out-a it!" One of the men from the crowd asked. Alistair could hardly keep from cringing with how unsophisticated his dialect was, but he responded regardless as he physically instructed one of the peasants on how to keep the leather patch against his abdomen to prevent blood from leaving his body.

"Even though he's unconscious, the unbelievable amount of pain from the drill entering his skull will most certainly wake him. It's a highly delicate procedure; he can't move or I'll drill into his brain and kill him accidentally. I'll need at least two men holding his head down, several more on his body. He is not a weak gentleman as you can tell by his musculature, so obvious help is required." More people from the crowd came in to help, mostly young men though with an unusually buff woman added to the mix to hold down his legs.

The man he was instructing on how to apply pressure got it and had begun pressing the pad into him properly, with the trainee surgeon helping Alistair by handing him the proper tools and waiting for commands. "I'll need a steel tool for inscision into the head so that I can determine the degree of fracturing," he said. The man thus offered him a scalpel of sorts, one befitting the current medical technology. Alistair opened up his skin and dug into his flesh, the process severe - the man had already begun to wake and slightly flail about. He was not truly conscious though, as he was far too close to the throes of death to have realistic awareness. Alistair laid his elbow on the man's face, keeping him down. He spat on the Venora's attire as he freaked out, the young surgeon merely ignoring it as he continued. He had opened his head enough to see the fractures in his skull. He would need to drill slightly into his head to open it enough to remove these fragmented pieces, or they would dig into his brain and inflict either major brain damage or death. "Stop moving!" He yelled. The man seemed to respond briefly, pausing in his movement.

"If you keep moving, you'll dig your own skull into your brain. Calm down you bloody fool!" He wavered in movement, though he was screaming and whimpering as Alistair ripped into his flesh with the tool meant for incision and dissection. A man placed a cloth into his mouth to act as a gag, and heavy tears flowed down the victim's cheeks. Alistair's assistant handed him the drill now that he required it. The man cried only harder, and members of the crowd at this point were either locked in a stunned gaze or they were sobbing into one another. The scene was gruesome, painful. The library staff could only watch in horror as their job grew exceptionally more interesting, and they knew there would be hell to deal with from the community after this situation had been properly handled. Everyone could only hope that the man would not die.

The men and women did not wish to experience that trauma. The staff did not wish for the PR nightmare. Alistair did not wish to sully his pride and reputation by failing in such a public space - he had failed before, on a similar situation, and he would not allow it a second time. He carefully guided the strangely segmented drill into the man's skull, breaking barriers of his flesh that weren't directly necessary for his survival. This was so he could pluck the fractures from his head, preventing death by the piercing of his brain. After a long and grueling process, he managed to drill far enough and his assistant helped him by telling him the proper depth and coordinates of the pieces in his brain, as well as shining the light of a lantern above him to offer more proper sight. Alistair used another of his tools to pluck the fractured pieces of his skull out one-by-one, and finally after what must have been an hour his inspections revealed no immediate cause for worry. However, the man was in mortal danger still. Doctors and surgeons from the closest facilities began to swell in by now, and Alistair delegated the task to them as the acting professional here. Men and women from the crowd were sobbing with relief, those who gathered around finding a joy in the saving of this man's life.

The doctor said nothing, fading from the crowd, though many wished to follow and thank him for his services. How odd a thing. He had a difficult time grasping this community spirit they held between them, to take this man's life or loss of it so personally to the point of so many of them gathering in prayer, tears and other things to distract them from an ever-apparent grief. It was a beautiful scene, really, one even Alistair felt moved by - and he was the hero of the day, all flocking around him and asking questions, thanking him and relaying their adoration for the man who they claimed would be the proper man to rule Venora. He couldn't disagree with that last part, though the rest was all petty squabbles. He thanked them as he could - awkwardly - and was on his way.

Later, the man who he saved and the library in which he operated gave him the necessary fees for the operation, and he and the patient began to see one another every now and then during the recovery process. His name was Icarus Axton, a charming individual with a tongue of pure silver and gold. Apparently the other man had lost a gamble to him and grew angry, resulting in the successive attacks. All Alistair could think was - ha, peasants.
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[Library] Peter the Prancing Pony

Postby Kingdom » Tue Aug 16, 2016 10:35 pm

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Alistair

Knowledge:
Basic
Location: Andaris Library
Icarus Axton: Charming
Specific
Investigation: Identifying a stab wound
Investigation: Identifying blunt weapon head injuries
Medicine: Drilling into the head to relieve pressure on the skull
Linguistics: Tongue Twisters

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A
Fame: +5

Story: 5/5
Collaboration: 0/5
Structure: 5/5

Comment: What an unexpected showdown at the library. Feel free to report things like this to Rumour after you write them to go into the gazette if you like.
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