Post by Isa on Jun 25, 2011 18:36:42 GMT 1
A Warm Night in Cold Northrend
Last Mercy
((This is part of a story I am writing, I found Kaleina`s letter to be.. mirroring my own thoughts on the matter.
This takes part in the future))
You would think that healers are generally nice and kind people, no matter the circumstance. But that is not the truth. Even if a healer does embrace and channel the eternal goodness of the Holy Light, there is a hardness in each healers soul. There has to be, otherwise the healer will burn out mentally.
Do you know why soldiers die, even though we have the power to heal any wound? Even though we can cure any disease? No, you don`t. You haven`t been to the medical camps. Places of Human suffering, not unlike the Twisting Nether. You haven`t seen soldier gutted like fish. You haven`t seen men torn limb from limb. You haven`t heard them cry and plead…
----
Isa paused for a moment before the doorway to The Pit. It only took a moment, but that was enough for her to complete the change. And a big change it was. Before the door stood the cheery, playful woman. But the woman that entered the castle`s hospital was dark, regal and cold. Her face was like wood, a complete indifference etched into her features. Her eyes were dark green and did not shine.
The hospital was… no… ALL hospitals are madhouses. Particularly after a battle, all the beds were filled with men and women. The bed linen that was so crisp and clean just ten minutes ago, was now stained with blood, mud and gore. But if only there were enough beds. There never were, at least a third of the wounded sat or lay on the floor, bleeding their vital fluids into cold, unforgiving stone.
Moans, groans, cries and sobs filled the air. Occasionally punctuated by sharp, short staccato commands and questions the frantic healers threw at each others like javelins. No one here wasted time. Neither did Isa. She knew what her job was, how she could best help the healers…
…And she knew no one would thank her for it. In fact, she would be hated. Her cold eyes fell on three soldiers that were standing around staring at something beyond the brown walls of the keep. They were perfect for their purpose. Their wounds were light, and their state would cloud their memories.
“You three, follow me.”
Like puppets they followed her. In a slow steady pace she walked among the wounded, making a bit of a show of diagnosing the patients. In truth, she needed just a glance to tell what she needed to know. Calling upon her gift like this was very dangerous, if anyone found out…
Worse was the burning itching. With so much healers calling on the Holy Light to save, her skin crawled and burned like an army of fire ants were biting every bit of her. She longed for the cool touch of her magic to envelope her fully. It would provide some relief. However, that would also put her on the stake for burning.
Occasionally she stopped at a bed, pointed at one of her three soldiers, and told him to move this wounded to The Quiet. She had done only a quarter of the room when it happened. She just found a soldier, who should be sixteen, but looked very much younger.
“Take this one to The Quiet.”
“Hey! What the fell are you doing?”
A large, bloodstained hand landed on her shoulder and Isa was turned around to see a man with golden hair. Big, BIG man, Golden hair, protzy golden armour, nimbus of light, yup, a paladin allright. Drenched in blood. It hurt just to look on him. He was radiating the life-giving Light everywhere, lending hope and strength to all around him.
And he knew it. Arrogance lined his face. Without it, she mused, he would have been so much more handsome. With effort Isa kept her voice cold and professional, though all she wanted to do was run away:
“I am doing what is best fo-“
“Why are you sending this girl away to die?”
“…Because there is no saving her.”
“You callous bitch, you haven`t even tried!”
“…There is no point, she will die, I am sorry.”
“Like fell you are! Go do something useful! Bandage that man!”
It was like speaking to an irate fire god. Isa looked at the wounded man the paladin spoke of. Three lacerations, he was conscious and was pressing down on the nasty thigh wound. He would live, easily. She turned to the paladin again.
“Trust me, I am much better at this task then bandaging, but aft-“
“No, YOU trust ME. Go bandage him, or get the fell out!”
“You wish to save this child? Then stop telling me what to do. You do not know me.”
“I know you are… Why the fuck am I talking to you? Piss off!”
The paladin resolutely turned to the child-soldier again. She was sobbing and lunged for the paladin:
“I donna want to diiiieeeee!!!”
His tone turned warm and gentle, confidence flowing from every vowel and gesture. He took the child into his arms and hugged her. Neither seemed to care for the blood.
“You aren`t going to die, that witch is just being mean. I`m here
now, I am going to heal you. I`m Alderran, what is your name?”
Isa clenched her hands to fists. She knew she should just walk away, there was nothing she could do here. But she stood still and listened in. She saw the tears streaming down the child-soldiers face. She saw the hope flare up in her eyes. Isa knew it was futile hope, she saw how death was approaching her on silent feet.
“I .. I… am… Alisa… Please save me! I donna want to dieee!! Please, good knight, I beg of you?”
“There is no need to beg, I gladly do this. Now, speak the hymn with me, or hum along if you don`t know the words.”
The paladin smiled warmly. His voice was clear and strong as he recited the prayer of healing. Speaking of wounds stopping bleeding, of wounds closing, and above all: The Glory of the Holy Light and how it loves us all, how it cares so deeply about our troubles. Isa smiled wryly, adding her soft voice to the prayer. She knew it was foolish, and there would be no result, but maybe, maybe, the Light would grant a miracle. She prayed for it, hoped for it, but did not believe. The soldier-girl hummed along. The paladin`s hands glowed brighter as he bestowed the Lights blessing on the scared soldier. Isa cringed inwardly, but held her posture, and her prayer intact.
The fifteen year old girl died at the end of the third strophe.
Quietly Isa walked away, disappearing into the crowd, returning to her self-imposed duty. Beds passed. Row after row. Almost endless. The pleading faces of the soldiers blurred into one big mass. Not all begged and pleaded. But they all held that look of fear and hope as she passed. Not trusting her voice to speak anymore, she just pointed at those that had to be taken to the Quiet. She worked like a shade, or a golem given a task. Never relenting, never caring, just doing. Pointing out those that would die.
Something changed, and finally drew her out of her stupor. The look of hope of the dead girl burning in her mind. The girl pleaded with her eyes: “Please save me.” But she could not do anything.
Isa was staring at a door. She looked around to orientate, though she knew where she was. The room was pulling at her like a magnet. The beds she emptied were already filled. Nurses, aides and healers were milling about, giving the hospital a look of an overturned ant hill. She stared at the door, the door to The Quiet. A fitting euphemism. In every permanent hospital there was a ward like this, heavily soundproofed. Behind her a man screamed like a pig as his unnaturally rapid rotting arm was sawn off, then burned closed. The smell of roasted meat, sweet in a revolting way, threatened to make her violently sick.
She lunged for the door, seeking sanctuary there where no one wanted to go.
Isa closed the door behind her and the madhouse behind her shut up immediately. No sound travelled from The Pit to The Quiet. If you are a kind person, you are now thinking it is to grant those in this ward peace and quiet. If you are anything like an healer, you know it is to prevent those in the ward from upset those that could still be saved.
The sound may have been gone, but the smell of Human agony could not be stopped. She smelled the tangy smell of blood, the nervous sweat, the deep rich odour of shit and the penetrating scent of urine. Many lost control of their bodily functions when facing death in the hospital. That was normal.
Yet here, in The Quiet, there also was the smell of despair and sometimes, reluctant acceptance. Isa looked at those she had chosen. A few attendants were walking between the beds, silent as ghosts, like servants to Death. She regarded the five women, then ordered them to arrange the beds differently. The women looked strangely at her, but complied. A bone deep despair and sadness etched into every fiber of their being. When the beds were arranged roughly to her liking she addressed the attendants again.
“Those of you that wish to, leave, I will be taking over your shift.”
The women looked at her like she had gone mad. She was by far the youngest here. These were the nursemaids that had grown old and infirm. They were too slow now. But they were all healers through and through. Nothing could stop them from tending to the wounded. So, like carrion birds, they returned to the hospital after each skirmish or battle and did the only thing they could still do: Keep the dying company.
“The Scourge hit hard. Harder than usual, they need every healer. You can still save a few people in The Pit. You can not do so here, you know that.”
“Milady, we know, and I`m staying.”
“I`ll go to The Pit”
“…I`m gonna go with, you need someone to steer you, you blind bat.”
One by one the old nurses shuffled about, the group dispersed. Most stayed behind, some ventured out to, slowly, aid the wounded. The door opened and the cacophony rolled in again. No nurse looked up. Isa scanned the room and walked to the bed of the first to die.
She sat by the man`s side. He was fourty, but looked fifty. A scraggly goatee sat on his chin. She immediately pictured him as a pirate. He was sweating buckets, pale as a sheet, except where a huge claw had ripped open his skull, exposing almost half his brain. Isa picked up a cloth, dunked it in the water and carefully started cleaning the blood of his face.
His remaining eye shot open at the touch. It rolled around, then to her. It looked at her dress, her breasts and finally her face. He smiled bravely, his voice sounding just as crooked as the words slurring out of his mouth:
“I must be ded, alredy… I`m seein` an angel.”
She smiled at this old, worn line. She heard the light tremble in his voice. He was putting up a brave front. Isa looked into that one eye and saw what he needed most.
“No… I am not. Just a … bad human girl. Nothing angelic about me.”
“Bad, ey? I like `em bad, am not too good myself… Wherr werr yeh all my life?” He chuckled dryly, like dry wood snapping, and added: “Orr two hourrs ago?”
“Darnassus and at the southwall lookout”
“Darrny? That elf-city? What werr yeh doing therre?”
“Describing it would take more time than either of us have, I`m afraid.”
She studied his one remaining eye, to see how he took the news.
He nodded lightly, setting his brain wobbling precariously.
“Strraight answerr. I like that. How long?”
“Just six minutes orr so, sorrrry. It`s a miracle ye`ve lived so farr.”
She smiled apologetically at the scruffy man. Such a shame, I already like him. Had he not been in the Death Ward, had she been able to heal, she felt that they could have been good friends. From the look in his eye, he felt the same, and thought they could have been more than just friends. Men. Isa thought wryly, not completely dismissive of that idea. She let him oogle her.
“Oh… What`s wrrong with me then? Everrything`s turrnin` and funny.”
“Headwound, verry bad, worrst I have seen.”
“Oh…” He grinned broadly, half his mouth was not cooperating. “I`m rreal tough, betcha I can stay for ten minutes!”
Despite herself, and the situation, Isa laughed. Her rang light and warmly through The Quiet. Some of the dying watched him, and her. Some curious, some longingly, one looked upset. But Isa and the Pirate couldn`t care less. This moment was theirs, the last moment of happiness before the final darkness.
“Guess I should make the best of my time herr… Beforre the netherr.”
“Anything I can do to help? And what do you mean, the netherr?”
“Just be prretty, can`t ask you to kiss a ded man, rrright?”
“Why not try? So what about the Netherr, have you really been so evil?”
“Eeerrgggh… Yea, yeh name it, I`ve done it. I`ll burrn, brright and prroperr…”
With that he heaved a deep, regretful sigh.
“You regret it?”
“Yea… Mostly I`ve been stupid, drunk, orr both.”
“Ahhh... Know the feeling, want to `fess up? I`m ..well…Sorta a priestess.”
“Eeerrghh… It isn`t pretty, and that takes morre time than we both have.” He winked at her and smiled a little. Isa could see the strain of pulling of the smile. She also saw that it wasn`t as wide as he had intended. Great coils of darkness clutched the brave pirate. “Go help those other sorry scads, instead. They deserrve an angel morre.”
“You really think so?”
“Yea.”
“Too bad then, I`m not going until yer clean.” The man tried to push her away. His brain clipped his skull, the sharp bone edge cut deeply into it. Isa bent and swayed at the waist, the pirate watched her chest with some interest. She let him, and continued cleaning his face as though nothing happened. But did give him a determined look.
He didn`t try again.
“You know… I don`t think you`ll burrn. It`s neverr to late to rrepent.”
His look said it all. There was hope and disbelief in there. He wanted to believe but could not bring him quite there.
“Dans le nom de la Mere, je pardonnez toi. L`Amore de Elune envelope toi. Elune adore toi, adore Elune, vouz a Elune.”
“Ey? What`s all that cat-manglin`?”
“That... was a blessing of forgiveness. Once I finish it, your crimes will be judged with love and compassion.”
“So...I wont be burrned by tha demons?”
“No you won`t.”
“Why didn`t yeh say it in common?”
“Because it was a prayerr to Elune, she is the Mother to all that embrace Her. Do you?”
“Ey? Isn`t she just forr them elves?”
“No, She loves you too. Let me show you.”
Lightly she touched the man`s forehead. She gasped as she felt the desperate struggle in his mind, fighting tooth and nail for just a few minutes more of life. So strong… It was futile, she saw death seeping into every part of him. …no time to waste. Isa opened her mind to him and showed him Her love, showing him Her face, the kind soft smile, those knowing eyes. Isa showed the man that Elune would know his heart through and through…
…And love him for what he was.
The man gasped loudly, he stared at her with his one eye. He tried to speak, but she saw his speaking part was destroyed.
Love and despair shone in the one eye. The look of man dying a mere metre away from home after fighting in a war for a decade.
Isa smiled softly at him.
“I see that you love Her too. In Her blessed name, I accept you.”
The look of gratitude on his face was overwhelming. Maybe it was the dying brains last spasms, but bliss spread all through him, a genuinely happy smile on his face. She kissed him softly on the lips, sealing the deal.
When she sat up again, the man was dead. Isa closed the man`s eye, said a small farewell prayer, then rushed to the man that was next in line to die.
For the better part of an hour she walked from bed to bed, comforting the dying, saying last rites over the dead, listening to stories or rants, or just holding a hand, to show that no one was alone.
Then, the last of those that had been in the room as she entered were dead. Isa stood and straightened, taking a moment for herself.
Of course, all the beds were filled with the dying again.
Dutifully she headed to the first that would die, sat beside the woman and held her hand.
“I`m Isa, what is your name?”
---
Last Mercy
((This is part of a story I am writing, I found Kaleina`s letter to be.. mirroring my own thoughts on the matter.
This takes part in the future))
You would think that healers are generally nice and kind people, no matter the circumstance. But that is not the truth. Even if a healer does embrace and channel the eternal goodness of the Holy Light, there is a hardness in each healers soul. There has to be, otherwise the healer will burn out mentally.
Do you know why soldiers die, even though we have the power to heal any wound? Even though we can cure any disease? No, you don`t. You haven`t been to the medical camps. Places of Human suffering, not unlike the Twisting Nether. You haven`t seen soldier gutted like fish. You haven`t seen men torn limb from limb. You haven`t heard them cry and plead…
----
Isa paused for a moment before the doorway to The Pit. It only took a moment, but that was enough for her to complete the change. And a big change it was. Before the door stood the cheery, playful woman. But the woman that entered the castle`s hospital was dark, regal and cold. Her face was like wood, a complete indifference etched into her features. Her eyes were dark green and did not shine.
The hospital was… no… ALL hospitals are madhouses. Particularly after a battle, all the beds were filled with men and women. The bed linen that was so crisp and clean just ten minutes ago, was now stained with blood, mud and gore. But if only there were enough beds. There never were, at least a third of the wounded sat or lay on the floor, bleeding their vital fluids into cold, unforgiving stone.
Moans, groans, cries and sobs filled the air. Occasionally punctuated by sharp, short staccato commands and questions the frantic healers threw at each others like javelins. No one here wasted time. Neither did Isa. She knew what her job was, how she could best help the healers…
…And she knew no one would thank her for it. In fact, she would be hated. Her cold eyes fell on three soldiers that were standing around staring at something beyond the brown walls of the keep. They were perfect for their purpose. Their wounds were light, and their state would cloud their memories.
“You three, follow me.”
Like puppets they followed her. In a slow steady pace she walked among the wounded, making a bit of a show of diagnosing the patients. In truth, she needed just a glance to tell what she needed to know. Calling upon her gift like this was very dangerous, if anyone found out…
Worse was the burning itching. With so much healers calling on the Holy Light to save, her skin crawled and burned like an army of fire ants were biting every bit of her. She longed for the cool touch of her magic to envelope her fully. It would provide some relief. However, that would also put her on the stake for burning.
Occasionally she stopped at a bed, pointed at one of her three soldiers, and told him to move this wounded to The Quiet. She had done only a quarter of the room when it happened. She just found a soldier, who should be sixteen, but looked very much younger.
“Take this one to The Quiet.”
“Hey! What the fell are you doing?”
A large, bloodstained hand landed on her shoulder and Isa was turned around to see a man with golden hair. Big, BIG man, Golden hair, protzy golden armour, nimbus of light, yup, a paladin allright. Drenched in blood. It hurt just to look on him. He was radiating the life-giving Light everywhere, lending hope and strength to all around him.
And he knew it. Arrogance lined his face. Without it, she mused, he would have been so much more handsome. With effort Isa kept her voice cold and professional, though all she wanted to do was run away:
“I am doing what is best fo-“
“Why are you sending this girl away to die?”
“…Because there is no saving her.”
“You callous bitch, you haven`t even tried!”
“…There is no point, she will die, I am sorry.”
“Like fell you are! Go do something useful! Bandage that man!”
It was like speaking to an irate fire god. Isa looked at the wounded man the paladin spoke of. Three lacerations, he was conscious and was pressing down on the nasty thigh wound. He would live, easily. She turned to the paladin again.
“Trust me, I am much better at this task then bandaging, but aft-“
“No, YOU trust ME. Go bandage him, or get the fell out!”
“You wish to save this child? Then stop telling me what to do. You do not know me.”
“I know you are… Why the fuck am I talking to you? Piss off!”
The paladin resolutely turned to the child-soldier again. She was sobbing and lunged for the paladin:
“I donna want to diiiieeeee!!!”
His tone turned warm and gentle, confidence flowing from every vowel and gesture. He took the child into his arms and hugged her. Neither seemed to care for the blood.
“You aren`t going to die, that witch is just being mean. I`m here
now, I am going to heal you. I`m Alderran, what is your name?”
Isa clenched her hands to fists. She knew she should just walk away, there was nothing she could do here. But she stood still and listened in. She saw the tears streaming down the child-soldiers face. She saw the hope flare up in her eyes. Isa knew it was futile hope, she saw how death was approaching her on silent feet.
“I .. I… am… Alisa… Please save me! I donna want to dieee!! Please, good knight, I beg of you?”
“There is no need to beg, I gladly do this. Now, speak the hymn with me, or hum along if you don`t know the words.”
The paladin smiled warmly. His voice was clear and strong as he recited the prayer of healing. Speaking of wounds stopping bleeding, of wounds closing, and above all: The Glory of the Holy Light and how it loves us all, how it cares so deeply about our troubles. Isa smiled wryly, adding her soft voice to the prayer. She knew it was foolish, and there would be no result, but maybe, maybe, the Light would grant a miracle. She prayed for it, hoped for it, but did not believe. The soldier-girl hummed along. The paladin`s hands glowed brighter as he bestowed the Lights blessing on the scared soldier. Isa cringed inwardly, but held her posture, and her prayer intact.
The fifteen year old girl died at the end of the third strophe.
Quietly Isa walked away, disappearing into the crowd, returning to her self-imposed duty. Beds passed. Row after row. Almost endless. The pleading faces of the soldiers blurred into one big mass. Not all begged and pleaded. But they all held that look of fear and hope as she passed. Not trusting her voice to speak anymore, she just pointed at those that had to be taken to the Quiet. She worked like a shade, or a golem given a task. Never relenting, never caring, just doing. Pointing out those that would die.
Something changed, and finally drew her out of her stupor. The look of hope of the dead girl burning in her mind. The girl pleaded with her eyes: “Please save me.” But she could not do anything.
Isa was staring at a door. She looked around to orientate, though she knew where she was. The room was pulling at her like a magnet. The beds she emptied were already filled. Nurses, aides and healers were milling about, giving the hospital a look of an overturned ant hill. She stared at the door, the door to The Quiet. A fitting euphemism. In every permanent hospital there was a ward like this, heavily soundproofed. Behind her a man screamed like a pig as his unnaturally rapid rotting arm was sawn off, then burned closed. The smell of roasted meat, sweet in a revolting way, threatened to make her violently sick.
She lunged for the door, seeking sanctuary there where no one wanted to go.
Isa closed the door behind her and the madhouse behind her shut up immediately. No sound travelled from The Pit to The Quiet. If you are a kind person, you are now thinking it is to grant those in this ward peace and quiet. If you are anything like an healer, you know it is to prevent those in the ward from upset those that could still be saved.
The sound may have been gone, but the smell of Human agony could not be stopped. She smelled the tangy smell of blood, the nervous sweat, the deep rich odour of shit and the penetrating scent of urine. Many lost control of their bodily functions when facing death in the hospital. That was normal.
Yet here, in The Quiet, there also was the smell of despair and sometimes, reluctant acceptance. Isa looked at those she had chosen. A few attendants were walking between the beds, silent as ghosts, like servants to Death. She regarded the five women, then ordered them to arrange the beds differently. The women looked strangely at her, but complied. A bone deep despair and sadness etched into every fiber of their being. When the beds were arranged roughly to her liking she addressed the attendants again.
“Those of you that wish to, leave, I will be taking over your shift.”
The women looked at her like she had gone mad. She was by far the youngest here. These were the nursemaids that had grown old and infirm. They were too slow now. But they were all healers through and through. Nothing could stop them from tending to the wounded. So, like carrion birds, they returned to the hospital after each skirmish or battle and did the only thing they could still do: Keep the dying company.
“The Scourge hit hard. Harder than usual, they need every healer. You can still save a few people in The Pit. You can not do so here, you know that.”
“Milady, we know, and I`m staying.”
“I`ll go to The Pit”
“…I`m gonna go with, you need someone to steer you, you blind bat.”
One by one the old nurses shuffled about, the group dispersed. Most stayed behind, some ventured out to, slowly, aid the wounded. The door opened and the cacophony rolled in again. No nurse looked up. Isa scanned the room and walked to the bed of the first to die.
She sat by the man`s side. He was fourty, but looked fifty. A scraggly goatee sat on his chin. She immediately pictured him as a pirate. He was sweating buckets, pale as a sheet, except where a huge claw had ripped open his skull, exposing almost half his brain. Isa picked up a cloth, dunked it in the water and carefully started cleaning the blood of his face.
His remaining eye shot open at the touch. It rolled around, then to her. It looked at her dress, her breasts and finally her face. He smiled bravely, his voice sounding just as crooked as the words slurring out of his mouth:
“I must be ded, alredy… I`m seein` an angel.”
She smiled at this old, worn line. She heard the light tremble in his voice. He was putting up a brave front. Isa looked into that one eye and saw what he needed most.
“No… I am not. Just a … bad human girl. Nothing angelic about me.”
“Bad, ey? I like `em bad, am not too good myself… Wherr werr yeh all my life?” He chuckled dryly, like dry wood snapping, and added: “Orr two hourrs ago?”
“Darnassus and at the southwall lookout”
“Darrny? That elf-city? What werr yeh doing therre?”
“Describing it would take more time than either of us have, I`m afraid.”
She studied his one remaining eye, to see how he took the news.
He nodded lightly, setting his brain wobbling precariously.
“Strraight answerr. I like that. How long?”
“Just six minutes orr so, sorrrry. It`s a miracle ye`ve lived so farr.”
She smiled apologetically at the scruffy man. Such a shame, I already like him. Had he not been in the Death Ward, had she been able to heal, she felt that they could have been good friends. From the look in his eye, he felt the same, and thought they could have been more than just friends. Men. Isa thought wryly, not completely dismissive of that idea. She let him oogle her.
“Oh… What`s wrrong with me then? Everrything`s turrnin` and funny.”
“Headwound, verry bad, worrst I have seen.”
“Oh…” He grinned broadly, half his mouth was not cooperating. “I`m rreal tough, betcha I can stay for ten minutes!”
Despite herself, and the situation, Isa laughed. Her rang light and warmly through The Quiet. Some of the dying watched him, and her. Some curious, some longingly, one looked upset. But Isa and the Pirate couldn`t care less. This moment was theirs, the last moment of happiness before the final darkness.
“Guess I should make the best of my time herr… Beforre the netherr.”
“Anything I can do to help? And what do you mean, the netherr?”
“Just be prretty, can`t ask you to kiss a ded man, rrright?”
“Why not try? So what about the Netherr, have you really been so evil?”
“Eeerrgggh… Yea, yeh name it, I`ve done it. I`ll burrn, brright and prroperr…”
With that he heaved a deep, regretful sigh.
“You regret it?”
“Yea… Mostly I`ve been stupid, drunk, orr both.”
“Ahhh... Know the feeling, want to `fess up? I`m ..well…Sorta a priestess.”
“Eeerrghh… It isn`t pretty, and that takes morre time than we both have.” He winked at her and smiled a little. Isa could see the strain of pulling of the smile. She also saw that it wasn`t as wide as he had intended. Great coils of darkness clutched the brave pirate. “Go help those other sorry scads, instead. They deserrve an angel morre.”
“You really think so?”
“Yea.”
“Too bad then, I`m not going until yer clean.” The man tried to push her away. His brain clipped his skull, the sharp bone edge cut deeply into it. Isa bent and swayed at the waist, the pirate watched her chest with some interest. She let him, and continued cleaning his face as though nothing happened. But did give him a determined look.
He didn`t try again.
“You know… I don`t think you`ll burrn. It`s neverr to late to rrepent.”
His look said it all. There was hope and disbelief in there. He wanted to believe but could not bring him quite there.
“Dans le nom de la Mere, je pardonnez toi. L`Amore de Elune envelope toi. Elune adore toi, adore Elune, vouz a Elune.”
“Ey? What`s all that cat-manglin`?”
“That... was a blessing of forgiveness. Once I finish it, your crimes will be judged with love and compassion.”
“So...I wont be burrned by tha demons?”
“No you won`t.”
“Why didn`t yeh say it in common?”
“Because it was a prayerr to Elune, she is the Mother to all that embrace Her. Do you?”
“Ey? Isn`t she just forr them elves?”
“No, She loves you too. Let me show you.”
Lightly she touched the man`s forehead. She gasped as she felt the desperate struggle in his mind, fighting tooth and nail for just a few minutes more of life. So strong… It was futile, she saw death seeping into every part of him. …no time to waste. Isa opened her mind to him and showed him Her love, showing him Her face, the kind soft smile, those knowing eyes. Isa showed the man that Elune would know his heart through and through…
…And love him for what he was.
The man gasped loudly, he stared at her with his one eye. He tried to speak, but she saw his speaking part was destroyed.
Love and despair shone in the one eye. The look of man dying a mere metre away from home after fighting in a war for a decade.
Isa smiled softly at him.
“I see that you love Her too. In Her blessed name, I accept you.”
The look of gratitude on his face was overwhelming. Maybe it was the dying brains last spasms, but bliss spread all through him, a genuinely happy smile on his face. She kissed him softly on the lips, sealing the deal.
When she sat up again, the man was dead. Isa closed the man`s eye, said a small farewell prayer, then rushed to the man that was next in line to die.
For the better part of an hour she walked from bed to bed, comforting the dying, saying last rites over the dead, listening to stories or rants, or just holding a hand, to show that no one was alone.
Then, the last of those that had been in the room as she entered were dead. Isa stood and straightened, taking a moment for herself.
Of course, all the beds were filled with the dying again.
Dutifully she headed to the first that would die, sat beside the woman and held her hand.
“I`m Isa, what is your name?”
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