“Oh you know, just a fellow doing my best,” Btiobhan gasped. Little beads of blood were welling up under the gray residue of [Lifetap]. His hair fell into his eyes, limp and slick with clammy sweat. He held up his hand for Rhode to pick him up.
Rhode did not take it.
“I’m not asking for a cute, sassy joke, Tuv. I’m serious. That was weird.”
Pratiksha wheezed loudly. She lolled in her chair as she fell more neatly into herself. Her eyes physically blinked.
Rhode reached out to steady her, but stopped. “Hey, hey, careful! You alright?”
Btiobhan’s hands were shaking. He clasped them together to still them. “I told you,” he appeased, “Ser Pratiksha will need surgery and the alchemists, but none of that will work if we don’t give him more time. I’ve halted the deterioration, and now we have space for more targeted treatment.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean I’m not unreasonable, right? I can accept it when you do something mystical like massage a chakra or whatever. Or magic crystals, I get. But man, I’m not gonna keep my mouth shut when you blast her with a ray beam.”
“Come on, big guy,” Btiobhan pleaded. He looked away. “This is what I do.”
“Yea, okay. That’s not the most evasive thing to possibly say,” Rhode scoffed. His meaty fingers clattered through the medical bag as he searched out a pale, corked gourd which was plastered with paper talisman labels.
The bottle of [Quench] sloshed as it arced over towards Btiobhan. The elf barely managed the catch by hooking it in the crook of his good elbow.
“Sorry. Bad throw. Bad to throw. I’m not thinking straight,” Rhode sighed. “I don’t like what you did. I don’t understand it, and I don’t feel comfortable how you hurt yourself. It doesn’t feel right, man.“
“I tried to pull as little as I could from you,” Btiobhan chuckled nervously.
The homunculus scowled. “Man, it’s not about me. I’m not the one on the floor.”
Btiobhan awkwardly unstopped the drought, and took a restrained gulp. Rhode’s heart fell as his eyes slid off the acolyte, and back towards the family rooms. The two soldiers had returned with Barber Noffet and a woman Rhode was fairly sure was Mimai. The soldiers held the healers back for safety, but were inching forward all the same.
<
<
Rhode gently took the other homunculus’ hand and patted it comfortingly. <
<
Rhode smiled gently. <
<
<
<
<
The third Hero clarified as she moved to sit up. Her body wouldn’t follow her, and she faded back into herself. <
<> Rhode grieved. He stood and waved Mimai over. “She’s ready,” he coughed.
The goblin acolyte huffed and jangled as she struggled with the transfusion kit. Flushed and out of breath, she began to assemble brass, tubing and glassware until Noffet lost patience and fought to take over. The three healers bickered until the Barber realized how badly wounded Btiobhan was.
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One of the soldiers threw down a folded canvas for a medical stretcher. He slipped their spears through its sleeves to serve as its poles. Rhode gently lifted the other monster and placed her atop it.
Mimai nervously described the possibility that Rhode might pass on his [Vigorous Ichor] to Pratiksha. Rhode translated calmly as he presented a vein to receive an unpleasantly thick needle.
Spatters of violet dappled the bottom of the glass exchanger before Rhode forced himself to look away.
Brawn Homunculus :: Ichor : 6 pints → 4 pints
Brawn Homunculus suffers [Debuff:Blood Deprived]
Guile Homunculus :: Ichor : 2 pints → 4 pints
Guile Homunculus recovers to [Debuff:Blood Deprived]
Guile Homunculus :: Level Progress : Vigorous Ichor ( I . ☆ ) → 26%
“What’s happening to her?” Rhode frowned.
The other homunculus was shivering on her makeshift cot. Deep muscle tremors shook her body.
“Mana starvation,” Noffet replied from across the room. “But mild. His body is trying to form another level, but after developing whatever it is he’s suffering from, it’s far too soon. He’ll even out. And it will be good to slow down his current levels in the meantime.”
The barber split his attention between his two patients, but favored helping Mimai. His priorities had been clearly communicated to him, and he applied cleansing fluid to open wounds. He applied a greasy unguent and bound Pratiksha’s wounds with springy gauze.
Mimai was shaking with barely contained excitement, and every few moments she chirped high pitched, gleeful little observations to Btiobhan. He only nodded and eked out wan smiles.
“Something interesting, then,” Rhode cleared his throat. “Mimai, is it bad, good, is there something special about this level she’s got?”
The goblin acolyte chewed on her fingernail, her other hand tentatively reaching out to probe Pratiksha’s arm.
“It looks like a full spectral mediated possession,” she squeaked excitedly.
“Except she’s possessing herself,” Btiobhan wheezed. “See, Rhode? Told you she’d geek out.”
“The body is too low level for a free residency, and yet the plasm density is far too low for a manifestation with this level of clarity,” Mimai continued. She checked the level of the blood exchanger, cringing when her iron cuff clinked against glass. “Obviously, this shouldn’t be possible.”
“Ludicrously impossible,” chuckled Btiobhan.
Rhode looked down at the other homunculus, pale below him. He needed to stand to maintain a difference in pressure. “Sounds like you’ve figured out the problem,” he rumbled.
“[Ectoplasmic Anchor] metabolized as a level?” Mimai chewed on a lock of her hair. “[Possess Cadaver] on top of it?”
“No, this has got to be a malady and mitigator,” Btiobhan whispered. “I’ve never heard of it before.”
Pratiksha’s mouth opened, but her words were too soft to hear. Rhode narrowed his eyes. “Just to clarify, you said [Possess Cadaver].”
“It’s hard to explain,” Mimai spoke as she assisted Noffet by applying an infused honeyed gel to bandages before handing them over to the barber. She trembled, her eyes sparkling. “But right now it almost looks like Ser Pratiksha is a ghost, except that he’s possessing his own body.”
Rhode took a deep breath and spent a full minute silently attempting not to confront the word ghost.
“Where are we taking her,” he asked, watching a goblin healer tap the glass of the transfusion exchanger one last time. He was growing lightheaded.
Pratiksha’s head lolled.
“We’re preparing a room,” an elf wheezed. He was being tended to by Barber Noffet. Apparently he was wounded. No, obviously Btiobhan had broken a bone.
Rhode sucked in air through his teeth and slapped his knees. “Guess I’ll take her,” he announced.
“Take him to…” asked a soldier.
“Wherever she’s going. You got a chair ready?”
A room full of goblins nervously conferred with one another. But Tinc wasn’t present to provide all the sensible reasons to deny him.
And that was why two homunculi burst into the halls of Ancestral Ring. The creaking wheels of a corroded, brass-spoked and leather rimmed chair groaned under the weight of the Hero Pratiksha Jai. The bare feet of Rhode Mortimer Irving slapped against the floor and left faint violet prints. Mimai and a gaggle of soldiers ran behind the two of them, wringing their hands and pulling at their hair.
“The Hero, Pratiksha Jai is born!” [Bellow]ed the monster. “A Hero is here!”
Confused goblins watched him pass. Morning had roused the palace, and the halls were filling with armed gobs at attention. They gawped at Rhode, but were slow to apprehend his meaning. So he raised a fist in the air and shouted.
“Jai! Jai! Jai! Jai!”
Ah. That, that they understood implicitly. The halls were cheering her name until the calls outpaced them, and Rhode pushed his charge forward into the exhult.