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[ieros]

ieros: iron (n.) from Greek "strong."

open roleplay post for PSLs, meme continuations, AU world building, and everything in between! ⅰ. reply with your character. include a prompt. written prompts work best! ⅱ. request a character/verse/continuation in the subject line. ⅲ. have fun! unsure of where to start? here are a few of our favourite bakerstreet memes for inspiration: texts from last night morning after rainy/snow day hurt/comfort road trip insomnia rules: Ⅰ. nsfw stuff is welcome and encouraged, but please comment or PM for heavy kink discussion. Ⅱ. i am terrible at writing action scenes. this isn't really a rule, actually, just a fair warning. Ⅲ. be nice. no shaming or wanking and you get a free cookie. Ⅳ. do not comment here if i haven't played with you before, or if we haven't previously discussed starting a thread.

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[sarmatian]

The first thing that Tristan notes about the injury, after the sheer grisly nature of it, is the smell. It isn't fetid, which is a good sign. He makes no move to touch or otherwise manoeuvre the man's hand for a better look.

"It seems you lost," he dryly remarks, standing after a moment. There's far more to the story, he's sure, but that's not important right now. "You must clean it."

He's witnessed even the hardiest soldiers laid low by festering wounds, injuries that might have been survived had they been properly tended to in time. Experience hasn't been a kind teacher but he's learned its lessons well. Though it may already be too late for this man, he feels compelled to at least try to help; it's almost a guaranteed death sentence otherwise, this far out with no other pockets of humanity for miles.

A piercing whistle calls his horse — a strongly built, compact dapple grey Andalusian, laden with travelling supplies — from where he'd sheltered during the fight. He seems much calmer now, though he gives the remains of the creatures a wide berth on his way to his master, who rewards him by stroking his neck and murmuring words too quiet to make out. Then Tristan speaks normally.

"You'll watch him, enh?" Whether he's addressing his horse or the man is unclear, but the horse seems to answer with a low sound and remains standing by the stranger as Tristan sets off to search one of the nearby abandoned homes. He reappears a minute later carrying a dusty basin, which he rinses out and fills from the stream that winds through part of the village. It's set before the man, along with some linen cloths from the home and soap from his own saddlebag. He remains crouched there, watching the man with an expectant look.

"I can do it for you," he offers, having noticed the shivering, and anticipating that the pain might exhaust whatever strength the man has left. "Though you won't like it. But it must be done."

[ieros]

It wasn't the first time he'd stopped to stare at the condition his hand was left in, registering somewhere between abject horror and utter fascination of the sight, but it was the first time he'd had the chance to show it to someone else and he wasn't exactly sure how to explain it. Calling it all a game, that was the only thing that came to mind, as much as it probably didn't make sense to the stranger inspecting him. Maybe he can blame the blood loss on that.

"... a-actually," he adds, though he doesn't sound at all proud of it, "I ... I-I won."

If anything, it's a reminder of what he needs to do next, once he's in the proper state of health to do so. But it's a thought he keeps to himself for now.

The sound of that whistle is loud and piercing enough that he winces, almost reaching with his good hand to cover his ear, but it's over quick enough and the stranger is standing up to ... retreat, Clancy assumes. It's not like he could blame the man, because he knew just how much of a lost cause he must seem. Trembling, bleeding, missing fingers, eyes wide and stricken with fear - why would anyone go out of their way to help a dying man with no hope?

He almost doesn't catch what the man says ... was he asking him to keep an eye on the horse? Was he supposed to get up and chase after it if the horse decided to make a break for it?

"Uh ..." It didn't make much sense to him, and the stranger was already leaving and out of earshot. "... s-sure."

Clancy does try his best. At least the horse doesn't appear to be the flighty type after all, and the man returns soon enough with the supplies he was looking for. True, his hand did need some proper cleaning. He didn't have much of a chance to do it himself in the panicked chaos of his escape, only doing what he could with the meager materials he could scrap and instead focusing his energy on getting as far away as possible. But now came the time to actually tend to it, and while he wasn't looking forward to it, surely he wouldn't have to rely on someone else for it. Right?

"I-- I can ... I can do it," Clancy doesn't sound entirely confident about it, but he does reach for one of the cloths with his good hand, despite it shaking as much as it is. The other man was kind enough to offer, and it had been some time since Clancy had known any such kindness, but any man of the knightly sort such as him didn't need to waste time with him. "... I-I think-- I think I can do it ..."

[sarmatian]

Skepticism clear on his face, Tristan remains looking at the man for a while longer as though expecting him to change his mind about the assistance. When it doesn't happen, he simply gives a nod and wets a scrap of cloth for himself from the basin, using it to wipe down his blade as he disappears back into the abandoned home. He isn't gone long, and his sword is properly sheathed at his back again when he reappears carrying a folded stack of blankets, which are also left near the basin and linen.

Over the course of several more trips into the abandoned homes, he accumulates some dusty but serviceable bedding, double layers of clothing that he estimates will fit the other man well enough, and miscellaneous other supplies in preparation for spending the night where they were. The items are neatly arranged within their impromptu campsite.

All that's left is perhaps seeing to a fire and hunting to supplement his dried rations, but an uneasy glance toward the woods leaves him undecided on the matter. They may be too much of an unnecessary risk right now.

But then, if more of those things came during the night regardless, he doesn't relish the thought of trying to fight them in the pitch darkness... Some heated water would also be needed to make a poultice. He compromises by building a small fire that can be fed or easily stamped out as needed, which his horse seems to take as a signal to finally relax and wanders away to start grazing nearby.

After picking some comfrey from the overgrown fields that are encroaching on the village, he takes a seat on the ground near his new companion and checks on his progress.

"Who plays such games?" he asks as he begins carefully stripping the plants of their leaves. "Tell me what happened."

His gaze strays to the remains of the creatures for a moment before returning to the man, who despite his terrible state hasn't been cast off as a lost cause yet; anyone with the fortitude to fight till their last breath, as this man had been willing to, is someone Tristan can respect. Besides which, if laws have been broken — and the hellish abominations against nature certainly seem to imply something significant is happening that the Romans may not approve of — it's likely worth knowing about, even if the knowledge will go no further than his own commander. Arthur and his fellow knights would probably take him at his word, but who else would believe such an inconceivable story without seeing the monsters for themselves?