13/12/2020-Richart Anselm

It's Richart's ninth day working at the Fort Ettin Medical Station and boy is it a long one. It's not even noon and they've already had to patch up three different over-zealous fighters from the training grounds. "Can't you lot just pretend to hit eachother or something..." they whisper under their breath whilst splinting a broken arm. "Oi doc. How comes you rarely use any of that healing whatsits on people like me?" Protests the injured fighter, Richart sighs. "Well Xanatos I only have so much and I like to keep it for emergencies. Besides, it teaches you to stop hitting eachother as hard when you're training so that's an added incentive." They straighten up "Well, that should do it. Rest the arm for a bit and if it starts to hurt more than you expect come back and I'll see what I can do."

They go back to their chair and lean back. It may be hard work but by Helm they wouldn't trade it for anything. Suddenly their serene smile fades as a battered warrior stumbles into their tent being carried by two of his companions.

"Bruce? I fixed you up this morning?!" stammers the young medic. The battered man lifts his head, "Well yeah but like, I was put here by like some divine power or sumfin' so I may as well use my time right? What better way than fightin'?" he replies. "Never mind that, what happened to you? You didn't try and go after Ghesh again did you? I thought you learned after last time." The man's face suddenly pales, "N-no, certainly not. But like, there was this big fella who kept laughing at me when I was goin' about hitting fings. So I tried to show 'im what for. Guess I ain't got a divine bein lookin' down on me all the time..."

Richart spends the next half hour muttering and sighing as they use a mixture of bandages, salves and healing magic to aid the wounded Bruce.

It may be hard work, and sometimes it may feel unrewarding. But by Helm, it sure is worth it....