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<blockquote data-quote="Xorn" data-source="post: 4380322" data-attributes="member: 61231"><p>Sister Linora frowned as she looked out the doors from her bedroom to the balcony and stairs that followed the east wall of the temple down to the congregation area and altars. Three men were walking away quickly with their heads stooped in embarrassment. The older woman shook her head at the spectacle and turned back to the wounded elf that was lying on her bed.</p><p></p><p>“One would think they’ve never seen a woman without clothes on, before.” She muttered to herself as the door slowly creaked shut behind her. Oleaf was lying on the bed, flat on her back, and already the linens on the bed were beginning to dampen where she was sweating profusely. Away from the looking eyes of the crowd now, the elven woman was breathing more raggedly, and seemed barely able to look straight ahead, as she fought a losing battle with consciousness.</p><p></p><p>Daichot was leaning over the bed, tucking a blanket under the ranger’s arms and feeling the scorching heat seething from her flush forehead. Her hair was a slick and oily tangle of sweat-dampened strands, but still had a sheen to them that defined the term “elven” quite well. His stern look of dismay at the elf’s condition was either missed by the older priest, or ignored, but she abruptly walked over and yanked the blanket back to expose the right side of Oleaf’s body so she could resume inspecting the wound. As she did so the blast of cool air prickled her bare flesh from her neck down to her pelvis, and the tiefling cast his gaze across the room, his skin flushing a deeper red than it already was.</p><p></p><p>Sister Linora was clearly unimpressed. “You too?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “You’ve got mostly the same parts, big guy, stop acting like a child and get undressed.”</p><p></p><p>The priest didn’t look up from her inspection of the pus built up in the puncture wound, but was still aware of the expression on the tielfling’s face. “What for?” was all the warlord managed.</p><p></p><p>“You said you carried her for miles, right?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes, she couldn’t walk—“</p><p></p><p>“I didn’t ask why, all that matters to me is you’ve been carrying someone with chill-fever for hours, so I need to make sure you don’t have it.” Daichot started to unbuckle the straps on his chest piece, actually glad to feel the cool air of the room after the long walk back. “If you have any open wound, you could contract this infection—so I need to check you over.”</p><p></p><p>“Is she going to be alright?” he asked hesitantly.</p><p></p><p>“Yes, she’ll recover, though the disease is very advanced—I have a ritual that will help, but it’s too dangerous to try in her condition, so I’ll have to heal her the old-fashioned way till she’s strong enough to withstand some purging magic.” Daichot was more or less ignorant of the process Linora was describing, but believed the priest.</p><p></p><p>“My, you do have a lot of muscles, don’t you?” she awkwardly observed as he was unbuckling his leggings, leaving only a loincloth. Not giving him a chance she circled him once and rubbed her fingers painfully across a gash on the back of his left arm which drew an unexpected yelp from Daichot. She sniffed the bit of blood that was on her fingers and nodded, appearing satisfied.</p><p></p><p>“You’re fine, you can get dressed and leave.”</p><p></p><p>Daichot stood calmly and looked at the elf on the bed. She was so fatigued she didn’t seem to be aware of anyone in the room. “How long?”</p><p></p><p>The sister wiped up the pus she had pressed out of the wound and laid a clean strip of cloth over the puncture, then pulled the blankets over the elf. She put her face very close to Oleaf’s and gently tapped her on the cheeks till her eyes found the old woman and focused. “Oleaf is your name, right?”</p><p></p><p>She shook her head, weakly.</p><p></p><p>“Oleaf, I’m going to get you a tea and some herbs to make a mudpack. We have to get the infection out of your wound.” The elf tried to nod again, but her strength only gave her a long blink of understanding. “I’m going to put these blankets on you, and you can’t take them off, no matter how hot you get—your body is freezing while you feel hot. Do you understand?” Another blink, and her head nodded once. “Good. Rest now, I’ll be back soon, and everything I give you will taste horrible, so you can prepare for that.”</p><p></p><p>If Oleaf could have chuckled she would have.</p><p></p><p>Sister Linora spun about and started for the door when she noticed the bulky tiefling standing in the middle of the room in his loincloth. “What are you still doing here? Shoo! Get your clothes and get out of here!”</p><p></p><p>Daichot was scooping up his undershirt and armor quickly and yielding his steps to the door as Linora forced him out of the room with her and closed the door behind them. “I said how long till she’s better?”</p><p></p><p>Linora started to scoff at the warlord, but caught a look in his eye and resigned the façade of doting mother hen. A frank tone came into her voice as she talked to him like an adult. “I’m not a cleric, Daichot. She’s bad with the fever, and it’s not your fault. She might live, she might not—the Raven Queen will decide that. What she really needs right now is some luck.” She started towards the stairs leading down to the altars and exit from the temple, leaving the tiefling standing half-naked on the balcony outside her room. She turned and added one more thing.</p><p></p><p>“But since I’m a priestess of Avandra, I like the think that maybe we can sway the Raven Queen’s decision a little.” She winked and walked down the steps out of sight, and Daichot sighed and resumed putting on his armor.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Xorn, post: 4380322, member: 61231"] Sister Linora frowned as she looked out the doors from her bedroom to the balcony and stairs that followed the east wall of the temple down to the congregation area and altars. Three men were walking away quickly with their heads stooped in embarrassment. The older woman shook her head at the spectacle and turned back to the wounded elf that was lying on her bed. “One would think they’ve never seen a woman without clothes on, before.” She muttered to herself as the door slowly creaked shut behind her. Oleaf was lying on the bed, flat on her back, and already the linens on the bed were beginning to dampen where she was sweating profusely. Away from the looking eyes of the crowd now, the elven woman was breathing more raggedly, and seemed barely able to look straight ahead, as she fought a losing battle with consciousness. Daichot was leaning over the bed, tucking a blanket under the ranger’s arms and feeling the scorching heat seething from her flush forehead. Her hair was a slick and oily tangle of sweat-dampened strands, but still had a sheen to them that defined the term “elven” quite well. His stern look of dismay at the elf’s condition was either missed by the older priest, or ignored, but she abruptly walked over and yanked the blanket back to expose the right side of Oleaf’s body so she could resume inspecting the wound. As she did so the blast of cool air prickled her bare flesh from her neck down to her pelvis, and the tiefling cast his gaze across the room, his skin flushing a deeper red than it already was. Sister Linora was clearly unimpressed. “You too?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “You’ve got mostly the same parts, big guy, stop acting like a child and get undressed.” The priest didn’t look up from her inspection of the pus built up in the puncture wound, but was still aware of the expression on the tielfling’s face. “What for?” was all the warlord managed. “You said you carried her for miles, right?” “Yes, she couldn’t walk—“ “I didn’t ask why, all that matters to me is you’ve been carrying someone with chill-fever for hours, so I need to make sure you don’t have it.” Daichot started to unbuckle the straps on his chest piece, actually glad to feel the cool air of the room after the long walk back. “If you have any open wound, you could contract this infection—so I need to check you over.” “Is she going to be alright?” he asked hesitantly. “Yes, she’ll recover, though the disease is very advanced—I have a ritual that will help, but it’s too dangerous to try in her condition, so I’ll have to heal her the old-fashioned way till she’s strong enough to withstand some purging magic.” Daichot was more or less ignorant of the process Linora was describing, but believed the priest. “My, you do have a lot of muscles, don’t you?” she awkwardly observed as he was unbuckling his leggings, leaving only a loincloth. Not giving him a chance she circled him once and rubbed her fingers painfully across a gash on the back of his left arm which drew an unexpected yelp from Daichot. She sniffed the bit of blood that was on her fingers and nodded, appearing satisfied. “You’re fine, you can get dressed and leave.” Daichot stood calmly and looked at the elf on the bed. She was so fatigued she didn’t seem to be aware of anyone in the room. “How long?” The sister wiped up the pus she had pressed out of the wound and laid a clean strip of cloth over the puncture, then pulled the blankets over the elf. She put her face very close to Oleaf’s and gently tapped her on the cheeks till her eyes found the old woman and focused. “Oleaf is your name, right?” She shook her head, weakly. “Oleaf, I’m going to get you a tea and some herbs to make a mudpack. We have to get the infection out of your wound.” The elf tried to nod again, but her strength only gave her a long blink of understanding. “I’m going to put these blankets on you, and you can’t take them off, no matter how hot you get—your body is freezing while you feel hot. Do you understand?” Another blink, and her head nodded once. “Good. Rest now, I’ll be back soon, and everything I give you will taste horrible, so you can prepare for that.” If Oleaf could have chuckled she would have. Sister Linora spun about and started for the door when she noticed the bulky tiefling standing in the middle of the room in his loincloth. “What are you still doing here? Shoo! Get your clothes and get out of here!” Daichot was scooping up his undershirt and armor quickly and yielding his steps to the door as Linora forced him out of the room with her and closed the door behind them. “I said how long till she’s better?” Linora started to scoff at the warlord, but caught a look in his eye and resigned the façade of doting mother hen. A frank tone came into her voice as she talked to him like an adult. “I’m not a cleric, Daichot. She’s bad with the fever, and it’s not your fault. She might live, she might not—the Raven Queen will decide that. What she really needs right now is some luck.” She started towards the stairs leading down to the altars and exit from the temple, leaving the tiefling standing half-naked on the balcony outside her room. She turned and added one more thing. “But since I’m a priestess of Avandra, I like the think that maybe we can sway the Raven Queen’s decision a little.” She winked and walked down the steps out of sight, and Daichot sighed and resumed putting on his armor. [/QUOTE]
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