Spencer Rodrickson

"As to your magic, you don't have any formal training do you? What I was doing wasn't healing, though I see how it could've appeared so. No, that was time magic. I accelerated the natural healing process at the cost of slightly aging my body. One of the riskiest and most difficult magic schools there is."

He leaned back and sighed, eyeing the girl up and down. "I would've been more than happy to do this earlier but I was tapped for spells. I'm a...protector of sorts I guess you could say. I work for the lord of this region, seeking out evil presences and creatures and eradicating them, as well as research and exploratory work when things are quieter. I was nearby hunting down a cult that was rumored to be trying to bring back an evil giant skeleton. I managed to track them down and delay the ritual, but they had staged guns on the perimeter as a defense, and I got hit before I could get inside and finish the job.

An idea struck him then, unorthodox and risky to be sure, but there still might be a chance to accomplish his task before the resurrection and inevitable carnage thereafter began. He hadn't once failed a mission before, and was determined not to fail Dalton now. "What kind of arcane magic did you say you know?"

                                                         *cracks knuckles*

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Sure, she was usually the one to tend to various wounds and scrapes when travelers needed it, even if they first tried to deny assistance at fear of it costing them gold. But performing an extraction surgery? Well, she didn’t have much of anything holding her back, after a final holler from the man ended him out of the chair; lying prone and dying before her.

“Oh…ohhh gods, uh, j-just hang in there! You hear me? No dying in my shop!” Claire knelt next to the man and cut away at the bloodied fabric on his torso to expose the bullet holes before doing her best to clan the area up. God, how was she going to get it out? It took nearly all of this woman’s strength just to hoist his torso up enough to feel where the exit holes were–determining the remaining bullet to be lodged just to the side of his right ribcage. 

After she retrieved the only pair of tongs that wasn’t red hot from the forge, she swallowed hard and positioned the two metal tips over his wound before pushing in and digging around to feel for the bullet. Carnal sounds of flesh ripping and blood fighting to spurt out of the surface made her stomach lurch, but her steady hands didn’t stop. After what seemed like an hour, she felt the tongs make contact with something solid. Ever so carefully, Claire clasped onto it before hoisting her arms up; pulling out a sole shell which incredibly hadn’t splintered into pieces. With a weary laugh of success, she set her tool down before applying more gauze to his stomach. Once she deemed the bleeding to have slowed enough, she began slipping a needle and thread through the four wounds until they all were sewn shut–later moving to attend to the exit holes on his backside. 

He continued his magicks as the girl came to and looked over his wounds, one of which was already beginning to scar and fade as silvery arcane runes dripped into his skin from his hovering hand. The entry wound he was working on eventually closed before her amazed eyes, to the point where all that remained was a slightly paler spot on his skin where only yesterday a jagged hole had been.

“That’s two of the entry wounds finished for now. It’ll take some time before I have the strength to do that again. Your name is Claire, right? You probably don’t remember me. My name is Spencer. I’m an old…I guess you’d say friend or acquaintance of your father. The last time I saw you you were a young girl, so I hope you’ll forgive my failing to recognize you.”

He stopped briefly to laugh for a moment before wincing and gritting his teeth. He stopped to slowly rearrange himself to a more comfortable position on the bed and looked up to the green haired girl. “Also, I suppose apologies are in order for the manner in which I arrived last night. I’m sure you have plenty of questions, and I’m not going anywhere very soon, so we might as well clear the air a bit.”

The stars were out and twinkling brightly over the town as the stranger moved through the streets. Had anyone still been awake and listening closely they would have heard the occasional grunt of pain or sharp intake of breath as he moved past. He had one arm pressing a bundle of red cloth to his abdomen as his head turned first one way, then the other, seeming to search for someone or something that he couldn’t quite remember where to find.

A metallic clattering pierced the stillness of the night and the man whirled, a revolver as black as night pointed in his hand, the pale moonlight reflecting eerily off the scar that seemed to pass through his left eye down into his cheek. The eyes narrowed, his body’s only movement being the tense rise and fall of his chest as he tried to discern what had caused the noise. Several strained moments passed before a kitten came out of the darkness, some food scraps dangling from its hungry mouth. The man let out an explosive breath and dropped to one knee, both hands now clutching his stomach as he struggled to get his breathing back under control.

An eternity seemed to pass before the man stood back up with a pained growl. He turned in a slow circle, trying to remember where it was, when he saw it. A house lit by torch and forge, with a plume of inky black smoke rising from the vents and blanketing the stars. The man stumbled his way down the road towards the Dragon’s Heart, sweat now glistening on his face, mixing with blood as he wiped his brow. He staggered against the frame of the building, now visibly struggling to keep himself aloft, and pushed himself into the door, falling past it into the room beyond.

“Help me…Grey….” He managed to whisper before his arms went limp at his sides, taking the bloody cloth with them, revealing four finger sized holes through his armor from which the remainder of his life began to pour.

No sooner had the freckled woman stood from behind the counter than the door opened and a rather rough and frightening man shambled in, gripping at his torso with a grim expression. Her eyes widened hearing her family name, and rushed to scramble around the shop to find the various tools and alcohol necessary to patch him. 

“You….gosh, how did this happen? Are you traveling alone?” The woman spoke in a hurried tone, but kept her volume soft as to not alert her sleeping father upstairs. Claire had never seen this stranger before, but it appeared that perhaps he knew of their shop; had he visited before when she had been away gathering materials? Tentatively, she reached up to undo the leather straps keeping his ruined chest plate on before setting it at their feet–pressing a decently clean cloth to his wounds to help alleviate some of the bleeding. Her efforts seemed a tad futile, however, as both the cloth and her spotted skin were crimson in his blood. “These are…bullets? Where did you run into trouble like this?” 

“Three…went through.” He grunted, struggling to maintain his grip on consciousness. “One’s still in there. You’ll have to cut it out. Get.. something to dig it out with… and.. quickly.”

He deftly grabbed the bottle from the shocked girl and downed a long sip before tearing a strip of his leather jerkin and placing it between his teeth.

Three quiet heartbeats passed as he seemed to tense, readying himself for something. His resolve evidently gathered, he closed his eyes in preparation of the pain and poured the rest of the bottle onto his stomach, mixing with the blood pouring from his abdomen and washing onto the shop floor.

A soft thudding noise followed as the man once again slipped into unconsciousness, the makeshift bit sliding out of his mouth as his body crumpled to the floor, blood beginning to pour once more from his wounds.