((As I said, I'll only post Orin and my new chara for now while I decide what I wanna do with my other two charas.
Edit: Changing my new chara's name to what it was supposed to be. Sorry for the confusion @_@))

~Streets, Alabar, Branchwood~

Orin:

Orin had finally shook his fever. He had made himself take some spotted coralwood before going to bed; his night had been rather restless, and when he awoke a few hours later, his sheets and nightclothes were drenched in sweat, but his fever was gone. Finally, he could function normally. Now he was heading toward the marketplace, hopefully to replenish some of his more common herbs. Healing magic, after all, was costly to the healer and better left to more serious wounds.

After some hours of walking around, he had his bag half full of bottles. Mostly, they were herbs used for hemorrhaging and burns, then some garlic for the making of a cough syrup. One of the soldiers had asked for him to make one, saying he had a chronic cough, though Orin decided he had to inspect him later for more insidious diseases. He dreaded it.

It was so hot out here. He had to really resist the urge to draw out the handkercheif the green-eyed soldier had given him at camp the night the Atles students were captured. He had just washed it this morning, intent on giving it back. He was checking through his bag for it to make sure it hadn't been drenched in any powder or tincture when he felt a solid weight slam into his back, sending him stumbling. He turned, stuttering an apology already, to a soldier in armor who had a hand to his face.

"Oh, dear!" Orin said. He moved closer, pulling the man's hand down as he said, "I'm a healer, sir. Are you quite all right?"

"Uhhm. Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean to stumble into you like that." The man moved his hand from his face. Orin visibly started. Green eyes peered back at him before the man said, "Well if it isn't you! You seem well."

"Well. Yes," Orin said, suddenly feeling shy as he felt his cheeks burn. "Uhm. But, p-pardon me saying so, you do not."

Geoffrey:

He looked a frail little thing, the healer from the camp. He stuttered when he talked, which Geoffrey found actually very endearing.

"No, no. It's just the heat. In this armor, it's hard to keep one's temperature down."

"No," the healer said. "Well, I mean, yes. Sorry." He flustered a bit. "I mean! I should look at you anyway. Just to be sure?"

He didn't sound sure himself, but Geoffrey decided he'd favor the man. He liked him. "Well, there's a little abandoned house back a way..." He grinned inwardly at what this might sound like to an outsider. And here we don't even know each other's names.

It was a short walk and mostly in the shade of the other buildings, but Geoffrey still felt like he was sweltering, which he was. He was never much one for hot climates. If he swooned again, he doubted the frail healer at his side would be able to drag him anywhere.

He was about to introduce himself when he heard voices and a scuffle. He put a hand in front of the healer to tell him to stop, then inched silently closer to listen in. Hefting his axe, he readied himself for any outbursts.