A deep orange filled this level of the Keep. Usually a common room used for sparring, the mid-level had been turned into a make-shift infirmary. Accidental and temporary nurses shuffled around between occupied beds and cots. Their aprons were stained and blotted with red, pink, brown, and yellow. Browned red bandages were dunked into buckets with pinkened water. Mops worked the floors around the cots and beds, turning the water a slight yellow. Clicks of heels across the floor and up and down the stairs provided a steady rhythm to which quiet groans followed. The stones of the Keep’s walls made sure to echo the melody in an uneasy manner. The smell of iron and vapor and ash complimented the scene fittingly, if slightly nauseating.
A man sitting still, seemingly meditating or mourning, stood out rather harshly from the rest. One might assume him a monk of some kind, but his stature and ethnicity harshly questioned that assumption. His dark skin was uneven in tone, suggesting mud or dirt had been smeared across his body. The valleys in his musculature were black from the poor lighting. His black hair waved erratically down his shoulder blades. What were once white, cloth wraps twisted around his arms and legs. One wouldn’t be able to tell if the bloodstains were produced by his own flesh. Though he sat on a one-foot stool, his hunched back rose above the approaching dwarf’s head.
“Brother Brightwood,” the “nurse” said, interrupting the man’s meditation. She looked up at him as she continued. “There’s another…”
Ramando had been carrying bodies of those who couldn’t sustain their wounds. When he first arrived, he helped situate his fellow brother, Waladra. His leg was caught under some debris from an unknown explosion. Ramando was there to toss away the large stones and wooden beams. Other brothers offered to help, but they couldn’t be as helpful as a giant, through no fault of their own.
Since the nurses were scarce here, getting a stretcher all the way outside was more trouble than they could afford. The time it would take them to bring one body down, another would expire when they made it back up.
The man responded only by rising to his feet, which seemed to take too long in the opinion of the dwarf. He could have responded in her native tongue,but speaking was unnecessary considering the situation. Ramando simply slung the body over his shoulder and walked quietly down the stairs. Passers-by would understand that there was another fatality when they would see this surprisingly large human carrying down a body. He’d been up and down those stairs almost the entire day. The nurses asked much of him. Cots and bedframes, mattresses and sheets, buckets of water and bandages Ramando had hauled to the make-shift infirmary.
He gently placed the body upon a cart that would transport many other bodies to a location safe enough to provide for them a proper burial. Of course it would simply sit there, exuding a stench that could only cause a rumbling in the dragon's body. Without emotion, Ramando made his way back up the Keep with two large pails of water.
He placed the pails next to a nurse who was desperately attempting to stop excess bleeding. Ramando simply paced away in silence to keep his injured brother company in his unconscious state. The rumors had been true, but none of them expected their Master and leader of this mission to simply abandon them in a time so desperate for them all. Ramando suspected something more than simply abandon, however.
He shifted his head to face a window. The descending sun created a bleeding of colors more beautiful than any human could produce. There was some commotion outside Ramando didn’t expect, however. He rose from his stool and looked down at a group of what seemed to be common villagers. With them were a green man or orc, a paladin, a frail-looking elf, and a Halfling. They clearly were not of this city. He simply made a mental note that more individuals to which would require mending in an already overpopulated infirmary. He took his seat next to his Brother.
“Brother Brightwood,” a young man’s voice called from across the broken instrumental of the room. Ramando recognized it as Brother Dreel, a boy he’d saved in the woods a few days back. Scars had been created across his body, to which Ramando took full responsibility. “I’ll stay with him. Go get some rest.”
The boy was still wary and intimidated by the giant, but after seeing that the man held a compassion deeper than most, Dreel had developed a respect and trust in the fellow monk.
“No, I’m fine,” Ramando roared quietly.
Brother Dreel just sighed and raised his hand to place onto Ramando’s large shoulder. “Come on, at least go get something to eat,” the boy pleaded. “And clean yourself up,” he added with a soft chuckle.
Ramando looked down at his hands and followed them up his arms. He at least needed new wrapping. “I’ll be right back,” Ramando said. The tone of his voice faded into the stone, but it was still comprehensive.
The giant rose, and the base of his chest reached past the boy’s head. Brother Dreel just looked thankfully into the man’s eyes and then took the stool for his own. “Don’t take too long,” the boy teased.
Large yet quite feet stepped down the stairs. It seemed the villagers were being ushered to be assessed while the eclectic band of heroes were being interviewed or recorded. Ramando just paced quietly across the floor, hoping to not attract any attention, which was likely impossible. But he made his way to the back where a bathroom had been set up for soldiers and escorted villagers.
Troughs full of water were placed rather closely to each other. The room was divided by a giant sheet to separate the men and women from seeing each other with inappropriate gazes. Ramando kept to himself as he removed his wraps and monk garb. He folded them neatly onto a chair and walked peacefully over to a trough. Lacking clothing, his body was as impressive as the immodest clothing suggested. He bathed himself quickly, rinsing off all the mud and blood from his body and hair. He clearly had southern ancestry. But there was a fairness in his features that contrasted against the usual features of the Turami. His blue eyes and sleek face, despite being unshaven, hinted toward his Illuskan roots. Through his impressive musculature were prominent bones, signature to those Illuskan roots. His skin was lighter than assumed after the mud was washed from his skin.
