"What happened is pretty simple - our ship was caught into a storm and wrecked. Some of the passengers have managed one way or another to make it to the shore and into this place. A cave on the coast it seems, with a fresh rockfall sealing it off.

As far as that nord... friend of yours I assume ?" Elarian did not make any attempt to hide the contempt in his voice "It seems the god's benevolence toward chickens crossing the road extends to drunkards caught in a shipwreck. He's clinging to that damned chest somewhere inside and from the muttering I heard he's alive.". He made a dismissive gesture in Loss?'s general direction. "Even if your drunken antics with that thing have trapped us underdeck, she ship broke appart rather than collapsing on itself. Luck in it's purest, most undiscriminating form."

"But as it seems I'm about the less injured there, I'll have to go scrounging around for what can be salvaged from the wreckage. We need more firewood, and something to make splinters for your arm and leg.".

Elarian left to move to the piles of driftwood and wreckage, recovering his sword in passing, sorting things out and looking for other survivors who might have troubles moving on their own to the fire.

Yanmir slowly regained consciousness. He rose to his feet and looked around in the cavern. Apparently he was not the only one who had made it to this very same cave. Strange, this many survivors and all of them washed ashore at the same place... Things like that only happen one in a million. Stuhn must have watched over them, or at least Sheogorath. Someone had lit a camp fire not too far away. At least then they'd have a source of light and warmth in this cold, dark cave. He saw a battered crate that had been washed into the cave with them, albeit the top was heavily damaged and looked like it would break at any given moment. The nord knight walked towards the crate and tore off the top with his hands. In the crate he found a supply of medicine, liniments, bandages and healing potions. Surely it cannot be natural to be this lucky. He took as much as he could from the crate, figuring that there might be those more severely wounded among the others. Although he was no professional, he had at least some medic training when he became a knight.

One of the survivors, an altmer mage, mentioned something about a concussion. Yanmir walked up to the altmer, who was bleeding from his head.

"Hold still a bit, this won't take long."

He wiped off some of the blood from the altmer's forehead and poured some liniment in the wound, then proceeding to wrap it in band aid.

"You're lucky it's only a minor concussion, my medical skills wouldn't be able to handle something more severe than this. Here, drink this potion and you'll be just fine."

Handing the altmer a healing potion, he turned to face the other survivors. Fortunately it seemed like only the mage had suffered any major damage. They now had a whole crate full of medical supplies, should anyone else be wounded. He himself had been fortunate enough to avoid any severe wounds, merely having a few scraqes on his arm.

OOC: I have officially decided to ditch my Kynaran Dancer concept, even though she is the reason I begged for this RP... Davian stole my show, despite being nothing more than a generic fighter redshirt.
Fantast First Aid
for Dummies
1. Find a cleric/healer
2. Ask to cast "cure x wounds"
Bandages are for noobs

IC: The shock of their storm ordeal had yet to leave Davian, and thus he continued to see everything as bizzarely comical. When he saw the Nord - was it Yamnir? - try to treat the concussion with bandages, he burst out laughing, "We have an apparently experienced healer in the group and you use bandages?" he asked, his laughter enirely inapproprate, but still unavoidable. After a few seconds, his laughter ground to a halt, ending with, "heh... I need a new axe..."

As he finally came around to his senses, he took stock of his position. His once vibrant crimson tunic was shredded but still mostly intact, but it seemed the water, muck, and grime had turned it a dull purple color. Hmm... wonder how that happened, he thought to himself, before shrugging and turning to the other survivors. "How long should we stick around before getting out of this hellhole?" he asked after a while, anxious to leave and burn off some of the adrenaline-enhanced energy left over from the harrowing experience.

Banor had remained limply sat as everyone seemed to be unfolding around him. A flash of light finally drew his attention, and he looked up towards a man in the near distance who had shouted 'Is everybody okay?'.

Banor smiled cruelly. Oh, you have no idea. He thought in a brief moment of sanity.

The pain in the back of his head was subduing itself and it saddened him as it began to go numb. He distracted himself by returning his attention to the man who had made the fire, the fire itself seemed to be healthily burning, the sparks jumped from the wood and danced charmingly before his eyes. Realising that everyone seemed to be converging around it, he stood up himself, and walked slowly and methodically towards the fire.

Sitting down surprisingly quietly, he looked at the man who apparently had a 'concussion'. The blood seeped rather beautifully through the bandage that the man had oddly applied, and he only just stopped himself from leaning forward and touching the wound.

"How long should we stick around before getting out of this hellhole?" Someone said nearby the fire, he looked up at the man, looking in particular at the man's scare by his eye.

"Hellhole." He repeated quietly but within earshot of the survivors. "Hellhole he said with a scar that looked so delightfully painful in plain light." He continued with a smile, looking towards the fire. "Some men imagine hell as fire and flames, while others see it as a cave with one fire, and only few flames." He looked back up at the man, "How odd."

Returning his gaze to the flames, he began to play with them with his fingers. The burning sensation was weak, but oh so pleasant for him.

"You really think the bandages are for treating the concussion? I used those to stop the bleeding, you [censored]. If you don't shut up, I'll give you a REAL concussion to think about."

Yanmir spat out at the person laughing at him. Had he not been brought up the way he had, no doubt he'd instantly grab his mace and thwack the man right in his temples. Next thing he knew, a giant rat jumped out of a corner, charging towards him. He stomped the rat, shattering its skull. Apparently this cave was not completely uninhabited. Further into the cave one could hear the fluttering of wings and small feet skittering across the limestone floor.

"We should better get moving soon, and if anyone of you have any more witty comments..." he spoke to the others, unsheathing his sword. "...now is not the time."

With his free hand he grasped a large piece of wood and held it to the camp fire, lighting it to use as a torch.

Julia made a second attempt to rise, and this time succeeded, though she still gasped when a ripple of pain rolled through her back. When she was upright she paused a moment and took stock of the situation.

She was standing on a large pile of rubbish in the corner of a type of natural cavern. About fifty steps away and partly obscured to her sight by a bulge in the stone wall, a group of people, refugees from the shipwreck just as she was, had gathered around a small campfire. By their upraised voices, she judged that there was already some type of argument among them, which struck her as a symbol of the inevitable futility of ever being able to speak calmly to anyone. The cave also held a few battered people who, like her, had not yet joined to group at the center of the cavern, as well as a great amount of driftwood and seawater. The cave seemed to have no entrance, but behind her a long tunnel ran off into blackness.

As for herself, her mind was clear and her body, except for the strain in her back, seemed uninjured. She was still in her sodden nightclothes, and barefoot at that, but her satchel contained a suit of leather armor that she had been issued but rarely worn, and a pair of leather boots. She decided to don her armor now, and spent the next for minutes doing so. After a moment's hesitation, she also strapped on her dagger, bow and quiver. She was a spy, not a fighter, but judging by the rat that attacked the group in the middle of the room, she might be required to defend herself.

All this standing and sitting had done no good for her back, so she also cast a small Restore Health spell on herself, one that would relieve her pain and allow her to move about unhindered, but not deplete her magicka supply.

After all this was finished she moved forward towards the group around the fire, feeling uncomfortable in the armor, but saying nothing.

Sigmund awoke in gloom.

He was lying in some sort of pool, upon opening his eyes he realised it was a combination of seawater and his own blood.
When the ship broke apart he had been below deck trying to bind his spear into his hands. If he was going to hell, he would not go unarmed.

Now he realized that the spear was miraculously still in one piece. He himself was looking a little the worse for wear. His shoulders and right arm were studded with massive splinters of wood from the ship's deck and blood was streaming own the left side of his face from an unknown headwound, obscuring his vision.

He struggled to his feet and dragged himself toward an unknown lightsource on the far side of the cave.

more survivors? he thought in his delirium, or maybe i am in hell...

"Be quiet, fools," he said with disgust to the two who were joking and prattling on about some masochist nonsense. "Do not make light of another's suffering. What right have you t-" he was cut short when he caught sight of another familiar figure- the woman from the ship. He blinked from surprise first, then began, "Thank Zenithar, I thought I had accidentally killed you! Forgive me, the time was spinning then, and-" Once more he lost his train of thought from his weariness. "Well, it doesn't matter anymore. Welcome to the party," he added glumly. He glanced over to the man who had been bandaging the Altmer. "Excuse me, sir, but do you happen to have a couple of sticks nearby? I need to put a splint on this leg before it gets any worse..."

Sammensia could hear them now, milling around about her. It sounded as though she was hearing them from underwater, though. Why can't I hear? Oh, no.. did I hit the water wrong and burst my eardrums? No.. I'm not in pain there.. I.. Wait a sec.. Shifting her jaw, she popped her ears and sound flooded into her brain. A crackling fire, talking, laughing, yelling, moaning, the lap of the sea at the entrance of the cave. She heaved one last time and a foul smelling green sludge came out, which upon further inspection, appeared to be a seaweed she'd somehow swallowed. After her gut was free of everything, the taste of her own bile overpowered the foul water's taste and she felt better.

Standing shakily, the little Bosmer staggered forward more into the group of people. Her head swam in a familiar way, telling her she was dehydrated. Unslinging the backpack that she was surprised she still had, she pulled a flask of water from it and drained the whole thing, the water going down her throat like liquid relief. She looked through the pack for food, too, but it was all soaked in saltwater. Cooked, the small satchel of venison she'd taken with her might be salvageable, but the bread was ruined. Throwing the destroyed baked goods into a dark corner of the room, she brought the satchel up to the fire. She could've eaten the whole thing by herself she was so tired and hungry, having missed breakfast as well as dinner the previous night, but she reminded herself that as a Medic, her duty was always to her allies before herself. Even though she had left Valenwood, she didn't see that as a dismissal from her job. She'd merely.. relocated.

"I.." Sam began, then coughed violently for a second. When recovered, the Bosmer cleared her throat and sat down by the fire, patting the meat sack. "I've got food here, if anyone's hungry. Might be salty, but cooking should make it safe to eat."

Marcus woke up in the cave, apparently one of his shipmates had dragged him in, "where in the heck are we," It was dark and cold, and many noisescould be heard outside the cave.

"what are we going to do?" He said as he saw that the rocks had fallen in on the entrance, "oh sam, could I have some of that meat?" Marcus had suffered a concussion

Having rummaged through the wreckage, Elarian picked first the bundle of his armor and clothing, then a selection of wood pieces and some ropes. Some firewood, what I need to put and arm and leg in splinter, and some extras. Having what he was looking for he came back to the fire - seeing the brief skirmish and the rat's quick demise. Arriving to the fire he dropped his burden next to it before pulling out the splinters.

Noticing that the bosmer woman was now sitting next to the fire, offering some food, he remarked "If I'm not mistaken about your tatoos you're a healer - or at least trained in healing magc. Some of us needs healing more than food." Offering the makeshift splenter and rope he had picked, he gestured toward Volumnius. "He's got a broken arm and leg. These bits of wood can make decent splinters, but maybe you're able to make something more effective. I'm a fighter who picked some tricks keep himself going, not a healer by trade."

Marcus laid there, and observed everyone's injuries. "oh my head, how are we going to get out of this cave?" He felt sorry for the many broken limbs, but he felt dizzy.

"whooooooooo" and he dazed off

OOC: Was gone friday, and most of today. And wooly, do you notice much difference between your post and others... :nope:

IC: Kiel had been studied his maps with deep conentration, vaugely hearing the prisoners interact, and one thank him for the fire. Without looking up from the maps Kiel says. "Yeah, it was no problem." Comepletely unaware of whoever said it, and the concussion he had that Kiel could have treated. Kiel drew a light circle on his map to show where they could have washed up, he then collected his thoughts to see if he could remember any landmarks. Kiel rolled up his map, put it in his pouch, and stood up. "Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news is, I know where we are, and I know what to find in order to get out. The bad news is, we are in privateer's hold. A very dangerous and notorious base for theives, thugs, pirates, and ofcourse, there summons." Kiel looked out over the group, making sure everyone had heard. "I suggest we all rest for as long as you all want to, we need to regain our strength and health if we all want to make it out. I have plenty of herbs and I can treat almost anything." Kiel then sat down, wanting to get some rest himself.

"So, we are in a thug den?" Marcus looked around, and saw everyone's injuries, "Kiel, is there anyway to heal my head injury? Maybe by use of magic?" Marcus was really worried, most of everyone was hurt badly, and they were in a dungeon of criminals and undead. "Keil? someone needs to be keeping watch, we need to form a barricade of rocks along the other opening where the thieves would come from, then we could break it, does anyone have any kind of barrier making skill?"

As Julia joined the small knot of survivors clumped around the fire, a man lying on the ground with a broken leg made eye contact with her. It was the commoner from the ship, the one who had shoved her up on deck.

"Thank Zenithar, I thought I had accidentally killed you!" he cried, his conscience evidently relieved. "Forgive me, the time was spinning then, and ? well, it doesn't matter anymore. Welcome to the party."

She crouched by his side and gave him a smile. "Never fear, friend ? you did me no harm. In fact, judging by your injuries and my lack thereof, I'd say you quite possibly saved my life." She clasped his hand briefly as a token of her appreciation, thinking He's not a bad sort, really, even if he is rather low-born.

Julia then turned to the Wood Elf opposite the fire who was brandishing a hunk of meat. It appeared to be venison, and Julia fervently hoped it was, for she had heard tales of stranger meats served in the land of the Bosmeri. A grizzled Dunmer had just suggested that the woman should focus her attention on healing rather than food, and Julia, attempting to be helpful, held out her hand. "Here," she said to the Bosmer, "Allow me to cook that while you tend to this poor fellow, and the others with injuries. I'm afraid my skill in Restoration is too petty for that task." She accompanied this offer with her most winning smile.

Noticing that the others weren't ready to leave quite yet, Yanmir sheathed his sword and put the makeshift torch against the rock wall. One of the survivors walked up to him, asking for help with something, but before he could say or do something, another offered the man to help him with his broken bones. At least now I don't have to bother with that. It's been ages since my medical training at the academy. He walked over to the camp fire and sat down in front of the flickering flames. A bosmeri woman was offering to cook some food in case anyone was hungry. He looked at the meat, and suddenly remembered what he had heard about the bosmer. Some of them were apparently cannibals, eating the flesh of slain enemies of rival tribes. Yanmir hoped that it was not the case with this one, he didn't fancy the idea of eating mer flesh.

He removed his shirt and squeezed out as much sea water as he could and put it on the ground next to the fire to let it dry a bit. Without his shirt, the serpent tattoo on his left arm was fully visible. Around his lower right arm a curved silver dagger was strapped in its sheath. Whoa, I almost forgot I had brought this. Better let it stay there, never know when I might need it. Someone mentioned that the place they had ended up in was called the Privateer's Hold, a hideout for bandits, pirates and other outlaws, as well as a few undead. They'd have to stay on their guard, unless they want a bunch of outlaws killing them off, or worse.

Marcus got up from against the rock corner of the cave, his head was feeling better. He went up to Yanmir, "Yanmir, do you think you could build some kind of Barricade to hold any hostile things off?" He turned to Sam and Julia, "What about you go uys, I think we should put some rocks up in the pathway so if there are any intruders we will be alerted and be given some time to prepare." He turned to Keil, "Keil, get that map back out, I want to know where we are going to be once we get out of this rockslide." He turned to Elarian, "Elarian, do you have any ideas?"

Kiel shook his head at the Nord's suggestion, he was pushing this idea of barricade hard. "No, no, you don't get it. Were inside a dungeon that his been occupied by these Privateers. Were going to go out through the entrance. And enough with this ridiculous barricade idea, we definetly do not have the time or supplies. It would be wasted effort." Kiel said to the Nord sternly, like in the way one would scold a child. He was getting mildly annoyed by the Nord. Kiel took some herbs in his hand and swallowed them. His head was feeling better and less agitated.

Kiel looked around at the whole group. He hoped that they were only like this because of the injuries. And, one of the group appeared to be completely insane. Oh god, I hope I'm no the only compitent one in the group. I really don't feel like protecting anyone.

Kiel saw the the Bosmer woman he had talked to on the ship. He was very fond of the Wood Elves, spending around a decade living among them. She was cooking by the fire he had made, and giving healings to the injured. Wow, I have to respect that. Kiel, being uninjured apart from some soreness, and able to go a long time without eating walked over the fire. He noticed the Bosmer woman was in bad shape herself. He stood next to her, and pulled some herbs from his pouch, "These will help with any pain." Kiel handed her the herbs, he also noticed she was hungery. "I'm in no way hungry, so you can go ahead and make one for me, I can tell you need it more than I." Kiel said, hoping to return some kindness to the Healer.

Marcus turned to Keil, "Keil, I under stand you are not injured, and I am not injured badly, how long is it going to be before everyone heals up? we don't have any water or food, should we go search for some supplies within the cave? I may, with my sneak training that I was taught by the blades, may be able to sneak up on some of the criminals, and kill them silently. If we took their supplies, It would give the others more time to heal up." Marcus looked around, and saw the Bosmer woman healing the hurt, and thought We have to do something!

Volumnius wasn't entirely sure how to react to the odd action of the noble, so he simply smiled and gave a nod. He was still relieved that he hadn't caused the death of anyone.

"No barricade," he said suddenly, jumping in on the discussion of the others, "staying here will be the death of us all. We're on dry land; we can leave here easily enough, can't we? Besides, the only dangers would be a few rats that might be carrying diseases. Bandits wouldn't want anything with a bunch of storm victims without anything of value on them." Although he said the last part with a hint of uneasiness. He hadn't actually met bandits before, so he could be very wrong. "Still, though, getting moving would be good. Let us just patch up the wounds we have quickly and go- we can get to a temple to find more permanent healing once we're out."

Looking toward Elarian, he motioned for his attention. "Here, I can splint myself. Hand me the splints and I'll make something that can at least last me the way out of here. The High Elf looks like he could use more attention, anyway," he remarked worriedly about the quiet Altmer with the concussion.

"Bandits will be plenty of danger, they will want our clothes, our weapons, and they....they may...they may even want to [censored] the women. We need to have people protecting the wounded, I think some of us healthy ones should scout the cave for supplies and to map it out, Keil could map it out."

Marcus was getting worried, they couldn't just stay in this cave forever, they would eventually have to face their trials, and move on.

Garum mumbled his thanks as the Nord man treated his wound. His head still felt like there was an Ogrim trying to break out from inside, but at least he knew he wouldn't bleed to death. The battlemage turned his head slightly to regard the odd man who was mumbling on about scars. Has he no sense of respect? Garum wondered, People just died. Some of us may yet die if these wounds get infected. Hell, we don't even have any food or drink. For a moment, Garum considered casting a spell on the fellow, just for being irritating, but he quenched the thought. It would do more harm than good, and in Garum's state he was looking for a way to take out his frustration and pain on somebody or something. It wouldn't do to unleash a spell on an innocent man. Rather than snipe at the fellow, Garum chose instead to drink the foul potion he had been given. Never a fan of potions, Garum reluctantly drank the whole thing, and his pain did lessen somewhat.

Garum rested for a few moments as more people gathered around the fire. he muttered a spell and cast another long duration fire spell into the flames, increasing the heat of the fire for a few minutes. For several seconds, he stared into the fire. The flames flicked around the logs like beautiful dancers, sweeping in majestic fury across the wood. At the mention of a healer and of food, Garum's ears perked up again.

"If you're going around healing, would you mind taking a look at my head?" He asked, touching a finger to his forehead lightly. Garum no longer felt dizzy, but he didn't want to risk it by standing up. "And what's all this I hear about bandits and privateers? It'd be a waste of time and resources to build a barricade that would do nothing other than conveniently trap us in here for them to pick off. Hell, we don't even know if there are any bandits in here. If it's marked on the map as a bandit hole, then the bandits and privateers, with their want of privacy, have probably long abandoned it."

"In my experience, no criminal in his right mind would hide at a place that is marked as a criminal's den on a map." Garum finished with a slight chuckle. Gods, am I the only intelligent one here... ? Have they not realized this? Or maybe they haven't had the same amount of experience with criminals as I did during my tenure in the Legion.

As Garum used magic to strengthen the fire, Elarian added the wood he had picked for that purpose to it. It would sustain the fire once the magic had ended. Then he handed the splinters he had gathered and somd rope to tie them in place. As everyone discussed the options. Most weren't exactly good in his opinion, though they obviosuly had to leave. While lisitening he took off some clothing, keeping only his pant and easing the rest near the fire to dry. Wet clothes tend to slow you down. If we'r really in a thieve's den, that's not something I can afford, they tend to rely on swift weapons

Once he had done it he added his own opinion to the mix. "I don't know how large or active this place is, but judging from that critter" - pointing at the dead giant rat "I don't think it's fully packed. That's not the sort of things anyone would like to have scurrying around his stores or his beds. With the place appearing on a map, it's even more likely it won't be. But an average-sized band that's prudent enough to keep it's 'business' away from the place can go unnoticed for quite a while. And if that prudent wouldn't like someone stumbling on them and living to tell about it.

We're probably in some deep, remote corner of the place, that means no immediate danger, unless we do something to attract attention. I agree that we need to get out, and the only way is through, but I dont think we can do it right now. Some here aren't in condition to fight, at least one has a broken leg. That will slow us down, unless we can heal them or are willing to abandon them to fend for themselves. I can't do the first, and I'd rather avoid the second."

Sigmund stumbled toward the Altmer, his head swam and most of his vision was blurred by the torrent of blood from his head wound.

He tried to pull some of the splinters from his right arm, before realising that his left hand was still bound to the spear that apparently meant more to him than his life.

Sigmund was not the most intelligent man in the world, but he knew he would die soon without some sort of medical attention.

Although not panicked -as some of the others seemed to be- Banor couldn't help but feel a certain level of... anxiety about the situation. It was unusual for him. He withdrew the dagger that had thankfully remained on his belt, and began to rub his thumb over the edges without drawing attention to it. It cut very lightly, enough to draw a small speck of blood, and the sensation calmed him, it made his heart slow down, it stopped the sweat falling from his head. In fact, he zoned out slightly, closing his eyes and just focusing on the feeling for a while.

Oh sanguine sensation, one caused by the enchantress of my mind, you stop my frustration, you make me to it as blind.

He opened his eyes, and, feeling a sense of clarity, he actually spoke up to the entire group, offering an opinion. "In this cave you have several people." He started simply, looking at different members of the group who were either sat or stood around the fire. "Several of these several are injured in several different ways. We go on now, and we find more dangerous critters than him," -he pointed at the rat determinedly- "then several of these several who are injured in several different ways will die at several different times." Although he put emphasis on the word several every time he said it, you could be forgiven for thinking he didn't even notice he was repeating himself. "If you were to take- to take an opinion from little old me." He stated, looking down at the floor as if nervous. "Then we stay, for a while, until strong enough to go- to go," -he thrust a hand forward, pointing ahead while still looking down- "to go forward."

After saying all that again, he once again felt nervous and a little anxious. He returned to scratching himself on the blade, this time almost noticeably. This time, his heart was beating because of all the other people's attentions who might be on him.