Triage
Posted: Sun Dec 28, 2025 8:48 pm
A cold wind blew, fluttering the twin tails of chestnut braids and the hem of her robes. A buzzing hum slowly drew louder and clearer as her mind became more conscious of her surroundings again. When she’d returned to the city moments before, bags laden with fresh herbs, she couldn’t have predicted the sight that would send her mind reeling. The horrific scene of slain and injured Elves strewn amidst the grounds of Arandor came back into focus and the buzzing sharpened into the familiar voices of her brethren.
One step, then another, moving to the closest body. Crouching down, she reached within herself, calling upon the magic flowing from her Lyrandel and whispering a plea to The Lady of Light and Healing … down her arm and through her fingers the magic flowed, a resurrection spell she prayed would work. When the villager opened their eyes, she felt like she could finally breathe. Lifting her eyes, she looked around, trying to ground herself in the knowledge that her people needed her. Her heart called out to the Valar for guidance as she joined the rest of the city in healing and recovering those who could be helped.
It was then she thought to call for the Luminary Warden, only to learn they Cin’aed lay amongst those wounded, healers frantically trying to keep him tethered to life. Faelith’s chest tightened.
There was a time when anger and outrage would have driven a sword into hand immediately. When all she could have done in the face of such carnage would be to gear up and ride out to cause even more in the name of vengeance veiled behind the word protection. But that was a long time ago, and Faelith Thistlebrook was no longer limited by a sword.
She was no Cin’aed and doubt gnawed at her, but Faelith pushed it aside. She could not match his mastery, but she would offer what she had—herbs, potions, healing magic: these tools were all hers now and she prayed it would be enough.
Rest would have to wait till all the victims of the attack were either stabilized, or made ready for their final rites.
One step, then another, moving to the closest body. Crouching down, she reached within herself, calling upon the magic flowing from her Lyrandel and whispering a plea to The Lady of Light and Healing … down her arm and through her fingers the magic flowed, a resurrection spell she prayed would work. When the villager opened their eyes, she felt like she could finally breathe. Lifting her eyes, she looked around, trying to ground herself in the knowledge that her people needed her. Her heart called out to the Valar for guidance as she joined the rest of the city in healing and recovering those who could be helped.
It was then she thought to call for the Luminary Warden, only to learn they Cin’aed lay amongst those wounded, healers frantically trying to keep him tethered to life. Faelith’s chest tightened.
There was a time when anger and outrage would have driven a sword into hand immediately. When all she could have done in the face of such carnage would be to gear up and ride out to cause even more in the name of vengeance veiled behind the word protection. But that was a long time ago, and Faelith Thistlebrook was no longer limited by a sword.
She was no Cin’aed and doubt gnawed at her, but Faelith pushed it aside. She could not match his mastery, but she would offer what she had—herbs, potions, healing magic: these tools were all hers now and she prayed it would be enough.
Rest would have to wait till all the victims of the attack were either stabilized, or made ready for their final rites.