(514-09-27) Killing With Kindness
Summary: Immediate aftermath of the battle where Steffan's wound gets treated, or so he thinks.
Date: September 27th, 514
Related: Large scale skirmish against the invading Dorset forces at Ebble.
braelynn myfanwy padrig steffan vesper 

With this being his first major contest where a large number of armsmen are involved, Steffans lingers out on the battlefield after the Dorset have retreated back south. Where he lets his charger wander is the field of dead, most the men that followed him as well as the men that fought against him. Where the de Wylye's unit clashed with the southern forces, that was probably the where most brutal fighting occurred with both sides losing over seventy-five percent of their forces, dead, wounded, or captured. Men that Steffan was leading, no longer breathing or living. Eventually his squire rides out to find him and with a nod from the Wylye Knight, he rides back to where the friendly camp has been set up. Dismounting, Steffan heads to where the healers are tending to the wounded, the cries of the wounded and reassuring words of healers mixing in the atmosphere. The knight himself has taken a single wound though one that certainly needs to be looked after. The linked chain at his right thigh is punctured and a spear wound is visible, bleeding.

"Sir Padrig de Laverstock," is just about all that Paddy can get out before Braelynn sweeps up her cousin with that familial concern and whisks her away to be tended to. In the meantime, the knight must return to the field if only so he can assist with managing the wounded and funneling them toward the healers.

And so Vesper's cobalt eyes settle on Steffan, giving him a once-over that is thorough, both professional and not. "You," she informs him, a grin splitting her face like the spear must've split his leg. "You are next. Come, let me have a look at that wound?" It's a question, but she's motioning the knight over even as she asks it, presumptive. "Any other wounds unseen? Under the shirt, perhaps?"

"I could lie down here" Myfanwy smiles to her cousin, "Though I think it would be more akin to collapsing." She gives Pedrig a respectful nod as he leaves before looking to her cousin. "Your betrothed? At least he did not get hurt." A frown at the mud and blood she is getting on Braelynn's clothes but it goes with the territory. "I submit to your skills, cousin. Though all I ask is that it is not too far away."

Braelynn leads Myfanwy, instead of to the healer's tent, into her own tent in the small encampment. It's closer, and will provide more privacy while Myfanwy's wounds are cleaned and dressed, considering it is obvious that one of them is on her thigh and one is on her flank. As they enter the tent she pulls the flaps closed, already pulling the satchel from around her neck and shuffling through it for the proper supplies.

While the lady healer that calls to him has a friendly smile on her lips, one that is no doubt meant to welcome him, Steffan offers nothing of the sort in return. The serious demeanor is also now touched by a troubled expression, not a surprise with the battle that has just been fought with both sides losing a good number of men, the Dorset moreso. Knowing not to argue with a healer, he limps in her direction, his head shaking at her question of other wounds, "No, My Lady, only the leg. You will have my thanks and appreciation if you can bandage it." That is all he needs so Vesper can be freed to move onto the next wounded man that needs her care.

Critical Fail!
Vesper checked her firstaid of 15, she rolled 20.

Steffan rolls 1d3 and gets (1) for a total of: (1)

Steffan's first cue to feel uneasy is that Vesper doesn't resume her song. Instead, the healer seems more interested in chatting up the knight. A needle is drawn up alongside the dressings, but so busy is she sizing up the knight that she doesn't remember to clean the wound first. "You fought valiantly out there, sir knight. Twas an unfortunate mishap that so many were killed. Still, here you are now, perhaps with a new respect to life? Thinking you might seize the day a bit more often?"

While the de Wylye is in no mood to chat, he is still courteous in the presence of a lady, especially one that is here to volunteer her services despite the horrors that the aftermath of a battle may bring. "Unfortunate indeed, My Lady, but where there is war, there will be death. We can only prepare ourselves through training and discipline to try to prevent such great losses." As for a new respect to life, that is where Steffan shakes his head, "We know that life is always on a delicate balance when we ride into battle, unpredictable events can tip that scale one way or another." Either the knight himself is not that knowledgeable in treating wounds or more likely, he is too distracted with what happened in the battle, he does not catch that Vesper has not cleaned his wound either.

Vesper checked her flirting of 13, she rolled 9.

And so, with the wound still unclean, Vesper wraps dressings around Steffan's leg, and at least those are clean. "Unpredictable events need not always be bad, you're right there," the Newton smiles up at the knight, a coy, inviting smile. "For instance, who knows how long it may have taken for us to cross one another's path, had fate not seen fit to see you here and wounded. I cannot be entirely displeased." She flirts. On the battlefield. In the midst of death. But at least she finishes bandaging the skilled knight, and then rises once more to leave him be.

Steffan checked his chaste of 13, he rolled 3.
Steffan checked his courtesy of 12, he rolled 18.

The way Vesper is smiling at him and her honeyed words are easily recognized by Steffan. It would seem that the Newton Lady is not the first to attempt her charms on this particular knight and it appears that he is in no mood for it this time, unfortunate for her. "Thank you, My Lady, but I do not believe this is the time nor the place for such words. With the Dorset still threatening our southern border and you are one of those who are willing to brave the front to tend to wounded men and women, I am sure our paths will cross again." Lectures are not only for his brother, apparently, but also for ladies who he feels overstep their bounds as well.

Vesper checked her forgiving of 13, she rolled 5.

It's a set down, and Vesper hears it for what it is. Yet, the Newton lady's face remains pleasant, her quirky smile essaying forth at the Wylye. "There is only ever now," she tells him, tapping the side of her nose thoughtfully, smearing blood upon it. "But perhaps you are correct that this is not the place. Consider yourself healed, good sir, and free of my company." She gives him a graceful dip of a curtsey, and then casts about for her next victim.

Steffan checked his courtesy of 12, he rolled 4.

With the leg tended to and wrapped up with clean bandages, Steffan looks pleased at what he considered expert work that was done to the wound. Though his words may have been direct and a bit harsher than intended, he still has his manners when they are about to part ways, "Thank you, My Lady. And I apologize for not properly introducing myself to one who was willing to spare her time to ensure that I do not bleed myself to death. I am Sir Steffan de Wylye, brother to Lord Rowan de Wylye." A proper bow is offered to the lady, perhaps to make up for the stinging, lecturing words he gave earlier.

Vesper is already on the next, though now it's a slow trickle, with only minor scrapes and bruises. From one such scrape she looks back at Steffan, cocking a cheeky eyebrow in his direction. "Spare to the heir, hmm? Still, handsome enough, with all your proper ways. Lady Vesper de Newton," she offers back. "I shall want to check on you several days hence, sir, to make sure you're healing proper. Wouldn't do to leave you marred, would it?"

There is a look of mild surprise when he is called the heir, Steffan not expecting anyone to know who he is. But there is that amused smirk which appears, showing that he did not take offense to her bluntness nor the easy way she has with words for a knight she just met, only fair since he was equally blunt earlier, "Honored, Lady Vesper, and no, it wouldn't do. I shall leave you to your duties then. Again, thank you." With another respectful nod, the de Wylye turns and departs, his squire no doubt not too far, waiting anxiously for his knight.

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