A bit of clean up.

[Cobalt_Steel]

It had been a long night for the half demon elf. Her training as a healer's assitant had kept her up all night tending to the wounded down at the tea house. But there was still work that needed to be done. A quick bath is taken in her quarters, and a fresh change of clothes; an attempt to make herself look somewhat less drug out from lack of sleep.

There's still work to be done before she will let herself sleep. A matter that needed to be cleared up; or rather made a little less clear. Pulling her boots back on, she returns to the back door of her shop. She pulls the ear tabs that she had been wearing durring the assassination attempt of the tax man out of the pocket of her vest, and tosses them into the small cooking fire in the stove near the door. With that matter taken care of, she sets out the back door, towards the remendium, knowing that there are more wounded there. Many more than can be taken care of by the current staff, and they will undoubtably need the assitance of any one whom is trained in such things to deal with all the wounded coming in from the coupe.

It is in thus manner that she manages to install herself there as part of that temporary help. And due to the work load, noone notices when the elf dissapears for a few moments while noone is looking to retreave the dagger that she had burried into the arm of the tax man, sliding it back into the sheith it had been pulled from the afternoon before.

With that taken care of, she sets about doing the best she can to help those that were wounded. After all, the fact that it had escalated this far, to the point that all these people had been hurt was, in part, her fault. It was the very least that she could do to balance things out.

[Rattrap]

Indeed, it is the times such as these that Doctor David D'Rael is woefully aware that this institution, this Edificium, was not created with such grand scales in mind. The building has long since needed expansion - perhaps to be knocked down and rebuilt altogether, to a much larger scale. Alas, every attempt to request funds for as much from Myrken Wood's Council has always met with some untimely disaster. A truly paranoid individual might think that those who would due Myrken Wood harm would time their actions just so to deny the Rememdium Edificium proper attention.

In any case, David has little time to think of such things, and wouldn't even if he did. There were wounded to tend to.

[Wendy]

It was almost a Townsedge fatality in number; however, most of the damaged bodies were still very much alive.

Bandaged peasants were leaving the teahouse on their own, or with the help of friends. Those who were left behind, ones who couldn't make it out, and were in grave need of the medic's service.

Communications from the house Madame for David D'Rael were passed by word of mouth to the Rememdium. There were more to be moved to the hospital. Madame Swinton would agree that the teahouse could be of use until the hospital could accomodate those remaining; however, a question was passed along: "Would David D'Rael himself be by to see to the status of those who remained at the teahouse?"

Perhaps he would assign priority and help Swinton, her girls, and the few townspeople who offered their hands for transport, with what to do.

A call for food and supplies was sent out by the teahouse, should towners have their hearts open to giving at this time of upset. A full day of no sleep could turn a person who may have been charitable into someone far less friendly. There were sure to be more and more eruptions as opinions flourished. There would be more casualties. Her business would remain closed throughout... but could it continue to support the needs of Cambree's girls and these victims?

Where, oh where, was Altias Bromn this morning?

[Malaroth]

Malaroth stumbled along the length of the streets. Many townsfolk spared him concerned, wondering and bemused glances occasionally highlighted by the snickering of children. Whatever their reaction, they watched a tall, pale figure with a head topped by grey-streaked blond hair pulling a small cart. Every step left a deep print in the earth which he watered with sweat. His calves strained against worn leather boots and veins framed eyes and lips screwed shut with exhertion.

With every footfall, Malaroth heard the metallic clap of his last remaining coins falling into people's hands. With every ragged breath he remembered the ruin of Sidgar and his cowardly king that fled and left the people to their own devices. He himself knew nothing of Helstone, nor Bromn, but only that angry people had fought and many had been hurt.

He came to a stop before the teahouse with wobbling knees and a bent back. Each heavy inhalation sent the world spinning and touched his periphial vision with purple dust that conjured memories of the Mul Wastes. As he slowly straightened, and felt the agony of every inch burning along the length of his spine, he risked a glance over his shoulder. He grimaced - some of the supplies had been lost along the way.

As he swallowed a curse beneath his panting, he strained to study the handful of townsfolk approaching. In their arms they bore what he had spilled along the roads. A smile alit the corners of his lips and blossomed broadly, brightly. With a warm heart, he nodded his silent thanks and stumbled up the stairs to the tea house door. Although he intended to knock, his entire weight fell against the door beneath his hand, pummeling the door needlessly and accidentally.

Without bothering to note who had answered through a haze of blond-and-grey streaked hair that hung into his pale face and obscured his gaze, itself surrounded by sweat and dirt, he gestured limply towards the cart and huffed, "Food... and supplies." He studied the person who had answered the door for a moment, if only to assure himself that the words slurred by exhaustion had indeed left him correctly, before slowly turning and hobbling in the direction he had come.

[Rattrap]

One of the testaments to Myrken Wood's survivability was the pull of support that surged when the places of support crumbled or were simply over strained; the Rememdium Edificium has been graciously given this support many times, during plagues, knoll attacks, and all the other dangers of the infamous territory. Fortunately, this incident was no different.

David D'Rael's staff was just as fluid, if not more so, than the Broken Dagger's - he rarely held onto an individual for more than a month or two. At the moment he was joined by Samariah as his resident hand, and there was the appreciable surge of other townsfolk lending even just an hour here and there. For all his training, the Doc was of course only human. Without the services, unfortunately, of any time mage, should they still exist.

These volunteers made it possible for David to make the trip over to the teahouse and see what he could do there.

[Wendy]

By graces, there were still good natured servants to pepper the community of Myrkentown. The call for supplies was met with a number of goods and services.

It could have been any of the girls who answered the call of the door in the middle of that afternoon. Each of the servers at the teahouse was of a certain mystic beauty - each one independent of the other so true variety was offered. This one was tall and curious, of pale complexion and blond braids.

Madame Swinton was asleep. Once one of the infirmed had improved his status and was moved downstairs, she had prepared a fresh bed and claimed it for herself. Were she awake, the donor would have been invited inside; nevertheless, the young lady who answered the door felt that the tearoom was of such disarray. She wasn't sure if Madame would be embarrassed if she were to ask the stranger in.

Malaroth took to retreating too quickly for anyone to have truly met him, but the girl gave a raised yell of thanks as he went on his way. She took note of what features and clothing she would remember, as the Madame would care to know. The girl hurried to draw assistance from a small team of people who were of able body and together they removed the cargo from its cart.

Provisions would last for a number of days - by which time the doctor might arrive.

[Wendy]

Day by day, services of the teahouse were abandoned for the inopportune needs of several poorly healing brawlers. Madame Swinton and her staff of girls, unable to function as normal, were rendered nurses and aids to their diverse pile of injuries. Those who were able to move on, had. Some folks were evacuated for the Rememdium. No word would tell whether those people were received there, but they did not return to the teahouse.

By the time of David's arrival, there were only two men still sleeping upstairs, too weak to be moved from their beds. The remainder of less than twenty damaged persons was found among tables and benches, and on the floor, down in the common room. Madame suspected there were some who were homeless, but kept the assumption to herself.

As the doctor toured the small room full of people, she waited. Patience was an ally as David saw to the makeshift bandaging and amateur stitchings. She only addressed a patient's condition or what history she could recall, if he voiced a need to know. Otherwise, Cambree played shadow to David D'Rael, hoping he would conclude that these people would be better served at his hospital. She waited to hear which ones he would want, and also how soon.

[Rattrap]

The Doctor brought supplies with him - quite an assortment, actually. Over both shoulders hung satchels, loaded with soft objects and sharp objects. He had snagged a few volunteers on the way, as well, to bring along behind him a small number of stretchers. Fortunately, David could perform much of the stitching and setting at the teahouse - it would be the ones who looked like they'd need days or longer, or the ones in the most pain that he'd indicate should be taken back on the stretchers. Now was as good a time as any, he'd say, hoping his volunteers could take the extra weight.

Perhaps it was time to petition the Council again. Surely, funding to the Rememdium Edificium would look good for any politician, no?

[Wendy]

At last, there were men to carry out a majority of those remaining at the teahouse. The Madame thanked the doctor as he left with his entourage and many wounded. The tearoom seemed spacious in the absence of those who were taken. Contrary to its rules, there were still a small number of others sleeping in the common room.

Her tearoom had become a hostel for folks who seemed to draw on their injuries in order to stay, and they were taking the idea of residence in the tearoom rather seriously. This behavior was something she would need help phasing out.

It had been so many days since the quaint shop had done its business. Cambree and the girls could not wait to get back to it. There was a kind financial offer given, in order to nurse her business back to health, but the Madame was weary of it. More details would soon help her realize whether she'd accept a deal or not.