The Healer

[Airan]

Name of Character: Merriwether Cheston
Character's Species: Bank Vole
Character's Gender: Male
Character's Age: 35 seasons.
The category you're applying to: Healer.


Merriwether Cheston was reminded of the famed wolverines and wearats he had heard tales of as the teeth of the gale ripped and tore like a maddened beast at the fabric of the schooner's sail. The Dumplety Tim wouldn't last much longer, he realized with a sigh, standing drenched upon the creaking deck. Clasping his paws behind his back, he looked straight ahead, and realized with a bit of a shock that he was entirely fine with this. This ship was going to sink, and his loyal crewmates Kully and Mainer were already overboard, dragged beneath the crashing waves; his wife was dead, his children had left to travel (And were probably dead, what with all the raiders and bandits this time of year), and he had gambled away all his coin on this blasted wreck's purchase.

It was about bloody time for his demise, and sinking with his ship was the most satisfyingly romantic way to go the healer come Captain could think of. It might've been the surge of frightened excitement he felt in his chest as the ship rocked unsteadily beneath his damp footpaws, or the realization that he was going to die drowning in some stupid sea, and it lead the bankvole to unstrap the banjo from his back, a grin flitting on his lips as he strummed the cords experimentally, before launching a suitably dire ditty. 

"Ooohhh, listen t' me, sailin' ain't free, an' it sure ain't worth th' bother- When yer drownin' down low, crushed beneath the ship bow, and rememberin' th' warnin' words o' yore dear moootherrr..."Oh me dear boyo, don't you go off an' sail-oh..."

And the ship swung backwards and toppled into the sea with a roaring crash, and as the vole flew through the rain-splattered air, he realized that a ditty writer shan't die without the last word, and roared out the first line that came to his desperate mind-

'-And got caught by a shark!"

As his plump, furry body smashed through the depths, crushing the breath from his lungs, Merriwether Cheston sank quietly into black, black oblivion.



"Oh aye, 'n' that's 'ow I wound up on a beach wid a pair o' seaslugs 'n' a starfish clutched to me chest 'n' a hare officer standin' over me, calm as y' please, waxed mustachios blowin' like fuzzy flags, 'n' he whacks th' sea outta me lungs 'n' says "Stap me, that's a real nice wreck you've survived there, me laddo. E'er considered joinin' th' Waverunners?" an' seein' I needed a new gig, I take a leap o' faith 'n' now 'ere I am!"

The shrew who lay on his bunk stared up at the Ship's healer as he wound a length of white bandage over his paw. "Well stripes, doc. T' think I just joined because, well... vermin need t' die, I serpose..."

[Airan]

Name: Crue Sarish
Category: Healer
Species: Squirrel
Gender: Female
Age: In human years, she'd be about 35.

?Attention crew!?

?Yes??

?Crew, not Crue! Now, it has come to my attention??

Crue Sarish bemoaned the misfortune that she was destined to work on the sea, where she would be corrected if someone was not saying her name, and chastised if someone did and she wasn?t ready for it. She assumed that after five seasons of seafaring she?d be used to it, but that had yet to happen. Her bushy tail flicked once in annoyance.

Several long minutes elapsed before the Quartermaster finished his briefing regarding something about how something was to be stowed below decks. He might have mentioned the rigging as well, but Crue was far too preoccupied to pay much attention to those matters. Scheduled to leave the Sunlit the following morning, there was little more for her to do than to wonder if she?d packed all of her belongings.

?Easier said than done,? she murmured, ?what with that ruddy cabin boy constantly ?borrowing? my needles and thread??

?What was that?? one of her shipmates asked.

?Oh,? Crue replied quietly, her ears perking up and her mouth curving into a well-practiced smile, ?nothing at all! Just thinking about the future.?

?Lot to think about, what with you leaving tomorrow.? The young badger turned to clap a paw on her shoulder. ?But if you?ve the patience and the gall to put up with this lot for the last two seasons, you?ve nothing to fear from the future.?

?Indeed,? she responded nervously. Despite his well-wishes, Crue could only manage another polite nod before she fled to make sure no one had opened her chest while she had her back turned. She was long past wondering what the crew thought about her social unavailability, preferring, instead, to pursue more scholarly endeavors. The fact that she declined to share these endeavors with any of the crew who?d shown interest was irrelevant.

Within the confines of her room, she took stock of her supplies for the sixth or eighth or twelfth time, muttering in annoyance as she pulled out her herbs and wrappings and threads and books and all manner of items necessary for her profession. A carefully wrapped package of nightshade berries was set next to the lemon balm, which was currently sharing a lump on the bed with a jar of lavender. She?d have to pick up more motherwort before long; she suspected one of the hares aboard had also ?borrowed? some a few week back.

?At least I have some willow bark left. Surprised Ren Spindelfur didn?t make a grab for it last week.? She tut tutted under her breath and had a comment to accompany just about all of her supplies. Fortunately, the crew members she spoke of were not present for her tired, and by the time she?d carefully stowed everything exactly as she liked, she was ready to leave the ship and its dirtybeasts behind. Perhaps with her contract fulfilled with the Sunlit, she could join a real ship with a real crew who went on real adventures. After two seasons of making poultices for bruises, brewing tonics for poor digestion, and sewing up cuts from careless sword practice, she was ready for battle and glory. On more than one occasion, she?d been tempted to arrange an ?accident? just for something to do. After all, it wouldn?t kill somebeast to give her nimble fingers a head injury to stitch.

Crue went above deck, letting her red fur soak in the afternoon sun as the sea breeze tickled the tufts of fur at the tops of her ears. She kept her mind off of her desire to grumble by daydreaming of glory, and of the respect she would finally earn after all these seasons. Tomorrow she would keep her ears to the wind and show the world that Crue Sarish was a name to be remembered. Nothing feathered nor fowl would stand in her way now.

[Airan]

Character Name: Feorag Grabber
Species: Squirrel
Gender: Male
Age: 30 seasons
Category: Healer

Good things came in threes, Feorag Grabber believed, so he shook his hollowed acorn rattle three times over the sickly hedgehog prostrate before him. Twice was barely noticeable, and four times was just excessive. He needed his audience of goodbeasts-- he meant, his patients-- to believe in the mystery of his healing arts, and how better than to involve all their senses. He set down the rattle and reached for a bowl of cool rose water which he splashed liberally around a stone pot of potion warming on the hearth. The hissing fireplace evoked both sound and scent, and then steam condensed on their whiskers and was tasted in the air. Feorag fanned his squirrel tail to ensure everybeast in the room was caught in the cloud and not just the groaning hedgehog on the floor.

"This ailment didn?t befall poor Hugh here alone, but all gathered to celebrate his achievements. This Pride's Curse I now cleanse you all of, a malady that affects the mind as well as the stomach." He grabbed a pair of tongs and reached into the warmed pot to withdraw the chunk of charcoal, his third and only relevant ingredient in his healing potion. He set the dripping lump on the dining table and took a mallet to it. The table was still littered with dirty dishes from the food-poisoned celebratory dinner, and they jumped and rattled with each pound of his mallet. Feorag then passed to each beast a tiny piece, but for Hugh he placed the bit of charcoal directly into his mouth, since he was more affected by sampling his food while prepping the meal all day.

"Now you all must purge this curse. Take your catch-bowls in paw, and be cleansed from the inside out. I have refreshing potion in the punch bowl when you are done. And do not forget to leave your offerings of gratitude in the purse by the door.?

Feorag exited the hedgehog's home and closed the door to muffle the sounds and smells of retching. It was going to be a beautiful morning, he could tell by the rays of color from the almost-rising sun. A sailor's good omen. Superstitions were more prevalent in the coastal villages than in the highlands. This place was more suited for his artistry than just his pharmacology. Why in his few seasons as an acting healer along the coast he?d made more coin than in his career inland where more commonbeasts were experienced with the herbs and remedies of his profession. Goodbeasts respected or feared the unknown, and spending coin to let someone else handle it was usually the better, quicker, remedy. To which his velvet-fringed, silver eyeleted boots attested.

But as he crossed those boots and leaned back against the house to watch the sunrise, Feorag was not contented by the clinking of coins dropped in his purse. Recently a certain gossipy rabbit accused him of selling fake ointments. "Money Grabber," he had heard whispered in the market place, even though he rarely went by his surname. Every move he made was starting to come under question, which meant his respect was waning. Usually he would set a price and collected his fee upfront for a group healing session like this early morning, but now his reputation was at stake. That was why he left the purse for an offering. Feorag could not pretend like he did not want the money. But now the joy in earning it was tainted. When goodbeasts believed in him he had no problem accepting their money. But it would soon be time to move on, before the whispers became threats of refunds. "Yes," Feorag thought, pushing off from the wall. "Time to find new horizons." He cracked open the door and reached for his meager purse without looking to anyone's recovery. He then turned for the harbor with his eyelets glistening in the morning sun.