Rehabilitation

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[157] Nymaya: Rehabilitation
Tue May  2 10:46:57 2017
To: All Verminasia  ( Equinox Cayenna Storyline RP ) Nagash|Uvall
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The sound of the staff clattering to the ground once again made her grit her teeth but she did not hesitate to grab it back up.  Her whole hand was stiff, aching and the loss of the finger was impacting her grip in ways she could not have foreseen. 

The cleric who had been sent to aid the rehabilitation had advised her to wait a week more before she began weapon's training but restlessness had set in.  The Verminasian manor was empty again, silent, and she felt it keenly.

Annoyance bled into her routine and the next time the staff fell, she placed it back on its rack and hesitantly took her sword to hand.  It hadn't been happens chance that she had chosen the left pinky for Nagash.  It was pleasing to have the familiar hilt in her good hand, even if it did force her to feel the scars.

The process of moving through sword forms followed, making her acutely aware of how sore her entire body was and with a thoughtful, mental nod at the apparently very learned cleric's advice, she finished and tidied up the training room.

Night was heavy on the land when she absconded to the bedroom.  A tray with ice, towels and wine awaited, along with a stack of pillows to elevate her hand.

'You must keep it elevated to reduce swelling and speed healing to the injured nerves, Lady Kayen.' He had said, all business as he eyed the cauterized stub with obvious trepidation and appreciation.  According to the man, he'd never seen a better sealing on such a wound before.  It stood to reason, she thought with a wry edge and took a sip of the unique elvish wine.  It was dated some few hundred years now and not conspicuously concurrent with the time frame surrounding her exile.

Bitter.  She thought with further raw amusement and settled herself on the bed, a small wrapped towel of ice on her hand, her nearly empty glass in the other and low flames dancing in the fireplace across the way.

The soft click of the door interrupted her reverie as she dozed and upon trying to open her eyes, she found herself sluggish, unable to focus her senses.  Was that...the cleric?  He had been invited to stay for the duration of her healing but the hour was beyond late.

She tried to speak but no sound rose and abruptly, her throat felt aflame, as if she'd breathed-- her thought cut off at the faintest hint of a familiar acrid scent.  Alarm rattled through her and every ounce of her attention set on the cleric, who even then reached out to lift her hand, to study the sealed injury.

Nymaya.  It chided with mock concern.  You are supposed to take care of yourself.   And it grinned, the expression gruesome.  What do you think he'll do with it.

She couldn't move but her gaze lifted to meet red pupils surrounded by soulless black.

...and she snapped awake, still tasting the acrid scent.