Ok, so it's about time we did something about getting poor Jeral on the road to recovery  after his um... encounter... with Eb in the forest.

The beginnings of a thread are up here, and everybody, meet my newest char, medic Emrin Tallas!

Sherp, I've kept the intro short and basic and open for you to rp Jeral's view/lack of lucidity as much as you like and for the others to post their initial reactions if desired. Basically, from a medic point of view, the plan will be plonk him down on a table, expose all of the wounds, examine and act fast. Let me know if you want me to switch it up and add more treatment or something to the first post before you start.

...The way I see it the poor kid probably has a range of injuries, the most lethal of which would be a tension pneumothorax - a wound in the chest that has caused a punctured lung and the sucking of enough air into the lung cavity to push against the heart and stop it pumping adequate amounts of blood around the body. Obviously not good. The signs everyone would see would be holes in Jeral's upper chest, a bit below each collarbone, the one on the left sucking air in each time Jeral inhales, and the subsequent signs of shock as his heart fails/blood pressure falls. If we're quick enough, he should survive ... although it will involve stabbing him again first, this time with needles or straws or hollow reeds or something into the top of the lung cavity, to allow air to escape. Don't know that there'd be time for pain relief before that occurred ... and might be pretty shocking for everyone to watch... should be fun!

*wicked grin* 

Who's in?

Following events from here

It was like something from a gleeman's tale, only much, much funnier in real life. Emrin chuckled heartily, tears escaping from the crinkled corners of his eyes. Piss! The horse was pissing on her face! Stumbling! The two men - scout and infant - were stumbling from a horse they'd shared and scrambling away. Emrin slapped his thigh and wiped his eyes with the back of his arm, chuckles subsiding into a wide-set, toothy grin - he hadn't laughed so hard since breakfast!

Still amused, he turned his attention to the limp and somewhat ragged figure being unbundled from another horse. Even from this distance he could tell the kid was not in a good way. There were several clues, first the way the scout - maybe 17 years of age, judging by his size - was limp, with eyes closed; second, the drained and washy colour to his skin, the dampness of his hair; third, the tiny flecks of frothy blood in the corner of his mouth, the blue-tinged lips, the ragged unevenness of his breathing in and out. The signs all suggested unconsciousness or possibly just altered level of awareness, a lack of blood or bloodflow to the skin and brain - and therefore also likely to other essential organs, and a serious injury to at least one lung, possibly impeding the contractions of the heart. He - the kid - didn't have long.

Drawn to him and his imminent demise, the medic crossed the crowd with long, purposeful strides.

"Put pressure on the bleeding, here." Emrin pressed somebody's hand hard against the blood-soaked bandaging to the upper left of the kid's chest. "Get him to the tent as quickly as you can." His voice was round and burred, low, gentle, strong, commanding.

The kid moaned, eyes rolling, and coughed a breathless, gurgling cough. That was all.

Eyes bright, but hard, Emrin turned towards the tent himself, mentally compiling a list of all equipment and procedures he was likely to need to snatch the boy back from the clutches of Jak o' the Shadows.

"You, and you." The two men stumbling from the horse looked at him, slightly frightened and somewhat dazed. "Come with me." The girl with the horses was following behind too, Emrin noted. Good. He was going to need some extra hands quite quickly, and eventually a better story about what was going on. He picked up the pace and urged everyone along. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The kid lay on the table, his breathing ragged. His lips were turning blue.

“Get me the alcohol, lass,” Emrin instructed the worried girl by his side, pointing to a large bottle on the desk nearby and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. He exaggerated the expression to the point of jest and coupled it with a wild and reassuring grin.

“I also need someone to help him breathe; he’s turning blue due to lack of air – here, this is what you need to do,” Emrin glanced at the second follower to the tent to make sure he was watching, and then demonstrated mouth-to-mouth. “One breath for every three of yours unless I tell you differently, okay? Otherwise he dies.”

Turning quickly, the medic opened two of the three wooden chests under the table, and began removing the objects he already knew he’d use. A linen knife-roll, lined with silk and filled with knives of various size; a second roll of similar construction, filled with smaller, sharper, pointier instruments; a chest of various jars of herbs and poultices; a packet of clean skins and squares of boiled cloth; and a small box of curved needles, pre-threaded with lengths of undyed silk for stitching wounds. He placed each required item onto a polished serving tray and handed the tray hastily to the nearest ‘assistant’, whoever they were, as soon as it was done.

“Stay close.” His request was low and urgent, but he didn’t take the time to notice anything much about the person he was handing the tray to. The boy’s breathing was even shallower than before, he really didn’t have much time.

“Let’s have a look at the damage then, shall we? Mate, I hope this isn’t your favourite attire,” Emrin grabbed the sharpest of his knives, inserted it underneath the holey, blood-soaked layers of the young man’s shirt and pulled back quickly, exposing the injured body from collar to waist in a single move. Two more quick flicks across each shoulder and the shirt was entirely removed.

Emrin downed the knife and picked up the alcohol, his eyes focused on the extent of the boy’s visible injuries. It was as serious as he had first expected. Two holes marked the left and right upper chest, both deep enough for significant damage, each one a half-hand’s distance below the collarbone. Blood ran freely from each wound. The one on the right made sucking noises with each of the boy’s inhalations, and blew tiny, gurgling bubbles outward when he exhaled. Even as he watched, Emrin noticed the boy’s trachea start deviating to the left. Expression serious now, the medic grabbed the bottle of alcohol and poured a good deal of the contents all over the poor boy’s chest, washing his own hands quickly in the stream of vaporous liquid as it fell. As fast as he was able he scrubbed the chest clean of blood with one boiled cloth; wiped it dry with another. Felt the tiny pockets of air forming just under the surface of the skin around the poor boy’s chest. As he worked he talked and instructed his newfound ‘assistants’, oblivious as to whether or not they wanted to hear.

“This isn’t good… lung cavity has a hole … sucking air and blood into places no air and blood should be. The pressure will smother the heart if we don’t work fast… need you to stop the bleeding, and the air, without adding infection. Please wash your hands,” he shoved a square of cloth over each wound and handed the bottle of alcohol to the next closest Bander. “Push there –hard- as soon as you’re done, and don’t let go until I say - please,” he indicated the squares of cloth over each hole, both of them already blooming with fresh blood.

“I hope none of you is squeamish. This next bit is fun but it sure as shadow won’t be pretty…” He grinned, grabbed a long, extremely thin tube of metal - bevelled and pointed at one end, evidently open at both. Carefully, he counted down the spaces between boy’s ribs from the bottom of his collarbone on the right hand side, “One… two… gotchya.” He pressed the space immediately superior to the third rib, aimed the needle at the boy and – abruptly - stabbed the needle down to a depth of almost one third of the boy’s chest. The boy moaned and jerked in his sleep. A hissing sound of escaping air and a small fountain of blood spurted from the high end of the needle. Someone gasped. Another someone stifled a moan. Emrin grinned wider and repeated the procedure on the left hand side.

“Well, that just bought us some time, then!” the medic laughed triumphantly, relieved as the boy’s trachea started returning to its normal position and his lips began to lose some of their blue. Taking a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a telescopic tube with a cup on both ends. He placed one cup on the boy’s chest, and bent his ear down to the second to listen, first on one side, then on the other. The cup-and-tube magnified the sounds of air entering and leaving the boy’s lungs. Emrin nodded. The sounds were light, and they were far too shallow, but they were there.

“Right. Now about that air,” he moved himself to the boy’s right hand side and turned his full attention on the sucking wound, which was still alternating between sucking and bubbling away. He needed a way to simultaneously reduce the bleeding, allow the wound to drain and prevent any more air from being sucked through the wound into the chest itself. Without pause he added a square of thin, waxy leather and a needle and thread to a small bowl and doused the lot with alcohol.

“This is for the pain and will help to keep him under,” Emrin reached for a clean cloth and a jar of potent, watery liquid. “Sleepwell, goatstongue and greenwart,” he stated, confirming by reading the label aloud. “It’s strong, so Light help you don’t sniff it if you can help it, but soak the cloth and hold it under his nose whenever it looks like he’s about to wake, okay?…This next bit’s likely to hurt,” the medic handed the jar and cloth to the waiting hands and turned his attention back to the wound.

Carefully, he placed the waxy hide directly over the wound. Not so carefully, he stitched the flap of hide directly to the boy’s young skin, using three of the square’s four sides. Once he was done, the sucking noise subsided and each inspiratory breath sucked the hide over the wound and blocked it shut rather than encouraging the entry of more air.

Humming happily to himself, Emrin then padded and bandaged the wound on the left hand side, applying a poultice and compress designed to minimise infection and inflammation. “There,” he said when it was done, “I think that’s about all we can do for him now. Oh, except the drain… Make sure you give him a good couple of whiffs on the cloth up there, he definitely does not want to be able to feel this.”

Emrin selected a short length of flexible tube and a very sharp, very pointy knife. Locating the tender spot on the side of the lower ribs, he punctured the boy’s skin and edged the knife forward to the lung, stopping when the tube began to leak a steady drip of blood and fluid.

“There. We’re done. It’s up to Light and Shadow now, but we’ve done our bit and I’m confident enough to put my money down that he’ll live. Thank you all for your help,” Emrin grinned, flushed with the thrill of the race and the treatment which may have just saved another young life.

He turned to the anxious, hopeful faces around him, and passed a bottle of brew around to lighten the mood “Now, can someone tell me what in the flaming Light happened, before he wakes?”

Bound as she was, and still with the piss-laden gag around her neck, Eb waited in the laziest, most self-possessed crouched position she could muster. 

Two days. Two days in this Light-forsaken, mud-encrusted holding 'cell' and she was going crazy. 

Her jaw locked with the force of gritting her teeth, her hand twitched surreptitiously towards a knife that was not there, her fingers curled into fists, and every single one of her wiry muscles was taut, again. The clanging from the ... lab... next door continued, as incessantly as ever, ringing mercilessly in time with the pounding in her head. 

 Her hand twitched again, the tension in her teeth intensified, and her fingers started flicking unconsciously, as if fielding her knives. Slowly. As if turning the blades ever. so. slowly.

She narrowed her gaze and, seething, focused first on the wall of the lab beside her cell and then on the guards at the gate. The knives that were not there continued to turn, slow and steady.

She smiled.

Jessie's* Girl - Rick Springfield

*Apparently this is not spelled 'Jesse's' like I always thought??

Apologies for the sluggishness of the replies, school has really taken a toll on my time allocations, but hopefully that will all be over now. 

Hope you're happy with how I went about with Edward. Not sure if there was anything more you wanted to do before being thrown in jail to rot.

 

No need to apologise! Hope school has indeed eased up for you now :) Definitely happy with how that last post went, and have to agree with Quib - I like Edward ... He makes my skin crawl. Happy to have Eb languishing under guard for a while now - have at it everyone!

 

Anyway, would you like to do Jeral's recovery as well? Again, not sure what you wanted to do with that.

Yes! Yes! I have my 'new' medic char Emrin just waiting in the wings - so I'm keen! Would you like to start it in a new thread, or continue in the same one?

Thank the Light! Eb let out a low breath as the men surrounding Mehrin managed to secure him without loosing any bolts from their crossbows. Maybe, despite his apparent insanity, the man did still have a wish to live. Eb wasn't sure if that fact made the situation that much better, or that much worse. She also wasn't sure it mattered; either way, she'd have to act - and soon. So far there were only a handful of factors in their favour: the Children had used rope, not chains to bind their prisoner, and secondly; they were moving him away from the center of the camp.

Eb grit her teeth and moved, low to the ground and slipping from shadow to shadow, black blades ready in her hands. With a scowl, she tried to ignore the added weight of the flamberge and the extra pack. The sword was almost as big a she was, and the pack was made for Mehrin to carry - neither of them made her task of moving undetected any easier. She followed the sounds of guard-moving-prisoner, keeping 'Tavrin' in her sights as much as she could between row after row of tents. Eventually, near the edge of the perimeter, the sounds of the party stopped. Neither Mehrin nor the guards appeared in the space between the next row of tents and Eb cursed under her breath, not knowing exactly which tent they'd entered. She stopped at the end of the row, straining her ears to hear. There was the sound of a shuffle several tents down, a snore further up to her right, a lantern flickered here and there, but otherwise, this end of the camp was quiet. In fact, apart from the horses, tethered and hobbled some distance away, this area seemed deserted and calm. For now. Eb had never put much thought into where in their camps the Children would do their questioning, but she supposed now that the edge of the camp made sense. In a way. She swallowed, finding her mouth quite suddenly dry.

Flaming filthy Whitecloaks! her grips tightened on her knives.

A horse whinnied softly and Eb tried not to jump at the sound, though it drew her attention further towards the perimeter. Light-damned fool animals! She'd never trusted the big beasts, even after all her years training almost side-by-side with the cavalry. It wasn't that she didn't understand their merits in battle, she knew that they were fast and could be trained to be ferocious, but she did not trust them. The desire to rely, at least in part, on a weapon that stunk like sweat and piss, required food, water and emotional commitment and could still decide to act on its own was not something she could ever understand. But there was no doubting they were fast. 

Fast.

With a silent groan, Eb realised that the beasts, stationed as they were near the very edge of camp and by chance reasonably close to Mehrin's prison quarters, provided the best possible chance of escape. As much as she didn't trust the animals, there was no question that Mehrin and herself would need speed to outrun any pursuing Whitecloaks, if they actually made alive it far enough to be pursued. Eb may have been at least moderately confident that she could retreat from the camp undetected - slipping through shadows and hiding unseen were second nature to her after her childhood and all the time she'd spent following her ex-Commander- but she was also just as confident that sneaky and 'slipping' were not something that Mehrin's sheer size and stature allowed him to do effectively for any great length of time. At least she vaguely remembered him being able to ride a horse. Rolling her eyes she ducked towards the stink and sound of horses, formulating the beginnings of a plan along the way.

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  

The man still lay slumped against the tree, his eyes closed, his chin on his chest and his white cloak smeared with mud at the knees and along one side. Next to his lax, outstretched hand was a bottle of almost-empty brew. Brew which had previously been conveniently located amongst the items in Mehrin's pack. The man looked for all the world like a sentry who'd drunk himself into a stupor on the job. Cooly, Eb noted that there was not a mark nor a drop of blood on him that would indicate otherwise. She nodded in satisfaction and worked hard to resist the urge to spit toward the man. Undoubtedly it would have been simpler and kinder to kill him outright, but as far as she was concerned, this Child would probably deserve everything he got from his own kind in punishment for his 'crime'. She sneered and finished the job by finding a safe place some distance away to stash the Commander's pack. Speed was what she needed now, she knew it, and the pack would only slow her down.

Job complete, she ignored the ache in the back of her shoulder - blasted ruddy flaming horses - and made her way back towards the camp. 

Eb arrived at the end of the row of tents just in time to see Hundredman Ackley slip into Mehrin's holding whilst the third and final guard made his way into the distance. What in the Light is the fool man doing, stepping alone into a tent with Mehrin? Even bound, Eb knew Mehrin was a formidable force. She grinned, knives twirling slowly in her hands. She wasn't entirely sure what was about to happen, but if she knew anything at all, she knew this was her chance. Crouching lower she moved closer to the tent and the beginnings of muffled conversation to see what was going on...

Just had a quick flick back through previous pages in the discussion - are we still happy that Calder's away for a night or so, and Edward, hating paperwork, decides to throw her in a cell, assign the others (and various extras) to guard duty, and wait for Calder to come back?

Done! 

Next! 

The kick to the ribs was as sudden as the drop she'd experienced from the horse to the dirt. Neither of the moves were entirely unexpected, given her situation and the menacing air of the sergeant before her. Eb grunted involuntarily as breath was slammed mercilessly from her lungs on landing - for a second time. Again, she did her best not to scowl or grit her teeth in the process, however much she wanted to. One false move of her jaw, she knew, would cause the pressure on the urine-laden cloth to increase to the point where the pungent, noxious liquid oozed from the gag to her mouth; unstoppable until it reached her tongue and taste buds. She took solace in the fact that here, on the hard, rough ground, she at least faced a smell that was not musky sweat or acrid urine. 

Ignoring everything else for a moment, she kept her mouth still and breathed in the new smell hungrily, albeit carefully, through her nose. Dirt. Blessed, dry, dusty, non piss-coated, non horse-scented dirt. She closed her eyes.

"The Band can be hard of hearing sometimes, especially to those that injure our friends." The sergeant's voice broke her moment of relative respite all too soon, his foot pressing down on her side. Eb turned her head ever so slowly to look him directly in the eyes and, for an instant, she believed he was about to strike her; his open hand appeared to be racing towards her face. She kept her expression blank. The blow she'd been expecting never came. Instead the gag was yanked out roughly, down over her chin, and her body was kicked away across the dirt - again.

Eb harnessed the momentum of her roll, and ended it on her knees. A scowl returned to her lips, gag almost instantly forgotten. This was not the homecoming she had imagined; not by far. She tucked her toes forward and rocked sharply back on her heels, drawing herself up into a standing position. She stood - as straight and as tall as her restraints and natural lack of height would allow. It wasn't very tall, granted, and she felt decidedly unbalanced, but she was not about to show that to the sergeant or to any other Bander who happened to be watching. Contemptuously, she shook her head and glared directly at her aggressor, barely suppressing an angry sneer. She did not like him, this sarcastic sergeant with his heavy boots, although she doubted she would act much differently had their situations been reversed.

She spat, simultaneously forcing the taste of horse piss from her mouth, and clearing her throat to speak. 

"I'm glad you care so much about our soldiers, Sergeant," she snapped, her tone dry and steady. "Although," she added, her voice suddenly dripping with just as much anger and sarcasm as his, "you might want to be a little lighter on the boot - the last time I checked, Calder didn't take too kindly to those who assaulted senior officers, either, and the name you are looking for is Eb. Captain Eb. Infantry."

She paused with another scowl, allowing the exact weight of her words to settle before carrying on, voice low this time, and dangerous.

"Obviously, we have a situation to resolve. I don't give half a spoonful of ashes if you leave me bound for the rest of the journey or not, but I strongly suggest you take me directly to the Commander - wherever he is. Regardless of whatever else has happened today, I have news he has no doubt already waited more than long enough to hear."

She scowled and took a quick look around at the crowd, waiting. For what, she didn't know.

OOooooooooh!! Just saw the reply - <3 it! (... er, wait... I mean, Poor Eb!)

Will hopefully have something up in the next day or so *g*

Uni! Uni has a habit of happening - don't worry!!! 

*Huggles*

No worries! 

*Chuckles at Eb still hanging under her horse*

*Coughs*

Heeeeeeellllllllllpppppppppppppp!!!!!!!!

Poor Eb's still hanging upside down on the underside of a horse out there!

Anyone know what's happened to BB / Arinth?

Don't apologise in the slightest - Love it!

The “What the flaming crap?”  line especially cracked me up 

 Meanwhile... Eb lies upside down in her saddle still getting pee'd on by her horse....   

I can do patient... just hurry up                 

Or Arinth/Arkin can post dragging Eb off to meet him first?

"The only experience I have had with the Children before was with a man who claimed to have deserted.  Called himself Rowul Stromblade."  

Eb gaped as the conversation to Mehrin's left stopped abruptly. For a moment her chest felt strangely, simultaneously still and heavy; for all the world as if her heart had suddenly stopped and dropped straight down to the bottom of her boots. She blinked, as if seeing sharper might clear her ears of words she wished she hadn't heard. Her mouth went dry. Blood and bloody ashes! What in the Light is he thinking- mud-headed fool! Of all the stupidest things to mention! 

Hundredman Carnel gave 'Tavrin Callas' a frowning, quizzical look and then excused himself from the company to talk quietly with another man. Inevitable! In that instant, despite the fact that Tavrin Callas' face gave little away to those who had only just met him, the flash of startled panic in Mehrin's eyes was plain for Eb to see. Mortified by Mehrin's mistake and the likely consequences, she knew the look was probably a close mirror of her own. Her heart jumped back into her chest and began drumming away with a vengeance at twice its normal speed. She gripped a knife in each hand, knuckles turning white on the hilts. Too many! Too close!

There was a mention of the Band of the Red Hand and cross-bows, and Hundredman Carnel returned to the fire. He's done it now! Eb surveyed the situation frantically, noting the sheer number of Children in the immediate vicinity and attempting, unsuccessfully, to calculate at least one possible route of escape for herself and Mehrin that would not lead to ambush.

Mehrin brought out his cheese and knife and Eb rolled her eyes.  A cheese-knife? - A cheese-knife! Oh that'll make everything better! Her fingers twitched and, knives still tightly clutched in each hand, she pulled angrily on the short lengths of her hair.You light-cursed idiot! She scowled, unable to contain herself. She'd seen Mehrin be creative in scraps and brawls before, and there was no doubt he could handle himself in a fight, even severely outnumbered, but this, this was different. She didn't know what the Children wanted Mehrin Deathwatch for, exactly, but given the situation she doubted if even his skill with the sword could save him now. In fact, as he sat there slicing cheese and spinning his tale, Eb doubted that anything could get him out of the mess he'd just created. She hoped she was wrong, even as she doubted.

And then 'Tavrin' mentioned the Blue Jackets and the Thousand Eyes and Eb almost stalked right out of her hiding place to stab Mehrin herself and end the whole ordeal right there.

"Everybody makes mistakes, Hundredman," Mehrin was saying, "Even the Children can. Rowul made his last mistake in that village."

Eb took advantage of the distraction Mehrin was providing by all but digging his own grave with his words and, hoping she wasn't making her last mistake with her movements, crawled onto her belly to snatch his bag and sword slowly away from the fire just as the reinforcements arrived. She was sure the man had noticed, but she didn't care - nobody else had seen, and her ex-Commander could notice whatever the light he flaming-well liked, so long as he kept his blasted mouth shut long enough for her to find a way to save both their skins. As attention around the fire shifted for an instant from Mehrin to the newcomers, Eb scowled directly at the man, motioning a finger across her throat as she secured the flamberge sword and scuttled back into the shadows. That should give him the message - Shut up! Stop! or die ... Light this thing is heavy! Eb secured the sword before assessing - and cursing - the positions of each of the new arrivals.

The newly-wakened Squadman and his half-a-dozen men surrounded Mehrin neatly, crossbows cocked and at the ready. All eyes were on the big man with the cheese and the knife. The rest of the Children previously gathered casually at the fire stood suddenly to attention. There was no way out. The expression on the face of the man with the cheese and the knife suggested that, already, despite the revelation of his old 'friend' and new-found ally, he knew this.

Eb scowled deeper and prepared herself to fight. 

OOC: No probs, I've kinda been in the same sort of boat! So sorry back! Sherp, I vote go ahead and have Ackley attempt to take Mehrin into custody for further questionning?  If 'Tavrin' doesn't cause too much trouble then the guard left surrounding him should be small enough that Eb will figure out a way to break him out from there...   

Looky HERE!!!!!!!!

Haha Nya, you's so funny! Glad you're ok hun and it was just a hardout - I was starting to get a little worried!! After you've had your ZZZs read the plans in the post on previous page. Actually, nevermind, here they are (Having issues on my tablet, tried to copy-paste link and ended up with the whole thing, minus formatting - sorry). Anyway, any questions just ask, otherwise here you go!:

Looks like following arrival at the Citadel (and Eb's disaster):

Miri takes Jeral to meet the medics

Arinth and Arkin are left to de-Eb the horse and take her to Sergeant Sherper-NPC

Sergeant Sherper NPC banishes Eb to holding 

and then:

Eb languishes in a cell for ?about a week (or more?) IC?

Arinth, Arkin and Miri take turns/collaborate in guard duty/torturing/ignoring the prisoner

Pahl Ebersol may or may not make an appearance and may or may not accidentally release Eb whilst the others are on duty

Jeral may still be sleeping... or not

Calder returns - perhaps in the middle of Eb having a showdown with Sergeant Sherper-NPC after her release

Eb is officially unleashed released. 

*Offers drinks in preparation for the next round* Cheers!!  

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Cool cool.

Quib, just wondering what happens when Ackley figures out who Mehrin is? Is Mehrin going to be taken and questioned for a bit before Eb breaks him out?

I think we should do Miri taking Metal to medic and Arinth/Admin taking Eb to Sergeant first... happy to wait til you guys are free :)

Ok, everyone ready to keep going? If there are no further ideas/objections looks like following arrival at the Citadel (and Eb's disaster):

• Miri takes Jeral to meet the medics
  
• Arinth and Arkin are left to de-Eb the horse and take her to Sergeant Sherper-NPC
  
• Sergeant Sherper NPC banishes Eb to holding 
  

and then:

• Eb languishes in a cell for ?about a week (or more?) IC?
  
• Arinth, Arkin and Miri take turns/collaborate in guard duty/torturing/ignoring the prisoner
  
• Pahl Ebersol may or may not make an appearance and may or may not accidentally release Eb whilst the others are on duty
  
• Jeral may still be sleeping... or not
  
• Calder returns - perhaps in the middle of Eb having a showdown with Sergeant Sherper-NPC after her release
  
• Eb is officially unleashed released. 
  

*Offers drinks in preparation for the next round* Cheers!!  

NICE! Looks great from the higher angle too!

Now.... where's the video of all of you???

It was supposed to look like snowballs?  

*wonders if Arinth will be coming back*

Can be done ;)