Little Rosch wanders back to the tent with herbs in hand. The air within swirls with scented smoke as Sadita knells over his tiny scalpel, muttering something in his odd foreign tongue, the blade seeming to almost glow in the smokey haze of the tent.
“Thank you Ms. Rosch.” says the elder Arab, collecting the bundle of herbs and beginning his administrations to the beleaguered Elros, “These should help in your friends recovery. Now, please rest on a cot and I’ll be with you shortly. Don’t strain yourself and I suggest averting your eyes from what must be done here.” he finishes with a melancholy smile and pulls a partition up around Elros’ cot.
“Those herbs should help your body fight the corruption in your flesh, but I do not believe it will be enough.” he says pouring over the wound again, the ragged edges already swelling and fetid from the dirt and grime buried in the hole by the dragon’s powerful claw. The old man pauses and collects himself, steadying his breathing as his free hand digs around for something in his supply cart.
“I am going to attempt to excise as much of the corruption as I can, but this will be painful, and the medicines will likely only dull the pain to come. I suggest you offer prayers to whatever faith you claim to ally with, and bite down on this.”
The Yaffifan hands the wounded elf a long shaft of fragrant wood, notches and runes carved into its length. It looks like it’s been used for this practice before…