( Picture (c) Michael James May )

Name: Varn the battlefield medic

Level: 38 (Hero)

Guild: Earth Elementalist

Affiliation: Shaman of It-uile

This narative was submitted by Varn to explain why he chose to join It-uile:

The door exploded inwards.

Through the broken frame, a stocky orcish figure cannonned into the room. Wild-eyed, he scanned the assembled party: the massive torturer by the furnace, the scrawny questioner by the rack, the sweaty, burned and bleeding me, the score of guards posted around the room. Before anyone could react, two guards were decapitated and the torturer was kicked head-first into the furnace. Thorns flew from the orc's outstreched fingers and blinded another guard, fists of stone smashed the skull of the last one. The orc turned to the questioner, which promptly soiled himself and passed out.

I blinked. The din of battle could be heard from the outside.

"You allright?" said the orc.

"I would be better if I weren't tied up and half dead. What kept you?"

The orc swung twice with his sword, severing most cords that bound me onto the rack. He set down his pack, took out a capped stein and took a hefty swig. "Set you right in a minute," he wiped his mouth.

"Set me right? I can't move my leg, the tendons are probably cut beyond repair. My left eye is burned out. One pinky you can probably find under the rack, but the other has burned in the furnace. How exactly do you propose to set me right?"

The orc twirled his shamanic pendant absently while I ranted. He shrugged, gestured and everything turned greenish. After a minute, I didn't feel all that bad anymore.

"What was that?"

He gestured again, and several cobblestones popped from the floor as a miniature geyser erupted. The orc pointed at the spring. "Try it. It's disgusting as hell, but it'll heal you."

I wasn't listening, I was watching my pinky grow back. "Hmm?"

"I said, drink the water."

I leaned from the rack and drunk of the spring. It wasn't disgusting at all, I had been left without water for quite some time. I noticed I can blink again without wincing in pain.

"The eye will need some time to properly regenerate." He did the greenish thing again. I stood up. Testing the leg, I did a few experimental limps accross the room.

"Where did you learn that? Last time I saw you, you were packing north."

"Exactly." He pulled a pipe from his pack and stuffed it with sticky weed.

"You don't seem to be in a hurry," I noted. He shaked his head.

"It's OK, the faeries have got it covered." Indeed, there seemed to be hardly any commotion outside.

"What faeries?"

"My fellow clan members," he stuffed the pipe patiently.

"What clan? What is this nonsense?"

"I'm a healer now," he lighted the pipe.

I exploded with laughter, regretted it immediatelly and coughed in pain. The orc took a long drag from his pipe, relishing the taste. He offered it to me.

"You know I hate pipeweed."

"This is different. Try it, I guarantee you'll like it."

I took an experimental puff. "Nice. But no, really, tell me what's been going on."

"Are you telling me you don't believe what you just saw?"

It was strange, I had to admit. My bloodthirsty friend -- no change there, I glanced at the roasting torturer -- who once strangled a half-giant barehandedly, even though he was being repeatedly slammed against the wall, and liked to loot the field after a battle, finishing off the enemy wounded, was telling me he turned into a quack. A quack of some ability, apparently.

I stretched carefully. The pain was mostly gone, and I was feeling strangely light-headed and exuberant from the smoke.

"You? A quack?"

"We prefer the term Healer, if you don't mind."

I rolled my eyes.

"I can roll my eyes again!" The pain was certainly gone. I skipped and hopped around.

"This sure beats weeks of recuperation. Do you think I could come with you and be a healer?"

"Sure. As long as you heal others, too."

"Spreading the good karma?" I snickered.

"No, we just heal anybody who needs healing. And protect the weak. And teach the ignorant. And so on."

"Oh. OK, deal."

"Seeing how you are perfectly OK, there's no reason to hang around anymore." He stood up, shouldered his pack and made his way past the splintered doorframe.

"Where to?" I yelled, climbing behind him.

"Ragnarok."

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Marital Status: Varn is single.

Birthday: Thu May 8 07:20:59 2003

Description:

A tall, lanky aragornish ranger. Since first arriving to Ragnarok, he has
grown in power and stature considerably. His clothes no longer bedraggled,
his armour no longer shabby, he stands fast against all who would threaten
the weak. Gone are the mundane shortswords, their place now taken by
finer weapons, taken from his fallen enemies. A suit of reinforced mail
glints from under his greenish cloak and the pockets of his combat
trousers bulge with potions and herbs. Unlike many healers, he seldom
turns down an invitation to a joint rampage, battlefield medicine being
his specialty.

Countless hours of healing have given his bony fingers a permanent
green tint. He is often found meditating near the village statue or at
the Faerie glade. If you require any kind of assistance, do not
hesitate to ask. While not guaranteed, chances are good you will get
what you need.