Chapter 4
Wandering to his own tent, he couldn't get the sorceress of his mind. Passing past the thick fabric entrance and into the dark shelter of his tent, Gaelix threw down his gloves and guards onto the small wooden table. Things had been fine up until today, now so much was on his mind. He couldn't help but growl as the image of the sorcerer Osiris entered his mind. There was something about him that wasn't....wasn't right. Moving to the rear end of the tent, he lifted the heavy wooden lid to where he kept his stash. Potions of the sort, any of which an experienced mercenary would need. Healing potions, Mana potions, Antidotes, Stamina, Freezing and Rejuvenations. Back in his childhood, he had studied to become an alchemist. He had always been good, except that the new time required other skills. There were no lives for young male alchemists. Gaelix pushed a couple rolls of parchment aside to reveal a whole other rack of bottled wonders. Lifting one of the smaller vials filled with a bright blue liquid to his eyes. He tapped the round glass bottle with his pinky finger, watching the potion slosh around the dies. He kept this movement up, letting the syrup mix, watching as the blue seemed to begin to give off a slight glow amongst his dark surroundings. Once a light foam settled on the top he set the bottle down on the ground beside him. From the bench, he grabbed a pieced of cloth and seated himself down on a fur rug. He began to unbuckle the ties, holding his armor to his body, one by one.
Akara's bell signaling that their meal would be served, reached his ears.
"Shit..." he mumbled.
He had to make this quick if he didn't want to miss dinner. He finished the buckles on his armor, and lifted the heavy silver plates and black leather over his head, resting them down beside him. He brought his hand down to his chest, inspecting the damage. Three deep scratch marks decorated his pale chest. Dried blood rusted along the edges of the wound, and intense contrast on the white of his skin.
"Can't afford to let this get infected," he coaxed himself as he reached again for the blue vile.
Uncorking the top, he leaned back a little bit, propping himself up on his elbows. Slowly and carefully, he tipped the bottle on its side over the top of the exposed rip cuts from his encounter with the crazed countess. Clenching his fists tightly, Gaelix hissed in pain as the blue glowing liquid sizzled into his open skin. He poured the foul contents onto his wound before chucking it at the table, watching it shatter into pieces upon impact. Grabbing the long strip of cloth, Gaelix began to quickly wrap it around his chest, binding his wound tightly in protection. With a grit of his teeth, Gaelix gave a tight tug on the ends of the bands to tighten them before he knotted them together. Gingerly, he stood up and waked over to a pile of fur rugs lain on the earth floor. Picking up a long vest, he clothed himself before rushing out of his shelter towards Akara's tent.