Finding Elysium; Part One.

Lights flashed through the hospice as Paithien ran down the hallway, golden hues settling on the patient being carried in, the sound of that distress call still ringing in her ears. Mayday, mayday, mayday; This is the captain of the airship Shattered Elysium. We are experiencing critical failure and are going down. This is Fleet Admiral Alexander Iceblade. All available units, respond to that distress call immediately. I am activating crisis plan six, engaging Order Magi in all major cities. The Order's crisis teams - consisting of three mages and four rangers - erupted into action as the distress call went out. All over the world, portals were torn open to Tanaris. Red flashing lights, alarm bells ringing. Sand and fire. Images of the crash site flashed through her mind as she watched the Order’s newest member haul Vaerin through a portal.  (TW: Injury, medical supplies - IV, Needles, etc.)

"Get him into room two, get Northaren in here.” Paith ordered, tying blonde hair into a tight ponytail and starting to wash her hands.

The hospice was in complete disarray after the crash of the Shattered Elysium. The once sterile and organized halls were now in complete chaos, with debris and rubble scattered everywhere. Patients who were once recovering peacefully were now screaming in agony, their cries for help echoing through the halls. The smell of smoke and burning flesh hung heavily in the air, mixed with the scent of disinfectant and spilled blood.  Needles were prepared, IV’s set on their racks. Machines were turned on.

The medical staff were doing their best to help those who could still be saved, but the sheer number of wounded and dying made it seem like a hopeless task. Some were too injured to even move, lying where they had been put by their rescuers, waiting for the end to come. Others were being tended to by overworked healers, who were forced to make difficult decisions on who to save and who to ease the passing of. 

Vaerin Emberwalker is brought into the operating room on a gurney, his body limp and pale. His chest heaves with labored breaths as he is swiftly transferred onto the operating table. The room is dimly lit, the only sources of light being the small lamps hanging overhead and the monitors that beep in a steady rhythm. The scent of antiseptic fills the air, mixed with the coppery tang of blood.

 The medical team rushes around Vaerin, checking his vitals and assessing the extent of his injuries. They work with precision and urgency, their movements quick and efficient as they move to stabilize him. Vaerin's shirt is cut away, revealing the extent of his injuries. His chest is bruised and battered, three broken ribs jutting out from his skin. His wrist is mangled, with a deep gash where a piece of jagged pipe tore through his flesh. A small pool of blood has formed under him, evidence of his punctured lung.

The team moves to work on his injuries, the sound of clanking metal tools filling the room. Paithien spouting orders and demands as they went. The crisis response team moved with the speed and grace of a well-rehearsed dance, their movements precise as they work to save Vaerin's life.

Despite their best efforts, the sense of hopelessness and despair in the air is palpable, as if the very walls of the room are closing in on them, eager to claim the Captain’s life after he’d avoided death for so long.

Finally, after what feels like an centuries, the team manages to stabilize Vaerin's injuries. They carefully move him to a nearby recovery room, monitoring his vitals closely.

                   Days passed...

Despite his stabilization, Vaerin Emberwalker still slept. Not a twitch of his muscles, just the slow, rhythmic breathing of the machines at his bedside. The Order’s doctors were busy saving more lives from the crash, so the Captain slumbered alone.