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Ashur Stories of the conflict near Roswell's started to spread-- hard to have a team of Brotherhood knights with their own vertibird chasing after people without it making some waves. Stories so far are confused; there's disagreements over numbers, motives, outcomes. But one thing's for sure: the militia brought back, of all things, a Legionnaire, vouched for by one faceless fellow or another. Unconscious, riddled with the scorch of laser and more bullet holes than most could count, chunks missing as if gouged out by fang or claw-- once the militia got his armor off and got him into a bed, it wasn't clear if he'd make it to the next day.

But he currently has. Grievously wounded, unconscious, Ashur sleeps in a bed two sizes too small for him.
Derk Having caught wind of a recent battle and people being carted around with blood on their bodies and all sorts of strangeness, Derk quickly grabbed his kit and headed up towards the Medical Clinic on the North side of the town, where he'd been told there were wounded to treat.

Upon entering the clinic, he shrugs himself out of his small sack and sets it on one of the small tables nearby. Hetting his kit out, he heads for one of the small rooms that houses the most recently wounded. It's the Legionnaire, and he's not looking good. "What we got around here for wound dressings?" He asks of an orderly, before setting his kit down beside the man and starting to go through a mental checklist of what he's going to need. "A report, anyone?" Again with the questions, but Derk is using some purified water and chemspray from what's left in his kit to sanitize his hands as best he can before doing an analysis of Ashur's condition.
Ashur Ashur stirs. His fierce constitution demands it; refuses to go gently into that good night. Of all his equipment, the one piece that couldn't be removed are the spiked knuckles wrapped 'round his right hand-- the fist has been clenched so tight it's almost like a muscle spasm, nails digging into his palm and drawing blood. The spikes are caked in dried blood and what a man familiar with horrible things could recognize as skull and brain matter.

"Uh, everything's in there," the orderly says, pointing to a series of cabinets against one of the walls. "Just the usual. Restocked the other day." At the call for reports, that same orderly continues. "He was involved in a fight with some irradiated ghouls and the Brotherhood. There's bites and scratches all over him, internal bruising-- but the worst of it are the lasers. Brotherhood's got some high-tech gizmos, and they were doing their best to cook him. We checked, and he's lucky he's not got any rad poisoning.. but trauma like that is bad enough."

He isn't wrong. Ashur's concussed, too, though the orderly didn't know that.
Derk Derk gives the orderly a nod and starts working through the bandages, peeling the back slowly to look at the burns and the damaged tissues, "Alright, I'm gonna be here for a few hours, I'll need a bowl of boiled water every fifteen minutes, and more thread than I've got in my kit, so..." he shrugs and turns to go back to the cabinets to start pulling stuff out that he'll need and adding it to the tray that he'll be working from. Once he's got enough supplies, he'll head back to Ashur's too small bed and set the tray up beside it, readying himself and starting with the worst of the wounds, having to cut the cauterized flesh free from the laser holes, and staunching the bleeding as he works from the inside out. "He's gonna wake up on me, someone dose him, I don't need an elevated heartrate at this time."

That done, he goes back to cleaning wounds and giving them space to heal as he works outwards. It's a lengthy process and hours will go by as he stitches smaller lacerations closed, while eventually having to get to the hand and pressing various pressure points and twisting the hand into the tightened muscles, will get the spiked knuckles free. Though it ain't easy.
Ashur Derk's orders are obeyed without much fuss. Wounds are cleaned, crisped flesh cut away, the bleeding staunched and the wounds stitched-- it's a bloody affair, a messy one, but with the boiled water and the man's medical knowledge and skill it avoids being too grotesquely awful. At one point, there does seem to be a risk of Ashur waking up, despite the savage beating he's endured.. but a quick shot of anaesthetic puts him right out and keeps his heart from working overtime.

Eventually, it's all mended, for now-- even those spiked knuckles are pried out of his death grip. Now it's just a matter of time.
Derk Done, with as much as he can, for Ashur had already been taken care of in the field, Derk sighs and shakes his head, "Gonna have to change the bandages again tomorrow, but I think that's as good as we're going to get today." Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, Derk goes about the wonderful process of cleaning up before repacking what's left of his kit. "I'll be back tomorrow, unless someone else is checking in on him," he remarks to the orderly, then makes a note on the chart, and goes about his day, well night now, which he realizes it is as he steps out the door and into it.