Welcome to Gaia! ::

Broken arm?

Need patched up?

Extensive operation after a near-death experience in one of your fights?

Some rest under a watchful eye?

Pooling together some of the greatest healers from across the realms that have flocked here to aid tournament contestants, this is the place to be if you've been busted up.

Staff always looking for white mages and the like.

A man standing one inch shy of six feet with platinum silver air and cautious crimson eyes entered the infirmary soon after the "doc" finished his preparations. He dressed in a casual black outfit with a leather jacket, slacks, combat boots, and leather gauntlets. A bleached white muffler covered the man's neck and shoulders, obscuring his mouth from view. He glanced around at the array of medical supplies and implements which the half-breed had introduced into the infirmary with mild interest.

"Hello, doctor." The man spoke in an even tone, not too friendly nor too hostile. Physically he appeared perfectly in order. He resembled a human, but the most magical beings could tell that he was not a plain human being. In reality, he was not human at all, but he was part of a race that resembled humans; or, rather, a race which humans resembled.

"Get any patients yet?" The man inquired. Though he did not come out and say it, he thought getting to know the people who could end up patching him up could be as important as training. Some warriors did not take the whole fighting business so seriously, too absorbed in their own strength. This man, Curse, hated to jump into battles without plans and failsafes.

Curse accepted Phenal's handshake pleasantly, though his expression did not change. Still, he was glad to see someone friendly for once and not too wrapped up in the whole idea of combat, even at a tournament.

"Yes, I am competing in the..." He paused for a moment as he tried to recall the odd name of his bracket. In fact, Barton Town itself was not a strange name, but it merely struck him as odd that a bracket in a fighting tournament would be named after a town. "...Barton Town bracket. My name is Curse. It's a pleasure."

He acted pretty formally for a competitor.

"I don't derive much pleasure from hurting others, either... I rather admire someone like you, who seeks to save lives rather than ruin them." In this he spoke the complete truth as evident from his sincere and somber voice. He tilted his head in slight curiousity as he scanned the doctor's well-prepared "office."

"And I assume you have come here to tend to the wounds of the young fools like me?" He inquired. If Phenal could see Curse's mouth underneath his muffler, he could catch a fleeting smirk.

"Not fools. More like adventurers." Phenal laughed after the handshake was finished. "If anything, I'm the fool for not bringing chairs into this room."

He raised his arm, holding his palm curved and pointed towards his staff, which leapt from its resting point and smacked hollowly in his grasp. The small crystal on top flashed as the snakes on the staff seemed to come alive.

Whether or not they were moving was rather irrelevant, as it stopped after a second, leaving a few somewhat comfortable chairs riveted into the walls, as well as a few wheeled black stools, similar to what you'd see in a doctor's office.

"I, for one, do not fight because I feel the pain of others as though it were my own. Healing is my natural profession." he explained, not bothering to conceal it. "I can sense every injury you've ever had, if I focus hard enough. Most of the time, though, I keep my mind a careful blank, or the pain would drive me mad."

"I personally started out as a cleric." Phenal explained. "Although I am no longer bound to the service of the god, I am still granted the divine arts of her practice. Of course, most of those are useless to the undead and unholy, so I learned arcane healing and what most mortals would call alchemy for a few thousand years before developing these."

He reached his arm out to grab the small white cylinder with a nozzle on it.

"I called them HSP kits. They'll do a somewhat crude, but rapid job of healing, as well as giving you a good bit of energy. As for the guns over there, they use advanced technology to accelerate reparing of the body, and as for the big tanks, they'll let you regenerate limbs."

He put the spray back down. "I generally combine these all together for greatest effect."

After a second, he realized he was still holding his staff, and with a chuckle, he put it to the side.

"As for the competitiors, it's their own choice. However, I'd think that they would seek the skills of an expert for healing. How many of them forge their own swords? Or craft their own ammunition?"

He walked in quietly with a long sleeve jacket on. His right arm was completely limp and lifeless aside from the quiet tick and rattle it produced from his walking.

His face was also windburned from moving too fast and his eyes were veined with red for the same reason.

He merely looked at the doctor and said, "A bullet glazed my ankle. I don't want it to get infected and allow some kilelr to replace me in the tournament. COuld you..................."

As if magically commanded to do so he plopped down suddenly on the chair with a wide eyed look. Most owuld snicker and sneer that he was some kind of horndog. In reality he was stuck looking at her teeth.

"Dental hygene of a Goddess..... And sparkling eyes to match. Jesus."

He didn't realize it but he had slowly roled up his pant leg to reveal the bleeding wound, still fresh.

He waited for whatever treatment she had in mind while he pulled out a small shock rod and used it to pop open a panel on his right shoulder. His entire arm was metal. He immeditaely begn repairs on a beaten system.