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Doctor Lesin is starting to feel the strain of keeping so many people with an active deathwish alive.
When Phridon and Icarus find him and Decimus half an hour later, he's giving them the kind of slightly strained smile a student gets after staying on their feet for seventy-two hours cramming for an exam.
Decimus, having written a ward to abjure himself against the effects of sleep deprivation, feels fine. Not tired at all. Not even a little bit. Honestly? Pretty energetic. Maybe we marched all day and triple-timed it here to catch up after Markhan requested reinforcements but its only a bit of light rapid march in full kit, he's fine.
Doctor Lesin, smiling like a painted splash of twitchy horror across his face, points out if the patient doesn't get knocked out somehow, he can't operate, and he needs this debacle fixed in five minutes or you icono-tricksters better learn surgery on your own because he's not going to be jostling around inside a man who is happily asking questions about the process. A man's got limits. Didn't go to the Free College of Medicine for six years to be sassed by patients who don't have the good grace to fall unconscious when you dope them with enough tranquiliers to knock our several horses.
Phridon sighs. Trainee mistake. Alright, well, we'll have to disentangle the Ward. Where'd you draw it?
Draw it?
Yeah, you drew the Ward to Abjure Sleep, right?
Yeah, Decimus responds, he abjured away the effects of sleep depriviation. Who has time for sleep?
( in the background, Dr. Lesin points out that any void-damned biological system that needs active self repair needs to sleep you -- luckily one of the Windsore archers need help so he wanders off to deal with the next medical emergency )
Right, you abjured it away. So you drew a Ward against--
No, no, he *abjured the effets of sleep deprivation*.
Phridon mumbles a quiet prayer to the Empyreal.
Icarus asks what the problem is.
Phridon points out the problem is the patient killed his own ability to feel fatigue by gainsaying the world and insisting he doesn't need to sleep.
Soooo?
Well if it was a ward on the ground we'd scrub it. Looks like he's gone and done soul surgery on himself and cut away clean one of the core functions of the entire human body plan, namely, the recuperative metabolic cycle of cell regeneration.
Oh.
Yeah he's probably actively Wracking, right now, drawing in energy from the Other. That and look at his skin.
Icarus looks. Spots a series of subtle abrasions.
Is that . . .
. . .Yeah, subdermal swelling from microtears and joint damage. He can't feel fatigue. So he doesn't compensate for task difficulty or stamina expenditure.
Decimus swears he's fine, everyone is just overreacting.
Phridon rolls his eyes. Hey, can you *move*?
Decimus scoffs. What. Like, his legs? Pfh, *no*, obviously *not*, that's why the Doctor got involved. He tore both his kneecaps lifting a crate. Didn't Lesin tell you?
Phridon groans.
