Wolfgang is not physical combat oriented (what he wouldn't do right now for a gun!) but there's a million little useful things he can do that he only freaks out about in private. It's been days, he's still not over this m-word thing -- but he doesn't have time to think too hard about it. He'll have his mental breakdown at a more convenient time.
For now, he's staying occupied. Part of what he's doing in the siege is supply runs for safehouses -- he can carry a truly ridiculous amount of stuff in one small backpack, plus he can look for people who need help on the way. It's during one of those runs that he hears someone screaming and immediately goes to help, but he's just a minute too late -- the man, armed with a sword he doesn't quite know how to use, has managed to kill the frog-thing that attacked him, but it took a huge chunk out of his thigh in the process and his face goes dead white as he collapses.
Wolfgang sprints the distance between them because even from twenty yards away, he can tell that's a bad wound. The man is mostly conscious but in a lot of pain. The bleeding's bad; Wolfgang applies pressure to the wound and rips his sleeve to make a makeshift tourniquet, hoping he can keep him from bleeding out on him even if he can't save the leg. Wolfgang is not a medic and the situation is rapidly getting worse. What he needs immediately is a healer, but he doesn't have the time or the ability to bring him anywhere; this man weighs more than he does. He can't carry him. God only knows where his CiD is, and he might not get a response in time.
Okay, so he'll just have to find someone.
Closing his eyes and concentrating, he sends his mind out in a wide radius from his body, broadcasting what's more of a feeling than anything else, an impulse. He has to hope someone is in his range and can get here in time. It is easier by far to broadcast a need than it is to use actual words, but he does manage one: Help.
no subject
For now, he's staying occupied. Part of what he's doing in the siege is supply runs for safehouses -- he can carry a truly ridiculous amount of stuff in one small backpack, plus he can look for people who need help on the way. It's during one of those runs that he hears someone screaming and immediately goes to help, but he's just a minute too late -- the man, armed with a sword he doesn't quite know how to use, has managed to kill the frog-thing that attacked him, but it took a huge chunk out of his thigh in the process and his face goes dead white as he collapses.
Wolfgang sprints the distance between them because even from twenty yards away, he can tell that's a bad wound. The man is mostly conscious but in a lot of pain. The bleeding's bad; Wolfgang applies pressure to the wound and rips his sleeve to make a makeshift tourniquet, hoping he can keep him from bleeding out on him even if he can't save the leg. Wolfgang is not a medic and the situation is rapidly getting worse. What he needs immediately is a healer, but he doesn't have the time or the ability to bring him anywhere; this man weighs more than he does. He can't carry him. God only knows where his CiD is, and he might not get a response in time.
Okay, so he'll just have to find someone.
Closing his eyes and concentrating, he sends his mind out in a wide radius from his body, broadcasting what's more of a feeling than anything else, an impulse. He has to hope someone is in his range and can get here in time. It is easier by far to broadcast a need than it is to use actual words, but he does manage one: Help.