The Tourney at Ashford

As the previous day, Oswell prepared himself to look over any who might incur injuries from the joust. He wasn't opposed to any who had strained themselves elsewhere, for he had heard of the scuffle in the meadows and didn't imagine that Kaliya's sprain was the worst injury from such a confrontation.

The Maestar had been rather busy with all the wounded in the field, so Derrick had left him too it, looking to catch him a bit later.

Peeking inside the tent he glanced around hoping the man was in. His wounds had mostly stopped bleeding, but he wanted to make sure he was ok. Just in case.

Oswell was rinsing the blood from his forearms in a bucket of water when Derrick arrived. Looking up, he waved the Algood retainer in as the blank look on his face shifted to a very strained smile.

"Thanks for trying." He said simply.

"Trying Maestar?" The young man asked, bot quite sure where the older man was coming from. Had Lord Baretheon died? It was really the only thing he could think of at the moment.

"Sorry, I mean for trying to secure the field in time." Drying his hands on a towel he threw the cloth into a growing pile near a small table.

"Apologies if my words aren't clear, but I'll promise you the mind is. Lord Tyrell was a good man, it's a shame what happened. But what can I do for you?"

"Ah..." There was a small shrug. "I just did what I could, figured someone needed to step in before others were hurt." He hadn't held much hope for Lord Tyrell from the start.

"Can't say I knew much about him, but ate it was a shame things like that shouldn't happen at events like these." At the second question he ran a hand through his hair. "I came to get looked over, if you have the time. I took a couple good hits back there, and while I feel fine now I did a good bit of bleeding."

"Just wanted to make sure nothing was going to fall off.

"Might not have as much time left as you, but what I've got is at your disposal."

Even casting a cursory glance over the man at arms, Oswell could tell he wasn't in any serious danger.

"Looks like a few nasty cuts, but nothing exactly life threatening. Still, come a little closer and let me get a proper look."

Success with 4 degrees

((Derrick used a Destiny to get rid of three injuries, and 7 damage, then took another 4 damage. He is probably mostly okay now, but I imagine he has some cuts that look worse then what they were.))

"I figured as much, but it's a fool that doesn't get these type of things looked at if they can. My Pa told me tales of men with cuts like these that got infected. Some of them ended up losing limbs and the like." Derrick replied as he made his way over, letting the old Maestar poke and prod him, or whatever it was Maestar's did.

"Strip to the waist if you can. Let me see how much discomfort these are causing, but don't be too proud if you need help I will. Don't want to aggravate these things as you say, just in case."

Taking the opportunity, the Maester reaches over for some clean bandages and a needle and thread.

"Alright." Rain had kept the blood from drying too much, that and wet leather, but it still took a few moments and some muttered curses for Derrick to strip to the waist. A bit of blood was evident from the wounds and one or two still seemed to be seeping, though not bleeding too heavily.

The youht grit his teeth when he saw the needle and thread this was certainly not going to be fun.

Oswell circled the young man before gesturing to a small stool.

"If you don't mind? I'll have a devil of a time making the stitches even and small if I have to reach all the way up there."

Producing a small vial, he offers it to the warrior. "Milk of the poppy if you wish for it?"

Derrick took a seat on the a, his eyes drifting towards the Milk of the Poppy. "Save it for someone who needs it more." He replied after a few moments of thought. "I'll be able to handle it without that." It wasn't the first time he had gotten stitches after all.

Young men and their pride, Oswell thinks to himself as he replaces the sedative and begins his work.

"Saw you in the squire's joust the other day." He commented, trying to distract his patient from the pain with conversation. "Looked quite impressive."

It wasn't pride, but then it was nearly impossible to explain how commoners generally went without the luxury that was Milk of the Poppy, especially in the presence of Maestars and nobles. The stitches hurt and Derrick didn't respond immediately to the man's comments taking a few moments to try and push the pain to the back of his head before responding.

"Thanks, didn't really expect to win it. It's not really something I normally do."

"Everything we try for the first time is something we 'don't normally do'." Oswell answered with a wicked grin as he tied a knot in one end of the thread, the first wound closed up as he cleaned out the next.

"Take this for instance, I think it's quite a good job for a first time." He says through gritted teeth as he tries not to laugh.

Derrick grit his teeth and held his breath as the knot was tied, unable to answer for a few moments.

"You must be one hell of a tailor then." He offered with a faint smile. "Should I come calling the next time I need a new set of clothes?"

"Would think that a man as flush with prize money as your self would be able to afford the finest fashions from Kings Landing. At least until you get my bill."

He jests, as he continues concentrating hard on his work.

The young man snorted, suppressing a laugh. Laughing was the last thing he wanted to do when his skin was gettign stitched together after all. "I'd look right silly in the latest fashions from King's landing. So I imagine it's a bit of a favor your doing me, making your rate so high."

"So, you're not an Alggod by name, but by service? Grow up in the Westerlands?"

Oswell knew that some people liked to chat, to distract from the pain, others didn't. He figured that until he was told to shut his pie hole, he'd keep at it.

"Aye, my father serves the Algoods as well, and so did his father." The young man murmured, the fact he was in pain evident in his voice. "My families been serving as their soldiers for a good long while. So this is the first time I've ever had the chance to leave the Westerlands." The chatter did help distract him from the pain, at least a little.

"That many generations, I'm surprised you weren't squired to a Knight of theirs? Too much ritual not enough real work in that lifestyle?" Oswell asks, genuinely curious.

"Something like that." Derrick murmured between clenched teeth. "My pa was kind of aiming for it, but I'm not really interested. Being a knight, maybe marrying a noble woman or something. Sounds like more trouble then anything."

"I can't ever tell what they are thinking. Some pretty young noble woman even tried to invite be back to her tent or something the other day. Said something about giving me some lessons... If you know what I mean."

Oswell nodded. "No shortage of pretty faces and pert tits around here, too many to even escape this old man's eyes. And one should never turn up their nose at a good education." He laughed hard and loud enough that he paused in his work to prevent tugging on the thread currently tying together his patient's wound.

"I did." The young solider replied with a faint frown. "Commoners mixing with noble women doesn't tend to end well. Usually to the detriment of the Commoner."

"And I don't know about you, but I think I have enough holes in me already."

Bet you're a barrel of laughs at parties, Oswell thought as he took a moment to look over his work.

"Rare to find anyone around here who's content with their station in life. It's...refreshing."