Private The Soldier and the Doctor

[Thel Kaan]

Kriselist

A lone transport ship hurtled through the atmosphere, descending toward one of the sprawling metropolises of Kriselist. The city's neon lights illuminated the sky, casting a radiant glow visible even from orbit. Hails from the planetary government went unanswered as the ship approached a landing port deep in the undercity. Ignoring customs wasn't unusual here; the undercity was a haven for crime and villainy. The law didn't tread lightly in these parts, and no policing force would risk venturing in without significant backup.

The landing was rough. Inside, the passengers were violently tossed around as the ship slammed into the ground, belching black smoke. The damage was severe—vital systems were destroyed, and it was clear this would be the ship's last voyage. Given its extensive battle scars, it was a miracle it had navigated the Hydian Way at all. Yet, no one on the dilapidated landing platform paid much attention to the burning wreck. Such sights were all too common in the undercity.

Inside, half a dozen men scrambled to escape the flaming transport. They were members of the Militant Front, a rebel cell with a fierce vendetta against the Sith Order. For over a year, they'd been operating in Sith space, harassing convoys, raiding stockpiles, and causing widespread disruption. However, their latest hit-and-run had not gone as planned. The Sith convoy they targeted was far more formidable than expected, resulting in heavy casualties for the Militants. Their leader, Thel Kaan, had been struck by shrapnel, leaving him with deep lacerations across his torso. Many others were injured as well. Bacta and stims could only do so much—they needed professional medical help.

That was why they'd come to Kriselist. The Militants had been in contact with a medic who was currently laying low in the city. Word on the street was that he was skilled—and more importantly, he didn't ask questions. Though they were out of Sith territory, they'd entered Alliance space. Thel didn't have a grudge against the Alliance, but he also didn't want them poking around his rebel cell, possibly branding them as criminals or terrorists.

"Pilot, see if any salvagers will take this ship off our hands for a few credits," Thel grunted, clutching his injured side. "And someone find out where this karking medic is!"

An encrypted call was sent out, searching for the medic known as Todblaz.


Todblaz Graker

 

[Todblaz Graker]

Outfit | Outfit
Tag | Thel Kaan

Tod sat in the back of the bar, turning a cylinder over in his hands, trying to figure out why it wasn't seating properly. The clicking sound stopped as it caught on another piece of metal inside the pistol. "I should stop making these," Tod muttered in frustration. Music played softly in the background, and he tapped his foot in time with the rhythm as he worked.

He had taken refuge in the bar, hiding out due to some heat from local gangs. Tod had done a job for a Sith, acquiring her some new drug facilities, but the former owners weren't too thrilled with the leadership change. Him being advised to lay low until things cooled off.

At his desk, Tod forced the cylinder, causing the metal to shear and further damage the piece. With a curse of frustration, he hurled it at the wall. The damage didn't matter now, he'd have to remake the parts anyway. He had contacts who could help rebuild it, though they'd likely overcharge him. A risk of the trade, he thought.

As he sat there in defeat, the bartender rushed in, his voice calm but urgent. "Tod," he said, "we got a call for you. Someone needs you to go somewhere."

"And... do what exactly?" Tod asked, irritated that his friend wasn't offering the details upfront.

"To go do your damn doctor thing," the man replied, equally annoyed.

Sighing, Tod stood up and strapped on his pistol belt. He pulled his trench coat off the back of his chair and slipped his arms through the sleeves. "Alright, send me the location," he said, grabbing his surgical bag.

He wrapped a scarf around his face, keeping a low profile as he stepped out into the streets. Quietly humming to himself, Tod made his way to the destination.

 

[Thel Kaan]

The group of exhausted, bloodied warriors had retreated to the backroom of a dingy spice den near the starport. It was far from ideal, but it guaranteed privacy. The so-called "owner" of the establishment had been paid off by the Militants, and the premises was cleared of anyone not part of the rebel cell. A flickering light dimly illuminated the room, casting shadows over the rebels as they clutched their wounds in pain. Thel stood stoic despite the sharp agony radiating from his abdomen.

"Boss, the doc's on his way," one of the Militants announced, prompting a collective sigh of relief from the injured.

But soon, all eyes turned to one of their comrades, who had gone disturbingly quiet. The boy—barely old enough to be called a man—had survived Thel's brutal boarding action on the Star Destroyer, though he had taken the worst of it. A blaster bolt had torn through his stomach, and he had spent most of the journey in and out of consciousness, teetering on the edge of delirium.

"No pulse... I-I-I think he's gone," a voice confirmed the worst. After fighting for so long, the boy had finally succumbed to his injuries.

The loss hit Thel hard. They had been so close to receiving help, but the boy's body had reached its limit. Every death was a blow to Thel. These were his men, and their lives were his responsibility. Yet, he remained silent. Now was not the time to show weakness.


Todblaz Graker

 

[Todblaz Graker]

​

Outfit | Outfit
Tag | Thel Kaan

Approaching the marked building, Tod immediately picked up the familiar stench of burnt flesh, a scent that clung to those he'd treated before. Pushing through any resistance at the door, he began by scanning the room to assess the state of each patient.

He muttered under his breath as he used a triage system: "Black," "Green," "Red," or "Yellow." The black-marked ones wouldn't make it, something he had learned during his time in the military. Black was a seal of death, indicating there was almost no hope for survival. While it was never the fault of the practitioner, the families and friends rarely saw it that way.

Setting his bag down, he pulled out bacta sprays, handing them to anyone willing to assist. He would point at who he wanted sprayed, keeping the process efficient. Anyone with shrapnel would need it removed before bacta could be applied. If no one stepped forward to help, he simply rolled the sprays across the floor towards those he wanted treated.

Standing up, with his tools now in hand, Tod clapped his gloved hands together, a bit of dust flying off. "Alright," he called out, his voice strangely upbeat, "who's got shrapnel that needs pulling?"

 

[Thel Kaan]

Weapons immediately trained on the medic as he entered the room, but the tension quickly dissipated when the rebels recognized him as their ally. A few uninjured Militants sprang into action, grabbing bacta spray and assisting where they could, following his instructions.

"The boss took some real good shrapnel," one of the rebels informed Todblaz, gesturing toward Thel. The rebel leader leaned heavily against the wall, his shirt shredded and soaked in blood. It was obvious even to an untrained eye—Thel had lost a significant amount of blood. The only thing keeping him on his feet seemed to be the hyper-adrenal stimulants the group had abused throughout the battle.

Thel barely had the strength to speak as Todblaz approached. "Sorry, Doc... Not exactly sterile conditions, but I hope it'll do," he muttered through gritted teeth. The room was far from ideal for any kind of medical procedure—grimy walls stained with years of neglect, the flickering light casting unsettling shadows, and the smell of spice and sweat hanging thick in the air. Dust coated every surface, and the ground was littered with debris from past patrons. The air itself felt dirty, tainted by the undercity's filth, making it painfully clear that this place had never seen proper sanitation.


Todblaz Graker

 

[Todblaz Graker]

Outfit | Outfit
Tag | Thel Kaan
OOC Note: Hey! Sorry these are taking so long to get out, we have exams next week so I'll be slow until that's over.

Tod knelt beside his newest patient, quietly looking him up and down. He pulled out a small metal box, clearly labeled with a piece of tape that read 'O-, Human.' It clinked softly against the wall as it magnetized into place, and Tod retrieved a clear plastic tube, attaching it to a nozzle at the bottom of the box and then to a hollow needle at the other end. The tube slowly filled with blood as he pulled a small syrette out of his bag.

"One of the cleaner places I've worked in," he said, grinning briefly before focusing back on the task. Nothing about this would be sterile, but fortunately they had drugs for that.

"Would you like the painkillers before or after I start?" Tod asked, not really waiting for an answer as he suddenly injected a syrette of Desomorphine into the man's leg. The old and crusty label visible briefly before he tossed it aside.

He tried to lift the patient's sleeve, choosing a vein (Cephalic, Basilic, or median cubital vein if you were curious) before inserting the needle. After setting it, Tod grabbed a pair of shears and attempted to cut the man's shirt, trying to see what he was working with.

 

[Thel Kaan]

The doctor's shears sliced through the tattered remains of Thel's shirt, revealing the gruesome wound beneath. Blood of varying shades of red seeped from the gash, a swollen mess of torn flesh. Embedded deep in the wound was a jagged shard of metal, no thicker than a few centimeters, but razor-sharp. It looked like a piece of a durasteel hull, likely propelled into Thel by an exploding fighter. The injury was a stark reminder of the violent, chaotic life the rebel leader had endured—a story written in blood and pain, punctuated by the other scars crisscrossing his body. To Todblaz, the battered state of Thel's body would speak volumes; this was a man who had survived countless battles, his body a canvas of suffering.

Thel, grimacing as Todblaz worked, tried to keep his mind off the pain. "Now..." he began, his voice strained but steady, "I've crossed paths with plenty of hired guns in my time, but a doctor for hire? That's less common." He paused, wincing as the pain surged. "What drove you down this path? If you're good enough, wouldn't life be easier working as a legit doctor?"

The questions weren't just out of curiosity. Thel knew that keeping his mind occupied with conversation was the only thing preventing him from slipping into unconsciousness. Each word kept him tethered to reality as the medic worked to save his life.


OOC: No worries man, just reply if/when you can. Real-life is always the priority!
Todblaz Graker

 

[Todblaz Graker]

Outfit | Outfit
Tag | Thel Kaan
OOC Note: Testing week has basically ended, so responses should be quicker now!

Tod glanced at the wounds and shrugged, they weren't the worst he'd seen. "Well, when you make the mistakes I have, and you have a skill, it's hard to practice legally." Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a laser scalpel. "Nobody tells you that when coups go south, you have to face justice. Took me a while to figure that out."

With the scalpel he pulled out a syringe, injecting it around the embedded shrapnel. The label, faded but readable, said 'Mepi.'

"If I were you, I'd keep your eyes on the ceiling," Tod advised, making precise cuts around the shrapnel. As he opened the wound, he placed laparotomy sponges inside. "So, boss, or whatever they called you, not to pry, but how'd this happen?" He was trying to keep the conversation going so the man wouldn't look down.

He returned to his bag for another bottle of bacta, spraying it on any bleeding vessels, sealing them as he worked. Taking his time with the laser scalpel, Tod carefully cut around the shrapnel, stopping to spray bacta on any fresh bleeding.

 

[Thel Kaan]

The anesthetic dulled most of the pain, but Thel could still feel the heat from the laser scalpel as it seared through his flesh. He did as Tod instructed, fixing his gaze on the ceiling, gritting his teeth each time a flicker of pain broke through the numbness brought on by the cocktail of drugs and bacta. Thel had endured worse. They all had. Years of slavery in the Orax mines had exposed him and his fellow rebels to death, disease, and cruelty at the hands of the Sith Order. This was nothing new to them—pain had become a part of life.

"The Sith Order..." Thel muttered, half in response to Todblaz's question. His voice caught, as if deciding whether to say more. "We were slaves once, under the Sith," he finally admitted, his tone dripping with venom. "But we took our freedom, and now we hunt them down, wherever they taint." The raw hatred in his voice was palpable, the scars of his past evident in every word. It would be immediately clear to Tod just how deep Thel's loathing for the Sith ran.

"We were in the Mustafar System," Thel continued, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. "Intel came through about a Star Destroyer—no escort, easy pickings. It was too good to pass up... maybe too good to be true." His eyes flickered briefly to his wound, a grotesque scene of blood and exposed muscle. He grimaced and quickly looked away, focusing back on the ceiling.

"The engagement went as planned at first. We hit them hard. But then, their reinforcements showed up—ships that must have evaded our scans. We were outmatched. We lost a lot of good men. The survivors barely made it out, fled to Alliance space. We knew the Sith wouldn't follow us here." His voice grew quieter, the weight of loss hanging in the air.


Todblaz Graker