Winterfrost, 20, 765 A.R.

Often I have heard soldiers describe battlefields as nothing but red, but as a physician, I truly saw nothing but that color. So much blood, so much pain…usually the screams of the dying and the pools of drying gore do not affect me—my profession would not be kind to me if it did—but to see Feril in such a state…I have travelled with him to battlefields far and wide, and never before have my deeper fears, fears I had long prevented myself from hearing, been realized.

I don't even know which side won, and I don't care any longer—as soon as I saw Feril fall, I brought him from the battlefield to my healer's tent. A nameless battle for nameless soldiers—but I wasn't about to let Feril be among the nameless fallen!

It is too late to move him tonight, but I have dressed his wounds for now, and by first light, we will move out of this accursed place.

Winterfrost, 21, 765 A.R.

I successfully found an out-of-the-way hovel where I was able to set up a makeshift laboratory in the basement—it's amazing how a few gold coins can make simple suggestions like "vacation" a more enticing prospect. The hovel was not too far from the battlefield, but I think Feril got worse today during the move. He was groaning and waving his hands as if trying to meagerly fight off imaginary foes, but I reassured him and dressed his wounds as best I could around his weakly flailing arms. He looked me in the eyes once, and I saw nothing but a great sadness there. I don't think I have ever been more moved to tears than at that point—to see my greatest friend for decades of life lie helpless, bleeding out, and with a look of such profound sadness in his eyes.... Regret? Pain? Sadness? Mercy? I will cure all of your ills, Feril, just give me time…oh gods, give me time…

Winterfrost, 23, 765 A.R.

The herbs needed to make a proper sleeping agent to keep Feril under are in plentitude here. There is quite a variety of plant life, another reason I chose this particular hovel, so I should have a wide array of plants from which to make a healing draught for him. One of the plants here, or perhaps a combination of them, will save him. I just need to figure out which one. And quickly.

Ah, gods, he's stirring again. I best get to that sleeping agent.

Winterfrost, 24, 765 A.R.

My first attempt was highly unsuccessful. Feril almost died right then and there. The draught sent him into a hyper state of convulsions. Froth was coming from his mouth. Luckily, I was able to give him my sleep agent before he convulsed himself into a heart failure. The convulsions made his wounds bled profusely, and I was bandaging them for the rest of the day and well into the night. His state is even more precarious now. I'll have to be twice as careful. It's going to be quite a few days before I try again, and I'll have to take sure that I figure out and change whatever went wrong last time.

I find that I have been writing more in my journal as of late. Either out of dreaded anticipation or nervousness, I cannot say. But either way, I think it best to document what goes on here down here—it would not do to save Feril once only to have him succumb again to the ardors of war.

Springwind, 3, 765 A.R

I almost lost him yesterday...but I suppose my sleep agent must have slowed the severity of his wounds in his vegetative state. Otherwise, I can't imagine how he survived this last week. I didn't want to give him a draught before now, considering what happened last time. Though if I hadn't, Feril would likely be dead by now. The gods know it wasn't anything I did to the outside of his body—I'm certainly no surgeon.

The draught I administered to him yesterday still does not seem to have worked. He is alive, yes, but what kind of life I cannot say. The draught seems only to have brought Feril back from the edge of death without actually granting him any sort of reprieve. That means, at least, that I did something better than last time, but still, there is no progress in his wounds. I fear the only reason he has stopped bleeding as profusely is that he no longer has enough blood to continue like that. If I am to find a solution, it had better be sooner than soon.

Springwind, 5, 765 A.R

He stopped bleeding. I gave him a new draught, and the blood stopped coming from his wounds. I still fear to try to lift him to clean his sheets, but tonight, at least, I will rest a little easier. However, his pain does not seem to have lessened at all. His wounds are still mortal; not even the passage of time has done anything to mend them as yet. I have no idea what has kept him so long in this world...perhaps his will and his mind are still as strong as they were.

Springwind, 6, 765 A.R.

Spurred by the progress of yesterday, I gave him a new draught this morning. Not until after a very long day of worrying (I'm surprised I have any nails left to me), I think I have finally started on the right path! This is even sounded like he began to breathe a little easier. The wounds still appear mortal, but they have begun to heal a little, the first progress these last two weeks. Not just healing noticed from the day before, either, but miracle…I have never been one to place my faith in any of the gods, but perhaps one of them has blessed me now! I honestly care not what brought about this sudden change in fate, as long as I understand how to continue this. Feril, there is hope for you still, my friend, just hold in there…

Springwind, 9, 765 A.R.

Three days now. I increased the doses of what I thought might have been helping him, but nothing. Nothing in three days. In that one day, I had seen the wounds perhaps begin to close upon themselves, but after giving Feril an adjusted amount that should have pronounced the healing process, nothing in three days. I don't understand what has happened, but I'm not about to let Feril slip from me, not when I've come this far. Not now, Feril, I'll bring you back. I'll bring you back. 

Springwind, 15, 765 A.R.

I take back what I wrote that week or so ago. Whatever it was, the gods weren't blessing me at all. They were mocking me. Perhaps they are jealous that a mortal would find a way to reverse the black tide of Death, and they thought to show me a glint of success to deepen my failure.

Feril has degenerated. Both physically and mentally. The sleeping draught I administer now needs to be given to him twice as often, and I fear within the next days, I'll need to give him more. Even in his sleep, be cries. My nightmares pale to his screams. I have not had a good rest in the cursed gods only know how long. As for his physical condition, it almost seems as if the wounds have begun to rot from the outside in, and I can only guess that this is due to one of the ingredients in my former healing draught reacting to whatever infection was already in his body. I wrestle with myself every minute of every passing moment to keep him on that table or mercifully bury him—have I gone too far, or not far enough?

The corruption beginning on the surface of his skin has spread to the inside. The first day I saw signs of this, I immediately stopped administering what I thought was a good draught, though, of course, since that first day, there had been no further progress. When his condition radically began to deteriorate, I had to think of something fast, but none of the draughts I have administered since then have had any effects whatsoever. The only thing keeping him alive, I believe at this point, is the near vegetative state induced by my sleeping draught. And I know not how long even that will keep him on this world, or even if it should.

I need to try to hunt down what little sleep I can while the wails of the hells are abated.

Springwind 15 dark hours —the sleeping draught!

Springwind, 16, 765 A.R.

I took ingredients from the sleeping draught. Not the ones that kept him in the vegetative state, but the ingredients that prevented his condition from worsening while in that state. Oh, curse my blind, seeing eyes! Why did I not realize this before? Of course, the answer would be in the sleeping draught! How else could he have survived that first week, and beyond that, almost a month past? The secret was in the sleeping draught all along. yet I was too consumed in concern and then exultation to see it.

He stopped degenerating. But I still don't think…it's hard even to write it out. Feril, who has been with me for more years than I can count, will be...

He's dying. No matter what I can do now, his condition has deteriorated far too much. The rot has already sunk its roots too deep; it might even have invaded his heart by now. The best I can do is to give him a constant dosage of both the sleeping agent and the adjusted healing draught to keep his pain away…and his mind at bay. The best I can hope for is to create a proper healing draught so that others will not also have to see their closest friend perish from disease or the wounds of the battlefield.

Nothing I can do now, for Feril…I wish that I could say goodbye to him, but I fear that to even stop administering the healing draught at all by this point would mean a quick and extremely painful passing. My remembrance of Feril will take the form of the draught that should have saved his life.

…not at all the end he had hoped for, dying in glory among the fallen on the battlefield.