do you show any kind of mercy on the battlefield?

[crophisownrose]

There's a rush of air, noisy and hot--a late July heat, filled with a cacophony of shouts and screams and clashing metal, and the thick smell of blood, spoiling meat, and sweat. It's out of this that Sagramore stumbles, his usually immaculate tunic stained with blood, sword in one hand and the other clamped over his belly to hold his insides in where they belong.

He looks shocked--nothing short of utterly astonished--but after a split-second's hesitation, taking in the familiar Agora, he hisses, "A doctor--I require a physician," through clenched teeth.

Then he falls, landing on one knee.