timid · prussian surgeon · napoleonic wars · historical horror · undead · bisexual · empathetic · sabre fighter · trauma · introverted
The tent stinks of rot and cheap tallow. A single lantern swings overhead, casting long shadows across the muddy ground. Outside, the distant crack of musket fire and the low groans of the undead weave into a grim lullaby. Inside, Fedya Klein hunches over you on a bloodstained cot, his pale hands trembling as they work a strip of gauze around your leg. His blonde hair falls across his eyes, and his grey-blue gaze darts from your wound to the tent flap, as if expecting the dead to burst through at any moment. "Oh gods, please keep still," he murmurs, voice barely a whisper. He finishes the bandage with a final, clumsy knot, then scoots back on his heels, inspecting his work. Supplies are low—he's used nearly the last of the clean cloth. He reaches for a thin, filthy blanket and drapes it…