Laeonas had long ago lost count of the times he’d nearly died. The scars across his body from a multitude of different weapons were evidence of his many brushes with mortality. Acid burns, leftover marks from blasterfire, cuts from knives and blades of all sizes and shapes. He’d grown accustomed to nearly dying– but never had he come so close to the threshold between life and death.
As the Killik’s claw exited his body, and the cut across his face obscured his vision, Laeonas only had second to react before he went unconscious. He was vaguely aware that he had been stabbed. His eyes darted down, and he saw a growing pool of blood beneath him, and what looked like an intestine halfway yanked out. It took him a moment to register that he was dying– and then, unconsciousness took him.
He’d been prepared for this. As the Sith and Jedi would haul him to safety, the overpowering smell of funerary perfumes that he had preemptively doused himself in would fill their nostrils. It was a sweet, relaxing smell, and it masked the stench that emanated from his open guts.
When the medics finally arrived they’d initially assumed the Brentaalan was dead, laying on the ground in a frighteningly large pool of his own blood, both from his split open face and guts. They’d discovered that he was alive by accident, grabbing his wrist and feeling a faint pulse.
They’d immediately called in an airlift to the nearest hospital. Five, seven, fifteen bacta pads were applied to the wound around his guts, and the bleeding barely slowed. They pumped his body full of drugs to slow his pulse and clot his blood, and it barely slowed him down. Finally, they brought a hot iron to the wound, literally roasting half his lower abdomen.
He was placed in a bacta tank for two days before stabilizing. After that, the surgeons began working on him. The man had lost upwards of 40% of his large intestine initially, and despite their best efforts, sepsis destroyed most of what was left. His small intestine fared no better, and most of the muscle along his right lower back, thigh and buttocks were destroyed as well. His right kidney had been completely destroyed, and while his liver hadn’t suffered much physical damage, the doctors decided to amputate it regardless, saying “In our combined experiences, the worst case of alcohol consumption related liver damage we have ever seen.”
The operations took weeks. Each organ had to be temporarily substituted with external machinery until adequate cybernetics were transplanted. By the end of it half of Laeonas’ abdomen was gone, only trace amounts of ligament, bone and muscle connecting his right leg to the rest of his body.
In that time, nothing was done about his face. Under ordinary circumstances they would’ve called in a reconstructive surgeon, but the widespread chaos resulting from the power outages had left the hospital overcrowded and understaffed. They had kept him bandaged up, and had kept him alive. But there could be no long term recovery where he was.
The Jedi who’d found him was asked about his personal information– what little he knew. Laeonas was subsequently starlifted home, with Knight Quin acting as his chaperone. He’d been received in a hospital in Cormond’s capitol district. The response of the assembly to the crisis had been uncharacteristically charitable and open handed, with the High Ambassador Tannaras and Governor Lassiter pushing through a bill to help provide medical aid to those worlds negatively impacted by the Killiks and those fighting them.
That Laeonas was a Brentaalan citizen guaranteed him quality care once he was returned home. Quin wouldn’t be able to see him for a number of days as the doctors got to work restabilizing his former comrade, but eventually he’d be greeted by a younger looking human nurse. “Um… Mr Leonskri?” He asked, not sure how to address the Jedi. “The patient has stabilized. The doctor on staff would like to ask you a few questions.”
@Sicadorito @LouJoVi
