>Whisper to Sergeant (Well. If you don't want the truth. Who cares? We are mages or some shit then.)
The sergeant growls, and turns towards his men.
Sergeant: "Damn it, stop whatever shit you're doing, and find this godsdamn ass-fucker!"
The soldiers, slightly confused, continue their search.>Whisper to Sergeant (Well sorry, but unless you were a goddamn South African in 2011 A.D. you won't understand any of the crap we do.)
Sergeant: "What the hell is that even supposed to mean?"
>Whisper to surgeon (Errr This seems... Crude. What are his chances to live and will he still have all his mobility afterwords?)
Surgeon: "Crude? Bah, this is the most sophisticated tools and equipment in the world! As for your friend... I'll have to amputate his leg. And he'll probably no longer have the use of his left hand."
The surgeon muses for a bit.
Surgeon: "If he's lucky... He'll probably have a 50% chance of survival. That's assuming that he doesn't have thin blood."
>Whisper to Surgeon (Err, do you want anesthetics or Laudanum in case he wakes up? Or better medical tools? And maybe another trained medical assistant?)
The surgeon shakes his head.
Surgeon: "I do have the Tonic of Abedalatif. It should keep him asleep until the operation is complete. And I need no medical assistant. I'm quite competent by myself, you know."