In the end, the doctor had won out. Widgets, as she called him, didn't like it. Not at all in fact - but he knew there was no alternative. And his body, after the nearly fatal injuries it had suffered outside the city-walls, supported that point of view with aching at the slightest movement. At first, he had tried to force himself into healing faster by doing small exercises when the hospital-staff weren't looking. And at first, it had worked. He'd felt stronger, more energized. But then, after a week, he had found himself almost loosing consciousness after a set of push-ups. The pain had been so bad that he thought the sutures across his torso had reopened.
Luckily, it had not been that. But the message the pain carried was clear: Take it slow, you're doing more harm than good. And so the traveler had resigned himself to his fate: Following the nurses instructions, taking the medication he was told to take, keeping to the waking and sleeping hours, never staying on his feet longer than the number of minutes he was allowed. In short, he became the perfect patient. And as his cooperation improved, so did his body - while the watching eye of Riaril was less and less on him and focused more on the other patients.
Until finally, the good doctor had decided he was allowed to leave the hospital-grounds without a baby-sitter and with all his belongings returned. That also included his armor. After a month of wearing nothing but bandages over his natural armor, while covering himself up with varying hospital-gowns, the moment the nurse came in to take him to a dressing-room felt like it was time to open the presents on naming-day. The excitement hadn't lasted long though...after all, you didn't get much on naming-day if you did not have a name.
It was a sobering thought and it returned his focus on the task before him. He'd had a lot of time to think, rest and plan after all. Which turned out to be an advantage. There was a lot to do. He had to find the Matoran that had found him in the drifts...and that was just the easiest part. The traveler laid out his gear in front of himself in careful manner, inspecting his sword, the two daggers and the shiv carefully, before slipping on the hooded tunic he wore underneath his platemail. And as he started to strap on his refurbished armor, feeling slightly stiff and noticing the armor's weight for the first time in years, he thought about the first step of his new journey.
That first step had turned out to be Riaril's verbal kick out the door, with the addition of a bill for all the medical services he'd been subjected to the past weeks. No wonder she had called him Widgets. For the amount he owed, the doctor could probably take an extra-holiday with all-inclusive service. He pocketed the bill an put the issue of paying it out of his mind for now. He'd have to get the money together eventually. But that wasn't going to happen until he got back to work.
Back to work. Yeah. It's about time.
The Toa looked out over the courtyard of the hospital, standing on the steps outside the main-entrance and gazed out over the snowy drifts beyond, until his eyes spotted the buildings of Ko-Koro. Keeping his eyes on the village, his right hand reached behind his back as he took an offensive stance, left hand forward, legs apart and ready to attack. He slowly pulled out his sword, feeling the weight of the weapon, enjoying the familiar feeling of the grip against his palm. The next second he sprang into action. Like a leaf caught in a storm he executed a rapid succession of slashes, stabs and strikes, each fluently leading into the next - all while descending the stairs, before coming to a stop at their bottom in a perfect copy of his first post. He held the tension, concentrating on how his body handles the moves again after such a long time of inactivity. Then, he relaxed, sheathed the sword, and started to walk, leaving the hospital-grounds and making his way towards Ko-Koro itself.
First stop: The sanctum guard.