Triage

Seven body parts, each with its own health, instead of one health bar. A hit lands somewhere. What it does depends on where — and on what you do next.

Minecraft tells you that you have twenty hearts and nothing else. It cannot tell you that your leg is broken, that the bone in it has moved, that your arm has stopped working, or that the cut you ignored an hour ago is why you are shivering now.

This mod can.

The body

The five parts that are not vital black out instead of killing you. They sit at zero, refuse ordinary healing, and quietly drag your chest down every second until you deal with them.

Armour, resistance and enchantments all keep working exactly as they did — the mod only changes where the damage goes afterwards. A blow that lands where you are wearing nothing hurts about a third more, and nothing covers your arms, which is why arms are the limbs that go first.

Press H — J if Sable: Ragdolls is installed, which wants H for itself — or click the red cross beside your inventory. Hovering a limb says what is wrong with it, one line and one icon per thing.

Bleeding has three grades, and the third is not a faster second

An artery is a different injury rather than a worse one. It goes with the heart, it is a brighter red because that blood has not been anywhere yet, and it does not clot, ever — a dressing over one soaks through and keeps soaking. A bleed in a thigh blacks the leg out in six seconds and puts you on the floor inside thirty.

You can tell one across a clearing without opening anything: it pulses on the body, it throws particles sideways in time with the heart instead of dripping down, and it has its own colour and its own icon on the chart.

There are exactly two answers and you already carry both — a hand pushed hard into it, or a strap above it. While the hand is there, nothing comes out at all.

Bones: broken, moved, or outside

Three rungs, three different jobs.

Broken, in line. Two pieces where they were. A splint is the whole answer.

Out of line. The ends have moved, so the limb is the wrong shape — and that is visible on the body from across a room. A splint here holds the bone precisely where it should not be, and a week later that is permanent. Something has to pull it straight first.

Bone through the skin. Also a wound: it bleeds, it will not close while there is bone in the way, and it is three times the road to infection. No splint goes on it and nothing is set. A surgeon cleans it out and closes it, and what is left is an ordinary displaced fracture.

Setting one

Bare hands, three moves: pull along the bone until the ends can pass each other, line it up while the pull is holding, then let it down slowly — the ends seat as the pull comes off, and a hand taken away all at once drops them together however they were lying.

It is the most painful thing in the mod and the only treatment the room can hear. The noise brings whatever is out there. A patient under the mask makes none.

And if you leave it

A bone left out of line knits out of line. That part is worth less for good — the only permanent loss of health in the mod — it walks slower, and it aches on the weather louder than a straight bone ever did. One way out: a surgeon breaks it again, on purpose, so that this time somebody can set it straight.

What else can be wrong with you

The chain

open wound  →  infection  →  fever  →  blood poisoning

Blood poisoning does not pass on its own, and it takes your chest apart while you decide what to do about it. You can put treatment off. You cannot cancel it.

A burn has a depth

Red skin closes by itself. Blistered is the loudest thing on a burnt body and wants salve. Through the skin does not hurt at all — the nerves that would have done the hurting are part of what burnt — and it wants a knife. So the patch somebody is screaming about is the survivable one, and the quiet one beside it is not. You find that one by pressing on them and watching for the place that does not answer.

A burn is not over when the fire is out: it goes on deciding how deep it is for half a minute more, and water is the only thing that changes that.

Medicine you have to actually perform

Twenty-odd items, and none of them work by simply clicking. Using one opens a screen where you pick the part yourself — and then do the work. The screen does not pause the game. All craftable, and all for sale from a village medic.

Go back the way you came and the bandage comes off again. Three slips end the attempt. So does being set upon while you work.

Nothing is ever lost but time.

Empty hands are not nothing

Nine things anybody can do with nothing in their pockets: hold pressure on a wound, open an airway, push a heart round, roll somebody into the recovery position, pull an arrow out, take a dressing or a strap off, set a displaced bone, work a stiff joint loose, and take a pulse.

None of them repairs anything. What they change is who can help: the answer used to be "whoever packed a surgical kit this morning", and now it is "whoever is here".

Readings, and why they disagree

• A pulse is a fact about a body — two fingers, no item — and a fast thin one on somebody with nothing open is how you find the bleeding you cannot see.
• Breathing is counted the same way.
• A temperature is a figure from an instrument, and it costs the instrument.
• Where does it hurt comes out of the patient's mouth, so it stops working the moment they stop being able to talk — and painkillers make them under-report.
• Out of ten is an opinion, and it is wrong in more ways than anything else here.

A two out of ten on a heart running at a hundred and thirty is not a comfortable patient. It is one somebody has already given something to.

Somebody in your group is O−

Everybody has a blood type, rolled again every time they respawn. Blood may only go into somebody who already carries every antigen it does — the real ABO and Rh rules, which nobody had to invent to make interesting.

Draw blood into an empty bag and the donor pays for it out of their own volume. Give a matching bag and it puts back far more than saline can. Give the wrong bag and the body attacks it, and no course of anything shortens that.

A stockpile of matched blood stops matching the moment its owner dies.

And somebody is allergic to bread

Ten allergies are rolled at spawn and seven of them are food — fish, wheat, egg, milk, honey, mushrooms, berries — with the other three in your own bag: antibiotics, morphine, anaesthetic.

A drug allergy is somebody else's problem to remember about you. A food allergy is yours, every time you open your own inventory, and nothing warns you: you eat it, you gain the hunger, and then your throat starts closing. The answer to both is the same needle.

What a body keeps

Every injury used to heal back into the same body it started as. Somebody who had survived four amputations, a septic belly and a skull fracture was, once mended, indistinguishable from somebody who had never been touched.

Parts remember now:

• A knitted bone is not weaker — but it is where the next fall lands, and it knows the weather. Old breaks ache before rain, and ache indoors, because what they answer to is the pressure rather than the wet.
• A scar is not skin. There is less blood going through it, which is exactly why the next infection settles where the last one did.
• A deep burn tightens as it closes, and a limb sewn back on never straightens the way it did.

The history is permanent and only dying clears it. The stiffness is not: somebody takes the joint out to the edge of what it will do and holds it there, one session a day, over days. Short of the edge nothing loosens; past it something tears. The edge is not drawn anywhere, because the only thing that knows where it is, is the person whose arm it is — so the whole instrument is their face.

What it looks like from inside

Volume going closes the edges of the screen in and takes the colour out of what is left, and the whole picture dims and comes back on your own pulse — a screen that has started beating quickly is a reading nobody had to take. A head that has been hit will not hold the horizon still. Fever washes the room warm; cold goes pale and shivers.

And if the body decides it cannot keep your head supplied while standing up, it stops standing up: you faint, the screen goes black, and seven seconds later you are fine. Nothing is damaged and nothing needs treating. What it costs is the seven seconds and wherever you happened to be — on a ledge, in water, or in front of something that was already swinging at you.

All of it has a strength slider and an off switch, and the camera movement can be turned off separately from the picture.

Going down, and being got up

Empty a head or a chest and you do not die — you go on the floor with a clock. Mobs lose interest. Anybody can hold your airway open, push your heart round, roll you onto your side, pack the wound that is emptying you, or pick you up and carry you somewhere quieter.

Carrying is slow, it gets slower the longer you carry, and you cannot fight while you do it. If nobody comes, the clock runs out.

Sorting the wounded, which is what the word means

Right-click a player with an empty hand and you get their chart. Nothing is spent and nothing is healed: you looked.

Then write on them. A triage tag pins a colour to their chest that everybody can read from a distance — walking, needs help, now, gone — with your name on it and how long ago you wrote it. Stale marks fade. It is the only thing about somebody else's body that travels without a walk over and a look.

Limbs that are missing, dressings, straps, splints, burns, deformities and blood travel the same way: they are the shape of somebody, and the shape of somebody is not private.

The guide, and a manikin

Seventy-one pages in thirteen sections, one heading open at a time: bleeding, bones, open wounds, burns and cold, chest and belly, illness, losing a limb, on the floor, readings, the bag, the head, you and the room, and what it leaves.

Thirty-eight of those pages have a line at the bottom that says "Try it, over nobody." It opens the real procedure with nothing on the other end of it — no patient, no item spent, no outcome — because every procedure in this mod is otherwise learnt over somebody who is dying. Nothing is unlocked by it and nothing is refused without it.

Villages have a medic

Villages generate a clinic, built out of whatever that village is built out of, with a medical table inside. The villager who takes that job sells bandages and splints cheaply, antibiotics and salve at expert, and — last of all — saline, blood bags and surgical kits. Put a medical table down yourself and any unemployed villager will take the job.

Take as much of it as you want

Everything above is a switch in the server config, so it travels with the world: part health, where hits land, bleeding rates, blood loss, bones and how far they move, infection, burns, illness, and every penalty.

Whole subsystems switch off on their own — the minigames, the downed state, carrying, tags, ragdolls, airways, cardiac arrest, aimed hits, infection, illness, burns, limbs, the permanent marks, displacement — so a pack can take the parts it wants and leave the rest. Point the treatments at another mod's items with an item id or a tag and they work.

The client settings are separate and belong to whoever is looking: which paper the chart is printed on, how strongly the symptoms are drawn, and whether the camera moves at all.

Requirements

Minecraft 1.21.1 / NeoForge and 1.20.1 / Forge · MIT licensed · English and Russian

Optional: Sable: Ragdolls (1.21.1), for bodies that fall where they fall.