7th of Saun, Arc 716
It was a wet, muddy, rainy day. The rain had calmed down a bit from the prior days of torrential misery, but still the man's cloak felt damp from the days before. Alistair was a busy man - he was a surgeon here in the city as well as back at home, and a professor of contemporary surgery and anatomy. Top that off with aspiring fabled Necromancer and future Duke of Venora, and you had someone who didn't rest much better than a mistreated slave. As a result, this process of clamping down on the earth with mounds of skypiss and the amounts of mud that came as a result didn't suit his interests. He preferred the dry, basic temperatures or even the cold ones. Venora tended to have weather he found far more suitable than the bloody capital, and he was sure that the soil back at home was richened rather than turned into piles of brown gunk like here.
Even so, he trekked through the city of Andaris in the district that encompassed his home. There were some who recognized him in the capital, mainly Venorans who had come to work here or former patients of his. Many of the working men and women had come out today to continue their duties, as the rain had begun to die down more notably. Alistair too was out to accomplish some tasks for Saun, especially as his mobility would be quite limited due to the oncoming war. So - here was his goal for the morning; find some patients to gather some coinage for the coming of the next cycle, research the limitations of his minions and their physical capabilities, then find a nice scenic restaurant to lay patronage to as he would read the Lamentations of the Physical Form by Ser Robert Buxley of Burhan.
There was no better time for a doctor to find patients than amidst a war. Men who were dying, men who were afraid of dying, and men who merely wanted to ensure that their bladder would tolerate the stress of a siege. The only question was where to gather this list of patrons. Unlike in Sabaissant, he would not merely have a fellow or lady drop off at his feet by carriage, nor would he receive a fancy letter smelling of lilacs. The people of Andaris were far more practical. Alistair looked for any individual who didn't seem quite busy, and then spotted a young man who seemed to be staring at him from a short distance away. "Ser Alistair," the man called to him. The Venoran drew closer and asked, "Yes?" as he stared him up and down. Likely of a lower economic class, perhaps ex-slave based on the rancid scent of his breath. He could gather that from the breathing alone.
"I know ye, milord. Ye be a surgeon, eh? I'd like ti ask ya a favor." The man could already begin to feel the doom. He only wished he could charge these street urchins for wasting his time. "Me back's get a crick in it, like this sah," he said and began to crack his back. It was an uncomfortable sort of 'crunch' sound, one that Alistair had encountered before. "Could ye help me?" He asked. The man narrowed his eyes, and looked at him. "Perhaps. Could you do me a favor?" The boy nodded his head. "I'm looking for a place to find . . . contracts of sorts, or requests for some. I'm looking for more patients to operate on in response to the coming war - sure to be lots of military men that want to top off their health. You catch my drift?" The urchin smiled and nodded his head.
"Aye, a wonderful idea, milord! You richly types 'ave always been good at the whole money-makin' thing!" He paused for a moment, then quickly responded to the question. "Well, there be a notice board by a tavern over yonder, few streets forward or whatever. I could show ya to it if you'd like," he offered. Alistair rubbed his chin. "Sure," he said. He knew the young man was just trying to butter him up to get a discounted or free surgery, but he would follow along anyhow. He didn't wish to waste time searching for the board if he could be led directly to it by one of the native peasants.
And so they went, and within a few short minutes they were there, in front of a large board with a variety of sections and requests to be filled within all of them. The poor individual looked to the nobleman, and nodded. "So, ye be willin' to help me out in exchange?" He asked. Indeed, he wanted it free. How cute of him, Alistair thought. "No. Begone, peasant." He waved his hand and ordered the man away, to which he replied with a shocked look and a face that screamed swelling anger. But he said nothing, and left. After all, Alistair was a lord. His word was to be followed.
The Venora read up on the contracts, propositions, requests for patronage, advertisements and notices. A lot of these sections were very interesting. The list of those who wished for a doctor's assistance was indeed large, especially as this was a big city, certainly surpassing Sabaissant in people and industry. A lot of these requests were really irritating to read, though. Certainly the literacy here wasn't quite how it was in Sabaissant.
Lukin for aed
Doctur riqested. Pls send help. Me mum is droawnin in her own piss
Lindsay Foxtrout. find me at da bookers house in lorton. i giv yu 12sn for yur aed
He quite actually laughed at that one, which was probably something that only happened in Alistair's life once per season. He'd have to use that from now on, spelling and all. Me mum is droawnin in her own piss! he'd write. As for the contract itself, he'd turn it down. Twelve silver nels was just not enough - some of his surgeries were a whole of a hundred gold nels, even more for the most extreme of them. It was a waste of time to perform what had to be a kidney related surgery for so little.
LORD DOCTOR
I AM REQUESTING ASSISTANCE AT THE BEHEST OF LADY KYLE BRADLEY OF FOLTEST.
SHE WISHES ONE TO UNCOVER THE SOURCE OF HER UNGODLY YEARNING FOR THE FLESH OF MEN. SUSPECTED NECROMANTIC CURSE AT HAND. WILL PAY REGARDLESS FOR YOUR TIME.
- MALCOM TARLEY, 1138 SELVORA LANE
"Oh god, I can't!" He laughed again. Perhaps this wasn't merely a seasonal thing. Her ungodly yearning for the flesh of men? If he had a quill, he'd write: perhaps she's just loose. - Doctor Venora; he'd even slap on the bloody family seal. And as a Necromancer, the assertion that they had curses to make one consistently aroused was just odd. Probably? Maybe? God, he didn't even know. He'd have to ask Damien that one. He gave up on the silly patient requests for now, deciding he needed to calm his laughter before he continued. He looked at other sections of the large board, and his eye glanced upon something that intrigued him.
Mercenary/Personal Bodyguard for Hire. Willing to discuss terms of agreement upon meeting.
I'll be in the tavern this board neighbors. - Duncan Oisin, Mercenary
Mercenary, he repeated in his head. He actually quite needed one to properly operate his business considering the whole laborious process of dealing with the incoming war, siege and dismantling of the current monarchy. Not to mention he'd always liked the name Duncan. Arbitrary characteristics didn't often sell a man for Alistair, but he was bored and the man was close-by. He figured he could give it a shot, so to speak. The man walked to the front of the tavern, all prim and proper with his noble attire and a doctor's kit in his left hand. A few of the men immediately gave him an interesting look, and he merely smiled in return. The pin on his suit was that of the symbol of Venora, but gold, meaning he was evidently one of exceptionally high birth. People immediately looked away, while some bowed their heads for the formality. Alistair waved back.
He looked for this mercenary with his eyes, scouting out the room. Many of the men looked strong and hardy, here, so that only narrowed it down quite a tiny amount. Some of them had professional equipment for the sake of, well, soldiering. That narrowed it down to three. A dark skinned man with brown, curly hair, sort of similar in appearance to his undead minion Alaric. An exceptionally pale man with black hair and green eyes. Then, a man with dirty blond hair and a more rugged look to him, of moderate but light skin. He didn't know who to ask first, so he merely said quite notably, "Do we have a Duncan here? Lord Venora requests him for a conversation."
It was a wet, muddy, rainy day. The rain had calmed down a bit from the prior days of torrential misery, but still the man's cloak felt damp from the days before. Alistair was a busy man - he was a surgeon here in the city as well as back at home, and a professor of contemporary surgery and anatomy. Top that off with aspiring fabled Necromancer and future Duke of Venora, and you had someone who didn't rest much better than a mistreated slave. As a result, this process of clamping down on the earth with mounds of skypiss and the amounts of mud that came as a result didn't suit his interests. He preferred the dry, basic temperatures or even the cold ones. Venora tended to have weather he found far more suitable than the bloody capital, and he was sure that the soil back at home was richened rather than turned into piles of brown gunk like here.
Even so, he trekked through the city of Andaris in the district that encompassed his home. There were some who recognized him in the capital, mainly Venorans who had come to work here or former patients of his. Many of the working men and women had come out today to continue their duties, as the rain had begun to die down more notably. Alistair too was out to accomplish some tasks for Saun, especially as his mobility would be quite limited due to the oncoming war. So - here was his goal for the morning; find some patients to gather some coinage for the coming of the next cycle, research the limitations of his minions and their physical capabilities, then find a nice scenic restaurant to lay patronage to as he would read the Lamentations of the Physical Form by Ser Robert Buxley of Burhan.
There was no better time for a doctor to find patients than amidst a war. Men who were dying, men who were afraid of dying, and men who merely wanted to ensure that their bladder would tolerate the stress of a siege. The only question was where to gather this list of patrons. Unlike in Sabaissant, he would not merely have a fellow or lady drop off at his feet by carriage, nor would he receive a fancy letter smelling of lilacs. The people of Andaris were far more practical. Alistair looked for any individual who didn't seem quite busy, and then spotted a young man who seemed to be staring at him from a short distance away. "Ser Alistair," the man called to him. The Venoran drew closer and asked, "Yes?" as he stared him up and down. Likely of a lower economic class, perhaps ex-slave based on the rancid scent of his breath. He could gather that from the breathing alone.
"I know ye, milord. Ye be a surgeon, eh? I'd like ti ask ya a favor." The man could already begin to feel the doom. He only wished he could charge these street urchins for wasting his time. "Me back's get a crick in it, like this sah," he said and began to crack his back. It was an uncomfortable sort of 'crunch' sound, one that Alistair had encountered before. "Could ye help me?" He asked. The man narrowed his eyes, and looked at him. "Perhaps. Could you do me a favor?" The boy nodded his head. "I'm looking for a place to find . . . contracts of sorts, or requests for some. I'm looking for more patients to operate on in response to the coming war - sure to be lots of military men that want to top off their health. You catch my drift?" The urchin smiled and nodded his head.
"Aye, a wonderful idea, milord! You richly types 'ave always been good at the whole money-makin' thing!" He paused for a moment, then quickly responded to the question. "Well, there be a notice board by a tavern over yonder, few streets forward or whatever. I could show ya to it if you'd like," he offered. Alistair rubbed his chin. "Sure," he said. He knew the young man was just trying to butter him up to get a discounted or free surgery, but he would follow along anyhow. He didn't wish to waste time searching for the board if he could be led directly to it by one of the native peasants.
And so they went, and within a few short minutes they were there, in front of a large board with a variety of sections and requests to be filled within all of them. The poor individual looked to the nobleman, and nodded. "So, ye be willin' to help me out in exchange?" He asked. Indeed, he wanted it free. How cute of him, Alistair thought. "No. Begone, peasant." He waved his hand and ordered the man away, to which he replied with a shocked look and a face that screamed swelling anger. But he said nothing, and left. After all, Alistair was a lord. His word was to be followed.
The Venora read up on the contracts, propositions, requests for patronage, advertisements and notices. A lot of these sections were very interesting. The list of those who wished for a doctor's assistance was indeed large, especially as this was a big city, certainly surpassing Sabaissant in people and industry. A lot of these requests were really irritating to read, though. Certainly the literacy here wasn't quite how it was in Sabaissant.
Lukin for aed
Doctur riqested. Pls send help. Me mum is droawnin in her own piss
Lindsay Foxtrout. find me at da bookers house in lorton. i giv yu 12sn for yur aed
He quite actually laughed at that one, which was probably something that only happened in Alistair's life once per season. He'd have to use that from now on, spelling and all. Me mum is droawnin in her own piss! he'd write. As for the contract itself, he'd turn it down. Twelve silver nels was just not enough - some of his surgeries were a whole of a hundred gold nels, even more for the most extreme of them. It was a waste of time to perform what had to be a kidney related surgery for so little.
LORD DOCTOR
I AM REQUESTING ASSISTANCE AT THE BEHEST OF LADY KYLE BRADLEY OF FOLTEST.
SHE WISHES ONE TO UNCOVER THE SOURCE OF HER UNGODLY YEARNING FOR THE FLESH OF MEN. SUSPECTED NECROMANTIC CURSE AT HAND. WILL PAY REGARDLESS FOR YOUR TIME.
- MALCOM TARLEY, 1138 SELVORA LANE
"Oh god, I can't!" He laughed again. Perhaps this wasn't merely a seasonal thing. Her ungodly yearning for the flesh of men? If he had a quill, he'd write: perhaps she's just loose. - Doctor Venora; he'd even slap on the bloody family seal. And as a Necromancer, the assertion that they had curses to make one consistently aroused was just odd. Probably? Maybe? God, he didn't even know. He'd have to ask Damien that one. He gave up on the silly patient requests for now, deciding he needed to calm his laughter before he continued. He looked at other sections of the large board, and his eye glanced upon something that intrigued him.
Mercenary/Personal Bodyguard for Hire. Willing to discuss terms of agreement upon meeting.
I'll be in the tavern this board neighbors. - Duncan Oisin, Mercenary
Mercenary, he repeated in his head. He actually quite needed one to properly operate his business considering the whole laborious process of dealing with the incoming war, siege and dismantling of the current monarchy. Not to mention he'd always liked the name Duncan. Arbitrary characteristics didn't often sell a man for Alistair, but he was bored and the man was close-by. He figured he could give it a shot, so to speak. The man walked to the front of the tavern, all prim and proper with his noble attire and a doctor's kit in his left hand. A few of the men immediately gave him an interesting look, and he merely smiled in return. The pin on his suit was that of the symbol of Venora, but gold, meaning he was evidently one of exceptionally high birth. People immediately looked away, while some bowed their heads for the formality. Alistair waved back.
He looked for this mercenary with his eyes, scouting out the room. Many of the men looked strong and hardy, here, so that only narrowed it down quite a tiny amount. Some of them had professional equipment for the sake of, well, soldiering. That narrowed it down to three. A dark skinned man with brown, curly hair, sort of similar in appearance to his undead minion Alaric. An exceptionally pale man with black hair and green eyes. Then, a man with dirty blond hair and a more rugged look to him, of moderate but light skin. He didn't know who to ask first, so he merely said quite notably, "Do we have a Duncan here? Lord Venora requests him for a conversation."