The Good Samaritan

[Faure]

Even for those who had been enthralled by the process of transfusing blood into the human body, the dry lecture had lasted for hours and passed by uneventfully. It bored Silas Cain to tears and more than once Gerard had dozed off, unable to fight off the urge to fall asleep forever. By the time it ended, Gerard had forgotten much of what had been said by Demetri as the monotone lecturer had drolled on and on and on. Silas had woken him as the rest of the audience got up from their seats and were shuffling noisily towards the exits.

"Hah, I see you were dreaming of new ways to make good use of this farce," Silas chided as Gerard got to his feet. The pair began to move sideways along the row and towards the aisle where a line of bored, yawning scholars stood waiting.

"Of course I am, Silas, I loved it." Gerard replied, rolling his eyes.

"You know, I could swear I've seen that black, skinny Falliari he had dressed up in that gown." Silas observed before smacking his forehead, "Right! She's one of the beggars who panhandles near the livery at the West End!"

The woman had been middle-aged, incredibly malnourished and looked unaccustomed to being washed from what Gerard remembered of her. She looked wide-eyed and frightened upon the stage as Demetri sat her down, spoke soothing words in Falliari and proceeded to bleed her in front of everyone. "I wonder how much he paid her, and that other fellow."

"The butcher?"

"Yeah, that's him. How'd you know?" Gerard asked as they moved along the aisle.

"Big arms. Had a look about him too like he was used to the sight of blood. Did you see him when Demetri was putting that needle in his arm? The big lout stared right at it like it was nothing." said Silas.

"Strange."

"Well, anyhow, there's a reception upstairs and there should be some food. We should go."

"Right, and how long do you plan to stay this time?" Gerard asked, eyeing his friend. There was something to be said about the diminutive man and his taste for wine, but he also was a womanizer, and a poor one at that.

"Pah! I know what you are referring to and that was only one time, I had her on the hook! Besides, it was only two hours!"

"Two hours?" Gerard repeated before laughing, "And do you remember who she was?"

"Married." Silas said with a snort.

"And how'd you find that out again?"

"When her husband, that banker, walked over from his friends and jammed his finger in my chest looking to pick a fight." Silas confessed, nursing the invisible injury. He shuddered at the memory. "He spilled my drink too."

"Yes. All over her!" Gerard said before erupting in a fit of laughter that caused those nearby to begin giving him looks.

After a long moment Silas sighed, "You're right, perhaps we shouldn't stay."

"Oh we're going now," Gerard said as the two got to the top of the aisle and moved towards the doors, "You having another opportunity to make a fool of yourself, my friend? I wouldn't miss that for the world."

"Big of you." Silas replied wryly as Gerard clapped his hand on the inventor's back and the two strolled back into the main hall.

[Faure]

The reception was a somber affair, which was in line with what most of these lectures amounted to whenever Gerard and his colleagues got together. However, it had been rather pleasant. There had been a mulled wine that had gone around the room that had become a favorite of the doctor's. He had drank much, nibbled on cheese and plucked grapes from the stem on his plate while he exchanged jokes with a group of academics. The reception had been held on the second floor of the library where the food, drink and programs had been beautifully laid on tables that made up the room. The room itself that the reception was held in overlooked the empty space that made up the center of the Libraria at every level. Now and again, Gerard would walk around to stretch his legs among the throngs of those who had stayed for the reception. There was a Falliari physician, Dr. Peri Tumalu that Gerard remembered conferring with when he had traveled around Fallien years ago along with a monastic mission seeking to vaccinate natives against the growing epidemic of polio. It was a disease that had nested itself in many parts of Althanas and was highly contagious. It had gotten so bad on the island, that a particularly virulent strain of the disease had been infecting the entire youth of villages up and down the southern coast, destroying whatever hope they had for the future of a next generation. The two exchanged words and pleasantries, but nothing much came of it.

The doctor ran into a Coronian dentist he had consulted with before a scandal arose that caused him to lose his licensure. If Gerard remembered correctly, the short, fat tooth puller had been accused by a young, comely woman that he had fondled her while she had been incapacitated in her chair. It had been scandalous, but when three other women came out and shared similar stories, there was little Dr. Gendlow could do to quiet the public outrage and demand for a trial. He was now an expatriate and dwelling in Fallien for a prolonged stay while Coronian magistrates figured out a way to extradite him. He and Gerard shared a joke about a parrot and some wine, but the doctor didn't much like the dentist's company.

As many academics and practicing physicians as there were gathered here, Gerard could not deny the sheer number of benefactors who had attended the lecture. Foreign businessmen and men of riches who sought to court Dr. Demetri Fibonacci in an effort to get him to accept bids for his patent on the transfusion process. Many had tried by offering him gifts, trinkets, and grand promises of the untold riches they could make if they went into business together. But all the same, Demetri turned them all away. He was a physician like Gerard, but he no longer practiced and spent much of his now pursuing applied medical research that could one day be of use for people like Gerard. But the one thing the physicians shared was moral fiber, and Gerard knew from conversations past that the old, bent-back researcher absolutely detested the enterprise many of these businessmen and rich moguls were attempting to turn the medical practice into. In fact, whenever Gerard watched another businessman attempt in vain to gain Demetri's favor, he remembered something the researcher had once shared with him;

"Much like priests who provide hope to the sick and impoverished and comfort the dying under the pretext they've been sent by their Gods to do so, we physicians are here to actually heal the sick and prevent those on the brink of death from having an early meeting with their creator. Medicine should be free to all, no matter what these tyrants in their counting houses say otherwise!"

Noble words and a feeling shared by much of the medical community, but it was a fight they were eventually going to lose. Physicians needed money to practice and make their care as widely available as possible, and researchers like Demetri needed funding to keep moving forward with new innovations and discoveries. The relationship between the two worlds of business and medicine would eventually find them inextricably locked into an enterprise that was morally bankrupt, but Gerard was convinced it would not be in his lifetime.

However, as Demetri had shared much of the limelight this evening, there was one individual who had a growing crowd surrounding him this evening. He was a rich, young Urodan noble who had shown considerable interest in transfusion, and many wondered if he was looking to make a bid like many of the others had tried and failed this evening. His name was Baron Petyr Zurich, a tall Salvarian who had been lavishly dressed for the affair. He had curled black hair that had been scented with oils, pale green eyes and an adrogenous, fox-like face. He was dressed in the apparel of Falliari nobility, rumored to be a quip to cause ire among the locals. Robes that had been made of magestic purple silk and he wore red pantaloons. He even wore black sandals that had been in the design of a sultan's that were usually made, by tradition, with silk powdered with salt to show their humility and that they were still men, not Gods, who governed their cities. He was pompous and abrasive to those he did not wish to speak to, but women flocked to him, begging for his favor. They found his soft, highborn accent to be particularly exotic, but after getting an earful from Urodans all day, Gerard did not find him particularly interesting or friendly.

At one point, the Baron had approached the doctor and smiled, "Why hello, Herr Doktor."

"Good evening, my lord." Gerard said with a bow of his head, "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, well I am curious. As I leave my war-torn country where men die and bleed over control of Uroda's corn and wheat, I see many able-bodied men like yourself who are able to fix my men-at-arms so that they might continue to quell the uprising of peasants. I ask myself why you might be here instead of on the next ship to Salvar to aid us and I look upon many of the faces here and found my answer." The young baron explained, his insult dripping in venom and courtesy.

"And what answer have you found to satisfy your curiosity, my lord?" Gerard said, his phrasing beginning to have a bit of bite to it.

"I think, and many my fellow barons might agree with me, that you surround yourself in this squalor and these primitives to act like you might be doing something. Splinting a broken limb, pulling a tooth like our good fellow, Herr Doktor Gendlow, over there, or perhaps looking for the cure for polio." Baron Zurich answered before he touched Gerard by the arm and mused, "But let us be honest.. you Coronian physicians have lost your stomach for war after you own little skirmish and you seek to find comfort in the loins of some black, feeble-minded wench from across the sea. Am I correct?"

Gerard grit his teeth and refrained himself from the outrage he felt at being accosted by this Baron. It was an uphill battle to quell his anger, and it was one he quickly lost. "I am sorry, my lord. I distinctly remember coming to this lecture to learn about transfusions to see if it would be of my own interest to add it to my practice. My travels here have been both academic and for pleasure after serving as the head of my own clinic within the hotbed of fighting in Corone. My colleagues and I treated any and all who sought our care. Soldiers from the empire who came in throngs after the battle, or the few Rangers who traveled in the cover of darkness and sought care for their wounded. You speak to me of seeing the horrors of war, baron, but I know young, upstart nobles like yourself obey to your masters at their every whim. The Vagarand, am I right? What of the order that had been put out along the western front for Barons to consent to killing their men-at-arms for desertion?"

It was the Baron's turn to conceal his anger as he sucked on his teeth and glared at the doctor, "They were cowards, one and all, Herr Doktor. We did what we had to do."

"I'm sure you did what was in your best interest and what would allow you to curry favor with your masters, Baron Zurich. Tell me, how did a man such as yourself gain such an impressive title again? For serving?"

At that moment as the baron traced the rim of his glass and scowled at him darkly, he nodded towards right where Gerard's eyes followed and met Silas' weak attempts to coo a Falliari servant girl. "Perhaps you should go rescue your friend before he makes a grave mistake and chooses to breed with that animal. You liberal, amoral pigs who dwell within the free cities of Corone are all alike in that you forget yourselves and your place. In my country, we would. . ."

"We are not in your country." A hard voice interrupted, belonging to Dr. Demetri Fibonacci as he walked his way through a parting a crowd and stared the baron down. "We speak freely here and do not cow ourselves to the threats of having our tongues pulled out by savages employed by incompetent nobles drunk on greed and power. This island may be neutral ground, but the laws of hospitality are chiefly observed here. You have insulted one of my guests and our country under the guise of seeking my favor and I bid you to leave before I call for the authorities. Now."

Everyone in the reception remained silent as the baron looked upon the old, wizened researcher with stunned surprise and contempt. With a bow the young noble walked away, "As it pleases my Coronian lords, I will seek more pleasant company elsewhere. I bid you good night."

With that, the baron stormed off and a collection of his armed guard that had accompanied him that night followed him from the room and to the stairs where he retreated into the night.

[Faure]

"What a rude, impetuous man," Demetri observed, leaning upon his cane as he watched the Urodan lord depart. "You did right to call him out here, Gerard, but I fear the public humiliation he suffered will mean it is not the last time you or I see of this Baron Zurich," Turning to the growing crowd he smiled and raised a hand, "Please, forgive the interruption, the good Salvarian lord lost interest in sharing our company, as I am sure he had lost his manners on his way here tonight. Please continue to enjoy each other's company and the fine dining, I would not suffer to know tomorrow that one crumb of those delicious scones has been left untouched tonight!"

There was laughter and clapping that followed the researcher's announcement, and much merriment followed. The festivities continued with glee in the knowledge of the argument between the Coronians and the Urodan lord. Gerard was offered drinks and clapped on the back by many of his colleagues who sought to congratulate him. He laughed, he joked, he drank much until he could not do so politely any longer. He eventually recovered and walked with much grace around the reception that was beginning to disperse for the evening. It was late, and the party was over. Gerard was looking for Silas for a time, after keeping up with him during the reception for more than thirty minutes before music began to play. He last saw him on the edge of the crowd towards a bookshelf attempting to coo a delightful, albeit dubiously young, Coronian academic to share his cups with. By the looks of it when the doctor found the inventor next, he hadn't been making much progress.

Patting him on the shoulder as he came near, Silas nodded to Gerard as he spoke to the academic and said, "This is my friend, Dr. Gerard Faure. He was the one who stood up to that brash noble over earlier."

The young woman smiled and shook his hand, "Well done, doctor, my name is Emily. Congratulations and thanks for defending our country's honor."

Gerard smiled, drunk, and put his arm around Silas' shoulder. The room was beginning to spin. "You're welcome, miss. But perhaps you had should run along home. This is not a night a young woman should venture out alone in the darkness."

Glaring at the doctor, Silas smiled at the young woman, "Perhaps not. But maybe you would like to be escorted back to your dwelling. Emily is it? You mentioned you were staying in the high rise." Silas smiled dumbly, also drunk and said, "I own the top floor."

Emily laughed and shook her head, "You're perhaps twenty years my senior, Mister Cain. Perhaps you two would rather enjoy the company of each other?"

With that, the young academic turned and walked away, leaving the doctor and inventor alone.

"We.. w-well thanks a lot!" Silas said, beginning to slur his words.

"Any time." Gerard replied, "What do you say we get out of here, Silas? A nice warm bed sounds great right about now."

"Sometimes Gerard I'm beginning to think I could do better without your company." Silas said as they leaned on each other and departed from the reception.

"Perhaps, but whose going to be the one to nurse your psychic wounds when you're rejected again. That girl was barely old enough to drink, let alone let you crawl on top of her."

"Fuck you, Gerard." Silas said with a scowl. The doctor began to laugh and eventually the inventor cheered up and the two began to sing drunken songs as they helped each other down the stairs.

[Faure]

When Silas and Gerard had finished with the stairs, they both stumbled this way and that with vain attempts to hold onto each other and try not to fall off the world. But it became too much of a struggle to keep from tripping one another, so both the inventor and doctor gave each other a wide berth as they sought their way out of the Libraria. Gerard found it incredibly hard to stay upright as his feet weaved in and out beneath him, his body making confused, awkward attempts to remain balanced. As the hall around him continued to spin, Gerard ignored the maelstrom and glanced meaningfully at his companion to check his progress. Silas was having the same trouble staying upright, but rather than take unsure, awkward steps like the doctor which made him look like a newborn colt taking its first steps, the inventor had a different approach. Making fists and pumping them forward, Silas placed one hurried step in front of the other in a direction he was sure was the exit. He moved quickly and was in no danger of falling, but aside from how ridiculous he must have looked by everyone who saw them passing by, he was unable to right himself and soon the pair began to drift apart.

Gerard began to mouth something about the peril of getting lost while drunk in the library, but he was suddenly gripped by a fit of laughter of the thought of it. Eventually Silas moved out of view as they both pressed on in different directions and soon they were separated. Gerard wasn't sure of where he was going, but he pressed on. Those who had stuck around for a few words and were taking their time getting out of the Libraria had seen Gerard in all his glory as he crossed into the common area that led into the city night. Their faces were blobs, and the laughter that could be heard was garbled. The echo of it flooded Gerard's ears so that it was deafening, drowning out anything they might have been saying about him. The drunk physician gripped either ear and made his way across the common area and into another part of the Libraria, completely missing the exit. The doctor was unable to speak, his words slurring to the point that what came from his mouth amounted to nonsense. His thoughts began coherently or started in the middle somewhere, but eventually they tapered off into nothing as the doctor's brain was unable to bridge the connection. However drunk the doctor was, deep down he knew he must've drank too much, but it didn't seem right. He had eaten before hand, and that much wine hadn't quite had that much of an effect on him before.

. . ave. . I . . pois. . ? His mind voiced stupidly.

Eventually Gerard grew tired of moving as if he were on stilts and found a nearby wall to lean on as he staggered down the hall. His stomach quaked and now and again the doctor belched and found the smell of the same delicious cheese and wine to fill his nostrils again. It had been enticing when he was sober, but the thought of cheese and more wine to wash it down with made him retch. As he struggled to find a place to vomit quietly, Gerard tripped over a nearby plant and took a nasty spell, tumbling head over heels onto the ground. He stared up at the cruel red ceiling as it continued to spin and spin and spin. He struggled to turn over and get up, laughing all the while to himself, but something forced him back down. Thinking he was caught on something, the doctor struggled and chirped drunkenly until the gleam of polished steel came swimming into view. It was a long knife and the person holding it looked vaguely familiar, but his face was a blur and the only thing the doctor could focus on were the owner's queer, black sandals.

There was laughter when the sandals kicked him in the stomach and then somebody said something for awhile that Gerard couldn't understand. That same voice said something else and Gerard was promptly lifted onto his feet and turned around. His vision swam as he saw the faces of several men come into view, but their hazy forms doubled in his vision. Were their five? No, certainly there were ten. No! It had to be sixteen of them.

Whatever the case may be, he was turned to the man who was holding the steel and being dragged past him into another dark part of the Libraria. As Gerard found himself floating over the floor, the man beside him continued to say things he didn't understand until the doctor looked at the black sandals, the steel, and the queer colored robes. "A-aRK.. Ark.. Arrreeee Y-Yowwwwaaaa Wfffff... Wfffisssh... Wfisha-zahard?"

The men who carried him, each taking a quarter of him all began to laugh, as did the man in black sandals. It was a throaty, merry laugh and as he turned his long knife in his hands, he rapped the doctor loudly against the skull with the pommel of his blade. That made the doctor grow quiet as he watched a reflection of himself glide over the floor and into the darkened recesses of the Libraria.

[Faure]

As he was being carried through the dark, vacant recesses of the Libraria, Gerard faded in and out of consciousness. Whatever substance had its hold on him, and he was sure even in his drunken state that there had been foul play, had still not run its course. As he was being carried, the men about him were silent as they followed Baron Zurich obediently, continuing to provide the illusion that Gerard was floating in the darkness. He could not move his limbs and had not thought of struggling against his captors, instead he was left in thought. Thoughts bubbled into his head and dissolved into nothing. It caused him to mutter nonsensical phrases and carry on one-sided conversations that had no substance. But eventually, in the eternity it took to journey across the building, Gerard had begun to dream. In it, he moved about in darkness against his will. The world about him pulsed and churned as if looking to exorcise him like a splinter from a healing wound. He knew that he was submerged in something. Covered in it. It was wet, and warm and it smelled familiar. He could breathe in it. The comfort that it provided him was like that of a man who fell into slumber or a child who was being swaddled in his mother's arms. It felt right and good with the world. The world around him narrowed into that of a wide tunnel with arches and beyond there was a narrow gash in the darkness that led to a blinding light.

The world around him, all that Gerard ever knew, pushed him and pulled him forward. It did so stubbornly, and insisted inch by excruciating inch that Gerard did not belong there. He was an outsider. An invader. And despite the comforts and the feeling of home, he must leave. But, even as he breathed and tasted the intoxicating nectar that enveloped him, Gerard wanted to remain there forever. But still he was compelled forward and against his will. He eventually began to grow annoyed and frustrated like a man being woken amid a wonderful dream, or a couple interrupted in the middle of their pleasure. Something about being expelled from this paradise was wrong at its most primal level. But even if he tried, he was unable to resist. He was compelled forward and eventually when the blinding light threatened to take him. He screamed and what he believed to be air in his lungs passed his lips and emitted an arc of bubbly froth in the queer, pink liquid that consumed him. Eventually he crossed the brink beyond the fleshy arches of the tunnel and through the large gash and the light took him.

And then he woke up.

[Faure]

Baron Zurich held open the door as they carried Gerard through the threshold who began to squirm against their grasp. Zurich rapped him on the nose once more with the pommel of his dagger and told him to quiet. The doctor whimpered, but eventually obeyed. All of his kind were like that, the baron had concluded. Coronians. The Free People, they always boasted, were meant to do nothing more than serve their betters. Or so the Baron thought as he took in the cool, night air and bathed in the soft, glowering light of the torch that hanged in its sconce by the doorway. They were outside of the Libraria now and in the streets behind the building that served as a polite getaway for highborn and those who wished to avoid the thoroughfare of the aristocrat quarter during the daylight.

The Baron pranced down the stone steps onto the cobbled streets, beckoning his confederates after him. "They will be here any minute now with my litter," the noble boasted with confidence, "And we will take this. . creature back with us to my apartment where I might enjoy his displeasure even further."

Petyr Zurich was exuberant and his thoughts turned to relishing his victory over the doctor who had publicly insulted him. The doctor's friend was of no consequence, and he was sure that waking up on the morrow drunk alone and in the middle of a library would be fitting enough. But for the doctor here who he had learned to be Gerard Faure, he would make certain that he took what he could from his flesh what he could when he was in torment. And as if sensing their master's growing manic behaviour, they began to converse with one another and eventually lowered their guard. There were eight of them who walked in close quarters, and at least three of them had to be within arm's reach of the Salvarian noble at any one time. They dressed in black leathers and for their part had come heavily armed, but as all mercenaries and cutthroats they came of varying skill. At least one of them had never drew blood outside of the practice yard before, and the few who had fought in the war and bloodied their blades with scarlet had grown lazy and let the discipline in their brutal profession wax with promises of gold coin, good drink and the warmth between a woman's thighs. It was at the Baron's peril that he had employed such men to safeguard his life. But, he was an autocrat who had fought in the war with the charge of a vanguard, and had only been in command of it by being enlisted as a substitute for a seasoned commander who had had better sense then to be involved in the bloodbath that was the siege at Knife's Edge. He had a head full of desires for glory, but the Baron had neither the discipline nor the deterimination to pick up a sword or answer to someone else who moved in a higher position than he.

Still, though, Baron Zurich's vanguard had done its part in running down refugees on horseback, or enemies of the state as they had been called, and put them to the sword or hanged them from trees. His orders had been to keep the streets leading to the capital free from highwaymen or outlaws, but as the young, upstart noble had interpreted, outlaws often dressed in plain clothes and anyone could be an outlaw. So it was with that obtuse, devilish logic that Baron Petyr Zurich made a name for himself by setting up pavillions on the roads leading to Knife's Edge where his men sat and sharpened their knives and whetted their steel patiently waiting for their next victims. They bloodied the fields and fouled the rivers in scarlet blood in those that they pursued, more than most who had suffered brutal ends by their hands had been innocent. Those that had died whimpering and quickly were the lucky ones. The ones who resisted were hanged, beheaded or nailed to crosses that would be raised on the sides of the roads leading to and from the capital. It was even rumored among soldiers and nobility that Zurich had earned his namesake as the Butcher of Candar, the name of the road that he policed, for mistakenly leading an attack on a supply train bound for Knife's Edge to resupply the nobles and their forces that had already been fighting in the bloody streets for days. His men, consumed by bloodlust, desire and avarice that emanated from the young noble attacked the train, killed all who had accompanied it and took the supplies for plunder. It was said among some that if that supply train had reached the city with bandages and food which had been so sorely needed by soldiers who had been fighting in the city that the battle might had ended days earlier then it had. After the war, instead, the young commander had received a commendation and brought into nobility by doing his duty for the realm.

Because of this, Baron Zurich was never well received where news of his rumored exploits, however vague, reached virgin ears. He had seen being raised to a noble house as an outstanding achievement, even to be a minor house, that most people in his position could never hope to achieve. But news of his crimes had been well publicised by the foreign press despite his efforts to have them quieted and were framed as the picture for the whole world to see as the service Salvarian nobility had done to end the war. It had caused the man who walked through the dark streets to grow bitter of his greatest achievement which he must wear around his neck like gilded fetters. Imprisoned by his crimes and known by all who had followed the war. It was because of this and more that the autocrat sought vengeance for a grevious insult by taking it out of the good doctor's flesh. He even had a mind to hang the doctor's body up for public display and would have already planned to do so if the exploits of the race riots had not reached his ears. Instead, he was formulating other plans.

Or he would have, had he not turned that fateful corner and into an alley that led its way back along the other side of the building and towards the main square of the aristocrat's quarter. It had been his plan for his litter to meet he and the rest of his confederates here, but instead he found much more than he could have ever bargained for. Precious moments later, the screaming began.

[Faure]

Baron Petyr Zurich and his men carried Gerard into the city streets of an adjacent alley under the cover of darkness, with only glowering torchlight to guide them down the sandstone steps. The Baron smirked as the doctor continued to stumble over his words trying to piece things together, but the poison used would leave him incapacitated for some time without an antidote. He played the idea of giving his captive the antidote once they returned to his home and allowing him to regain clarity, because after all, what fun was there in shortening someone's fingers or loosening their tongue if they weren't sober enough to be terrified in their agony?

A cool breeze like the breath from the desert sent a chill up the Baron's spine as he watched his men from the bottom of the stairs while they tried to haul the doctor down the steps without dropping him. Regarding them coldly with his long knife as he picked at his fingers, Petyr muttered, "Not a hair out of order until we get him back. We'll take the back streets to avoid the thoroughfare-"

The Baron began to gurgle and tasted coppery, arterial blood spurt from his mouth as more than a foot of cold, plied steel skewered his heart and erupted from his chest. A heavy, gloved hand rested on his shoulder while a deep, baritone voice Gerard would recognize belonging to Waldar whispered mirthlessly in his ear, "[The Young Lion sends his regards, Butcher of Candar. May the sands drink of your blood and your soul wander unfettered in these godless wastes]."

Gagging on his own tongue and experiencing something akin to vertigo as bright crimson lifeblood evacuated his body, Petyr's fat lips sputtered in response, but he had lost the strength to do anything but scream. The Urodan clamped his gloved hand upon the vile baron's shoulder and turned his blade, pushing it outward with a strength and savagery known only to a native of Salvar, his sword cutting its way through flesh and bone until it sang freely from his victim's side. As the Baron screamed in agony and animal terror of what fate had dealt him, Waldar kicked the baron to his knees and brought his steel back one more time to behead him in front of his men before howling, "Attack!"

Whatever nerve the Baron's men had as they exited the library was lost when they witnessed their leader being eviscerated before them. Eight big, burly Salvarian men from the Vagarand drew steel, stumbling to recover from the ambush. Gerard was dropped on the stairs with a thud and forgotten as the agents of the Vagarand sought to protect themselves. Trapped on the stairs with their captive in tow, they were flanked as Waldar and his men converged upon them. They came out of the darkness and in all directions. From the Library, up the stairs, from the side. These nameless warriors from Uroda slashed and cut their way up the stairs, cutting their Vagarand enemies down with a ferocity and something akin to hatred that by the time the third man fell, the rest were seeking refuge back in the library. Or they would have, if Rolf did not block their exit. These agents were peasants and farmers, sellswords and vagabonds who joined the upstart noble as he plundered his way in Salvar. Not a one of them had ever truly fought against a disciplined force of soldiers or actual warriors who knew the profession of arms. The Urodan band cut them limb from limb in such savagery that it caused Gerard to vomit all over himself as his ebbing consciousness was flooded with the sounds of people fouling themselves, the singing of steel and the screams of dying men who thought themselves as only butchers, but were akin only to pigs led to the slaughter.

And, within minutes the bloodletting was over. The last man died violently as Rolf pulled his dagger from the dying agent's neck and jammed it into his eye socket, blinding him. Smiling with mirth, the redheaded Urodan could be heard uttering something to his dying enemy. Gerard did not need to be sober to know it was nothing good. Silence and death hang over the alleyway as news of the day's riots caused anyone within earshot in the aristocratic quarter to flee the violence. But, it would not be long before the city guard came in force to investigate.

The sandstone steps of the library were slaked with blood, decorated in the savagery of entrails, limbs and the remains of the Vagarand agency. The doctor was covered in blood and cowering at the side of the steps, delirious with fear and poison. As the victors cleaned their blades and orders were barked by Waldar, someone reached for Gerard's mouth and forced it upward and open like a suckling, baby lamb. A foul, acrid taste wetted Gerard's tongue, threatening sickness again as it dripped down the back of his throat. Sticky with someone else's blood and flecks of their flesh covering his person and ruining his clothes, the doctor felt the delirium from the poison begin to immediately fade. His vision swam and began to grow dark as he became truly aware of his surroundings and the murder and mayhem that had befell his captors. The last thing he remembered was Waldar ordering one of his men to cover him and carry him back, and then there was only darkness.


[Translated from High Salvarian]

[Faure]

It was several days before Gerard saw daylight again, his slumber nascent from the beer, the trauma inflicted that awful night and remnants of the poison in his system. As Rolf would later tell him, they smuggled the doctor out of the quarter under the cover of darkness and the trip was without incident. It was surprising that the city of Assan would kill white foreigners in daylight when bloodlust and fury caused them to riot, but the sight of several armored Salvarian warriors covered in blood and flesh was quick to go unnoticed as they navigated the back streets. Waldar had gotten him a room on the second floor of the tavern. They had cleaned, bathed and clothed the ailing doctor, leaving him to his rest where he was checked on periodically. Waldar joked that he had brought food to the doctor personally and watched him eat, but Gerard could remember none of it. But, his fugue state was short lived as he woke later that afternoon on the third day to the sight of the large Urodan watching him from afar. Putting down a thick tome he had been reading for pleasure, Waldar grinned wolfishly at Gerard, "Welcome back to the land of the living, Herr Doktor!"

Gerard rubbed his eyes and felt his stomach roil with the type of sickness that was only brought on by the poison of sleep. The soft, afternoon light was bright and nauseating, causing the doctor frail from pangs of hunger to shield his eyes. "W-what day is it?"

"Wednesday," Waldar replied as he pushed a dish of fat, greasy sausage forward on the doctor's nightstand, "You should eat, it has been awhile since you have and you need to regain your strength."

The sight of the sausage reminded him of the entrails spilled from the Vagarand agents that night and caused him to reach for the old iron bucket at his bedside and vomit. Waldar got up and laughed, distancing himself from Gerard, "Too much too soon, eh? Sorry about that."

"Fugh.." Gerard uttered as he spat sickness into the bucket and hung over it as he prepared for more vomiting, wishing the sight of dead men to leave his mind's eye. After several long moments, Gerard recovered and muttered, "It was a set up."

"What?"

"Y-You heard me, Salvarian." Gerard snapped feverishly as his vision swam, turning to the warrior who regarded him with interest, the doctor growled, "You set me up. All of this was meant to draw those bastards out into the open for you to murder and I was the lamb tied to the stake for you to use. You had no intention of telling me any of this before I left to go to that event with my friend and you put us both in peril by doing so. I am very fortunate to be alive and as far as I know, Silas still breathes. And he better for all your sakes." Stopping long enough to spit in the bucket, Gerard looked up and glowered at him, "You betrayed me."

Waldar pursed his lips and considered this for a moment in silence. Rubbing his chin stubbled with salt and pepper, the Urodan finally shrugged his shoulders and nodded, "Yes, Herr Doktor, I did."

"Why not bring me in on the ruse? You already told me so much. I patched up your friend down there who is obviously somebody of some importance to all of you. How could you not trust me enough by that point that you were willing to get me killed to slay that stupid man?" Gerard said with a calmness befitting a man who had recently stared in the face of death.

"We could not risk it." Waldar said simply, holding up his hand to silence the doctor's anger, "This operation has taken months to prepare, and we are not in Fallien or in Assan by incident. While you will get your answers in time by a power higher then myself or my brothers, I will pull the shroud for you to see before that time. My men and I are here on behalf of that man you saved days ago. And you are correct, he is very important to us all. He is the one whose hand has guided our efforts. He and his family are who we pledged our steel too and foreswore our lands, titles and wealth to protect and serve when we left our country in exile. This is a cause that does not merit notoriety and this a game that is larger than us all.

You make think the Butcher of Candar as a nuisance and somebody who would have probably met an ill fate on his own, and you would be correct. However, he and his men were agency of the Vagarand, and they were in Fallien for a reason. Perhaps they heard rumors of their cohorts being murdered in the night, savaged by a band of nameless warriors roaming both land and sea, but I can guarantee you that Petyr did not know we were in country before he met his end. The stubborn fool never did listen to his betters, and if he had he would have known after we were attacked by those assailants that other night." Pausing to let it sink in, Waldar returned to his seat and looked at the doctor with a gaze mixed with fervor and regret before he spoke softly, "But know this, Gerard. We are the fear that causes these upstart nobles to piss themselves when they hear of our savagery. We keep them up at night and been responsible for many, many of their deaths. And we will not stop until the last of this new political order ruling Salvar retreats back to our homeland's borders where we can strike the killing blow. But for now, we harass their lines and make them think twice about seeking safe harbor in any land outside of our own."

"Who are you all?" Gerard replied, as he sat up in bed and pushed himself over to the side, "This sounds bigger and more political than something a band of warriors such as you could be plotting yourselves. What is all this? The Vagarand number in the thousands, and a collective of baronies that now hold sway over that country are larger then you could hope to overthrow. . . Unless. ."

"Unless what?" Waldar replied, piqued with interest and delight as he watched the doctor piece it together.

".. Unless the only family in Salvar with the power and will to rid this country of yours from that corruption was actually not dead as so many newpapers and people have been saying since the war broke out, but in exile." Gerard deduced, "Waldar, you're sworn to the man down there.. whoever he is knows the royal family!"

"You are sharp, Herr Doktor," Waldar grinned, "Yes, my brethren and I are all knights, members of the royal guard and belonging to the Order of Perun, sworn to protect King Rathaxea and his family in their exile and act as agents of their will."

Gerard realized that Waldar was entertaining him with a wealth of information that up until now he was forbidden to know. Secrets and plots, lies and deception that countless people have been killed or silenced to protect. The thought occurred to him as to why now he was being told everything even after he had been betrayed. Waldar may have owed him for Petyr's death and what Gerard had done for him in the past week, but it did not make sense for him to say so much and so freely. Choosing his next words carefully, lest he was being tested, the doctor raised an eyebrow and whispered, "What is going to happen to me now?"

Waldar smiled and pushed the dish forward again, "You are going to eat and regain your strength. Spend the afternoon and contemplate your thoughts before nightfall. Get dressed, enjoy whatever pleasures beset a man of your intelligence and prepare for an audience with the man downstairs. He is well enough to speak to you and he has wished to since he knew of the life saving aid you have brought him. While I can see the gears turning in your head to try to figure out who he is and more of what I told you, I suggest you leave it for tonight. I have entertained your questions to prepare you for this and because I think I owe it to you for the service you have provided the Crown this week. If we were in my country, as I said before you would probably have been granted a land and title as well as enough notoriety to carry you far with the King's favor. However, we are not there and likely will not be for some time. So hopefully what my charge chooses to reward you with is fitting given what we have put you through."

Gerard nodded and looked out the window and into the city below that thrived with life in the glowering desert sunlight. It was some time before Waldar stood and offered his hand, "I want to apologize to you, Gerard. You are keen man and someone who has provided more aid then we thought someone who was not a native of our homeland was capable of. Sorry for keeping you in the dark, and I hope my betrayal of your trust does not poison what could be a fruitful friendship, Herr Doktor."

Gerard stood and shook the knight's hand firmly, regarding the Urodan coolly and in his underwear. The doctor knew Waldar thought highly of him, and after all this, perhaps there was something to be said about having friends in high places, "I accept your apology, Waldar. Thank you for the hospitality you and your Order have provided me while I have been under your care."

The two men smiled and exchanged courtesies and before long, Gerard was left alone in his room and to contemplate what would befall him later that night.

[Faure]

Dying sunlight waned as the city of Assan invited the coming night and the Red Pony engorged itself on patrons coming and going from the bustling streets of the foreign quarter. Men and women came and bought food and beer, japed and made merry much to the delight of the owner of the tavern, welcoming a flush in business. But, as night fell, a solemn agreement from the day before came to mind and he began to dissuade his patrons from staying any further. Giving out last call hours early and watching many fat coin purses walk out with their owners, the tavern owner grunted and worked with his barmaids to close the tavern for the night. Save for one table in a distant corner of the room, oak tables stained with all matter of food, beer and debris were cleared and wiped down. Chairs were set upside down on each table and the wooden floor was swept of debris, sand and dirt carried in by their patron was swept away. Before long the bar was closed, and the owner of the Red Pony beckoned his barmaids to be on their way who welcomed an early night off with few questions. When the last one left, the short and stocky tavern keeper shut and locked the door behind them and began to blow the lanterns out. By the time he was finished the empty, quiet tavern sat in darkness save a table at the far corner where a candle glowered in the darkness.

Knights of the Order of Perun walked around the floor, looking out the dull, glossy windows and into the darkness outside as they roamed the floor. Dressed in doublets and their hands resting upon the pommels of their swords, the Salvarians prowled the tavern looking for stowaways or something amiss. When they turned up nothing, the knights took their positions around the tavern and each floor. Sigmund and Rolf sat outside while Josef and Berengar went upstairs to stand watch. As they climbed the steps and up the second floor, Josef rapped loudly upon Faure's door and barked, "Herr Doktor, it is time."

Gerard opened his door and was solemn, dressed in clothes that had been washed too many times to remove stubborn bloodstains. The doctor swore after this was all over he would take these clothes home and burn them, but that was then and this was now. Even so, the doctor greeted both the knights and exchanged courtesies. Berengar smiled too widely and Josef simply stared at him while they were waiting for him to get moving. They both chided him, telling him to remember his lessons and not to embarrass them during the audience. The point had been driven home hours earlier when Rolf had been instructed by Waldar to go to the doctor's room and show him proper courtesies and what was expected when in the presence of actual Salvarian nobility. Though nobody would speak of the identity of the injured man that had such power and influence over him, the point was driven home that Faure expected the mysterious man had to be of the royal house. Washed and preened and fit to be in the presence of powers that be, Gerard put his on the bannister of the stairs and began to step into the glowering darkness below.

By the time he got to the bottom, Waldar was waiting for him at the end of the stairs, shadowed face fixed upon him solemnly, "Herr Doktor, thank you for joining us. Allow me to introduce you to our Lord." Turning to the only table where a candle flickered in the darkness, Waldar bowed with his left hand extended, beckoning Gerard to do the same. "Prince Johan of House Rathaxea, son of King Iorlan Rathaxea I and Heir Apparent, I introduce Herr Doktor Gerard Faure, the man who saved your life and assisted in the slaying of the Butcher of Candar."

Both men rose simultaneously as a man sitting at the table beckoned them, "Thank you, Sir Waldar. Please come forward and sit with me, Gerard."

Even speaking softly, Prince Johan's rich voice carried with it the power and might of a member of the royal family. As Gerard approached, he saw the prince for the first time as he stepped into the light. He was tall like his countrymen, and looked to be hardened by the war that had plagued his homeland. He had a foxlike face and looked immaculate in his dark doublet and trousers. He dressed like a commoner as befitting his current circumstances, but even meeting him for the first time, Gerard could tell the man before him had an air of superiority and power before him that commanded a certain respect. A long scar extended from his brow to the edge of his chin, and Prince Johan's curly, raven black hair was oiled and well kept. He looked out of place and even as he stood and beckoned the doctor to join him, Gerard could tell he was still ailing from his injury. It was the first time the doctor had been in the presence of a royal prince. Remembering his customs and courtesies, Gerard waited for the prince to sit before he took his seat, "Thank you for granting me an audience, Your Grace."

The prince regarded him coolly, with a smile that belied nothing, "Yes, Gerard. It is good to see you, if you do not mind, I have Olan, our host bringing us something to eat. It has been a long day and my stomach troubles me. I hope that roast lamb, potatoes and a bit of red shan't trouble you?"

"No, of course not, Your Grace. I welcome the chance to eat." Gerard replied. "If I might ask, how are you faring after I saw you last? How is your side?"

Considering it for a moment as he sat straight in his chair, Prince Johan shrugged, "My side continues to ache from the encounter I suffered, but it has been healing well. My bandages are changed twice daily and I clean my wound as best I can. As far as I or my knights can deduce, there is no sign of an infection. I trust I am fit for travel."

The Prince was not asking, but rather telling the Gerard that he was ready to leave this place, and judging by his patient's present condition he was inclined to agree, if reluctantly. After years of healing others, the doctor had learned long ago that it was best to guide his more willful patients rather then remain firm in his prognosis. "Yes, Your Grace."

Rapping his fingers against the table in the uneasy silence that followed, Prince Johan decided to change the subject, "As I am certain Sir Waldar has gotten you up to speed, within certain limitations, I grant, I trust you have some grasp as to why speaking with me tonight is necessary?" When the doctor nodded, the Prince continued, "Good. Part of this conversation is for me to tell that I appreciate your help, whether unwittingly or not, in the execution of the Butcher of Candar and his consort. These efforts do not go unnoticed, and for the trouble you have been caused for what I am sure you had thought would have been a simple intervention on your part, I am doubling the sum of your reward. Though, if I am honest, this generosity is also a demonstration that there is much to be gained when you are in my favor."

"Thank you, Your Grace, but the money is not why I saved your life," Gerard interrupted. "It's what I do. And my participation in this plot against the baron is something I would not have consented to if I had known what my participation would have meant."

Not used to such candor from a foreigner, the Prince visibly bristled at the notion, "Even so, you will be rewarded for what you have done here. What you choose to do with what you might see as blood money is your wish. And I still thank you for your efforts in saving my life, even if your humility might deny you an appreciation in the scope of what you have managed to accomplish."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Gerard replied as he watched the tavern keeper, Olan come from the kitchens with plates rich with food fit for someone of the Prince's stature. It looked very much like Olan had practice in this sort of thing as he returned with two wooden cups and filled them with red wine and stood back. To Gerard's surprise, Waldar reached down with his own fork and knife and tasted the Prince's food for him, finding it fit for consumption with a quiet nod. This practice was not something the doctor had witnessed before and outside the bounds of his own country's customs, even though he understood it found it to be intolerable.

"Thank you, Sir Waldar." Prince Johan stated as the knight stepped away from the table, he stabbed a chunk of roasted potato from his plate and began to chew. Nodding with appreciation, the Prince beckoned the owner of the tavern and thanked him for indulging him. Olan bowed and spoke pleasantries in Salvarian before he went back to the kitchen, presumably to clean up. Noticing the perplexed look on the physician's face as he ate, the Prince grinned as he grabbed another potato, gesturing the fork at him as he leaned in, "You men of the free cities of Corone are not used to dining with royalty, I am sure. Don't worry, Herr Doktor, your secret is safe with me. But you should eat, the lamb is quite delectable. And be less rigid, I promise you there are no dungeons to throw you in."

Grabbing his own fork and knife, the doctor acquiesced and began to eat. The roasted potato had been rolled in spices of coriander and sage to give it an exotic flavor. The lamb had also been roasted and carefully crusted in herbs and smelled of onion and garlic. As he sank his teeth into the lamb and savored its flavor while the juice dripped down his lips, Gerard wondered how good it actually was to be the son of a King, even in exile.

"You would be shocked to know, Gerard, that I do not entertain many guests since I have left my country during the war," Prince Johan mused as he paused to drink from his cup, "It is refreshing to have some sort of return to my old life. My father, King Iorlan, resides with my family on an island under constant watch by the Order of Perun for plots against his life. Since the second attempt on his life during the height of the civil war, my father no longer leaves the haven of his island. Preferring his retainers to do his will while he waits to return to his throne in due time."

"Your Grace, you sound a little bitter in that notion. The waiting to return home, I mean." Gerard replied as he ate.

Pursing his lips in thought, the Prince nodded, "You are right. I do not have the fortitude and patience that my father has benefited from during his reign. My knights often remark me as the Young Lion of House Rathaxea, and they would correct. My hands are better served in our efforts to wipe away opposition and to indulge in intrigue then to remain idle and wait for diplomatic rhetoric to run its course. The truth is, House Rathaxea has few friends willing to loan us the armies needed to bring the Vagarand to heel. It has been years since my father, I or any of my family have set foot on the shores of Salvar. I can tell you that all of us want to return to Uroda, but I fear it will be some time before any of will be able to do so safely."

"If what Waldar has said is true, your plans of driving the Vagarand back into Salvar might help you do just that," Gerard replied diplomatically. It occurred to him that the Prince was oversharing and that in the right hands, the information he knew could get him killed. The weight of that burden on his shoulders did not go unnoticed.

"It may be a fool's game with shoveling sand against the tide to any spymaster or diplomat worth his salt, but I have gotten results. My father wishes to rally his allies against our countrymen and to fight for the crown once more, but the will just is not there. I am not certain that King Iorlan has the political capital to draw what he needs. However, between you and me, our disappearances and killings of Vagarand nobility have given them pause. Originally, the collective sought to send envoys throughout Althanas to every major power to legitimize their rule upon my country. But, since our war continues to wage, the powers that be in that faction have begun to reconsider whether or not it is fruitful to do so. But, heed me, Gerard, if it is with my dying breath I will continue to blunt their efforts and wait for the opportunity to strike against these pretenders so that my family might return to where we belong."

"But. . " Gerard prompted as he finished his meal, "Why do you need me?"

The Prince smirked at the doctor's wit, "You are a clever man, Gerard. You must know already that you are learning too much, too quickly. I fear that this will be the last time we meet in person for a long time, and I want to make my point clear. While my efforts to keep the Vagarand away from expanding their influence outside of Salvar with countless plots over the years that have seen many imprisoned, dead, or ruined, it has not been without sacrifice. This political game of thrones often involves uneasy choices. It is embarrassing how much influence and allies House Rathaxea has lost since it left Salvar. It has not gone unnoticed, but it seems the Vagarand have successfully pled their case to the powers that be in the free cities of Corone. Though one of our country's biggest rivals, and not one that has ever appreciated the finer points of autocracy, I cannot let our enemies befriend one another. The Butcher of Candar was here in Fallien as an envoy who would have eventually made his way to Irrakam and sought an audience with the Jya, as we have demonstrated such efforts will not be tolerated. This sort of approach will be.. tougher.. in Corone. There is too much political will to turn the page after Salvar's civil war, that any power seeking to govern it will be welcomed, whether or not they are pretenders. A simple disappearance or public execution will not do to undo these mistaken ideas."

"So?" Gerard replied, "You are looking for me to help you and your family gain influence in Corone? How?"

"Be our man in Corone," Prince Johan replied simply, "You are a physician and have a social mobility that many of your countrymen can not dream of. It would not be unreasonable to believe that you could treat men similar to my station in your own country if applied with the right leverage. All that I ask during this conversation is that you consider it. While I am asking you to conduct espionage against your own country for my family's benefit, I wonder how much that really means to a free man such as yourself. After all, if the Vagarand gain traction and legitimize their rule, what will that mean for the rest of the world? Do you think that the Vagarand will stop at our shores once it has concluded its endless march east and brought all of Salvar's nobility under its rule? The Kingdom of Salvar has acted as a bulwark against a country prided on its affinity for war from a powers that are bellicose and willing to do anything to get what they want, even if it is outside of their borders or against the will of the Gods."

"Well, with that logic, Your Grace, to deny your offer would be inviting the potentiality of what onto Althanas? World War?" Gerard said as he watched Waldar visibly stiffen at his candor.

"Maybe. I could be overreaching, but the fact remains that I want to see my family return to power. And there is much to be gained or lost in this matter, Gerard. Be our man in Corone, with enough work perhaps you can be our spymaster in the free cities with a spy ring of your own. Do you not have ambitions of your own?" Prince Johan asked, pressing the matter hard with any leverage he could use to gain the upper hand in what he believed was a worthy cause.

"I did." Gerard replied, "However, I understand your position, Your Grace and while I am not used to talking to royalty, I am willing to say that I am considering your offer. I will not say no, but understand that I am a man who heals his fellow men, not stabs them in the back."

The Young Lion scoffed at the notion and snapped his fingers, sitting back in his seat where his features flickered in the soft candlelight, "May it be that all of our hands be as clean and righteous as yours in order to carry out our work, Herr Doktor. You would make a fine steward, Gerard, you certainly have the temperament for it. My knights and I leave on the morrow to press on. Go back to your country and consider what I have said, we will be in touch. Look for my seal in our communications, they will be written by my hand. Before you hold the parchment to the light, use lemon juice. Thank you for your time, Gerard. Hopefully you will see you are an asset to our cause... Sir Waldar?"

As Gerard stood, Waldar handed him a pouch fat with crowns and an ornamented dagger that was sheathed. Along its hilt was silver fileagree ending with the head of a roaring lion holding a ruby in its maw. "Thank you, Herr Doktor, may we meet again."

As the Prince sat there in silence and both he and his protector watched him go, Gerard noticed an agitation in the Young Lion and concluded that he might have chosen to turn him against his country to benefit the royal family. Maybe he was his only option? As Gerard left the tavern and exchanged pleasantries with the other taciturn knights, the doctor walked into the darkness and disappeared into the night. Perhaps Silas was okay and he could see him before he left aboard the Painted Lady for Corone the following day. His mind was busy putting things together, and for the first time in a long while the doctor wondered who his friends and enemies in this world might truly be if he brought their true intentions into the light.

Spoils:

600 GP

The Lion's Tooth: An ornamental dagger, eight inches in length of curved plied steel. It is decorated in symbols and silver. At the pommel of the hilt ends in Lion whose jaws hold a ruby firm in its mouth. Gifted to Gerard by Prince Johan of House Rathaxea, Kingdom of Salvar.

Skill:

Blood transfusion: Gerard has gained a rudimentary understanding of how to conduct a blood transfusion and the tools required to do so during a lecture in Fallien. With this, the doctor can save his patients from dying from blood loss provided he has the means and tools to do so.

[Philomel]

Thread Title: The Good Samaritan
Judgment Type: Full Rubric
Participants: Faure

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Plot: 21/30

• Story- 8/10

Overall the story had enough "meat" and activity to keep the reader interested throughout. There was not much to be distracted by, no boring bits. The relationship between Gerard and his patients (and also with him as a patient) is played out very well. There is a good order to things, and a great build of up action from "Man dying" on the note, to the final end where Gerard meets the crown prince. The only real weakness that was here was that there was a lot of heavy information and important things, whereas you could allow yourself a post or two of some minor setting structuring.

• Setting- 7/10

Capturing the reader right from the outset, you lay a brilliant and lively scene of the marketplace. Such words as "cacophony" in post one add to the scene and bring out the idea of sounds and life, despite the fact that the Civil War finished recently, there are signs that life is getting back to normal.
You continue in this strength, using similar strong language to really tease out some interesting facts about the setting. Towards the middle (posts 10 and 11) there is something of the loss of the strength of the setting due to the action and story becoming the main focus, and in future this judge would encourage you to just watch out for this. A little more use of 'alternative' senses could also be added, however, you have a good strength here.

• Pacing- 6/10

Pacing seemed to be flawless for the most part in terms of action, everything having its right time and precedence. One suggestion, however, would be to break down your large chunky paragraphs. Though the general timing of the piece is set out right the flow of the reading itself is jarred because of the large paragraphs. Try using paragraphs to mimic the rise in tension and so on, to get the reader to slow down their reading pace etc. This can be done with one sentence (or even one word) paragraphs and such things as elipses (...).

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Character: 19/30

• Communication- 7/10

Other than having a casual joyful tone with his friends (post 11) there is a good ease of profession behind Gerard that one sees whispers of, in connection to his profession. He is an adaptability that is very believable with "What do I owe the pleasure," in post 12, which, when compared to the first example used here, is suggestive of a respectful quality. There is little at fault here, that can be noted, aside from perhaps one thing to work on for personality individual purposes is to generate a form of swearing, cursing, blessing etc, unique to your character for future development.

• Action-7/10

Gerard seems to be all the picture of a gentlemanly honourable doctor. He has friends, this is clear, (Silas) and has workmates (Dimitri). His actions are definite and written well, with little confusion ("signalled his men to hold his patient down", post 6) - though, similar to communication there is little in the way of a unique palour about them. What you could work on is a small habitual movement perhaps that Gerard has, that would help to make him more of a stand-out main character.

• Persona- 5/10

I did not notice many uses of internal thought, which can be key for persona. In terms of personality there is a clarity of this concerning Gerard - that being, a good-hearted gentleman though with the strength of character to be tough when he needs to be. He deals well in the tricky situations he is faced with in this thread, however what would be good is to know what is going on in his head, what are his thought patterns etc. You do not need to use internal thought for this, but most of what this judge saw about his personality was through his actions and gestures and expressions, not persona.

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Prose: 20/30

• Mechanics- 6/10

Spelling is perfectly solid, as is the majority of mechanics. There are a couple of paragraphing issues, as mentioned in pacing. More or less all punctuation and sentence structure is in the right place, as is the heart of the thread, which is what one wants.

• Clarity- 7/10

Very well written and actually pretty clear. There were rare times that I needed to read back in understanding of what was going on -most of going back was out of shock instead: "to bleed her in front of everyone" in post 11. Only paragraphing perhaps alters understanding somewhat, jars clarity for larger paragraphs with important information can be hard to dissect.

• Technique- 7/10

There was a really good, strong base here. Using elaborate words and keeping the idea of description going you did bring to life a lot of this thread. In reality technique is a really great strength of yours, though certainly you could explore some more metaphor, imagery etc. These ligusitic techniques, although you touch on them, can really be used somewhat more, such as in setting. Overall your language was rich and enthralling but there is room to improve.

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Wildcard: 4/10

Points here for a great title that fitted well with the overall theme of the story.

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Final Score: 64/100


Faure receives:

• 1815 EXP!
• 250 GP!

Congratulations!