Astersaar Archipelago, Lasaretinkari
20th of Jarum, Night
Books lay open revealing diagrams of the human body, hand-drawn skulls and torsos neatly sliced open to reveal the placement of blood vessels and veins over sharp bones. Bundles of herbs were tied to a rack to dry, other bunches of the same herbs were soaked in water in clay pots or alcohol in glass bowls. The fireplace nursed what it could of a log that was cracked and gray, red glowing beneath the char, above the ash. The only light came from a fat, squat candle on the desk, illuminating the pages and pages filled with a doctor's scrawl.
Pestle and mortar from South Ilica sat at the edge, a pungent smell emanating from the stone, bitter and grassy. It mixed with the smoke, uncomfortable and itchy in one's nostrils. The sort of unpleasant smell that made one not to linger because of the bite, in how the tongue could taste it despite never being outwardly exposed to it. The doctor had gotten used to it, much like he had gotten use to the smell of the sickly people on Kari. He had gotten used to the smell of rotting flesh, of the blight, of the oily boils and only through the herbs, the smoke, the asters and the juniper could he keep himself from making a face.
The doctor was busy measuring vials, murmuring about yellow and black vile, swirling the vials with blood and confirming their consistency. His notes would only make sense to him as he opened up a desk drawer, pulling out a item wrapped protectively in cloth. He had a grater ready, often used for the dried mushrooms that were becoming harder to come by. As he began unwrapping the cloth with ginger hands, his door was slammed open. The doctor quickly hid the item between his legs, looking up like a child caught stealing a treat from market. His mouth opened, relief settling in his eyes.
The candle was shielded by the doctor's shoulder, not bright enough to catch onto the knife in hand.
Astenvale Monastery The 1st of Akozith, 352 EOD
Seabreeze pushed and pulled long wavy tendrils of the elf's hair over and across his sallow face. Sabinian had been seasick the entire boat ride, only now did he feel brave enough to raise his head towards Astersaar, the safe haven that would get him off this rickety, wooden behemoth that rocked with every wave and gust of wind. Green eyes had lost their elven glimmer, now as dull leaves turning yellow in the Autumn months. Broad shoulders were well hunched, back bent like a cooked shrimp. The needling headache that had found it's way to the very center of his head felt very much like his head had been skewered, his neck stiff from an uncomfortable night filled with unrest.
"Why am I even here?" He moaned to the waves sloshing up, could almost taste the foam and salt. A romantic notion arose in him, how splendid would it be that some locked up box of infantile trauma had been unlocked by this trip. His distaste for the sea came from his parents shipwreck, that this fear came from his mother nearly drowning as she somehow brought him to Unicorn Bay. Or maybe he was the one who had nearly drowned, saved only by his mother's cold yet loving hands as she paddled a makeshift raft to the shore.
The boat seemed to skip over a wave to only crash into another, knocking the thought out of Sabinian's head after it rattled around in his skull. The knight's knuckles were white as he held on for dear life, waters still not calm despite land in sight. Sabinian looked poorly at the sky. Whoever told him that keeping his eyes on the horizon would help with seasickness was a liar.
Books lay open revealing diagrams of the human body, hand-drawn skulls and torsos neatly sliced open to reveal the placement of blood vessels and veins over sharp bones. Bundles of herbs were tied to a rack to dry, other bunches of the same herbs were soaked in water in clay pots or alcohol in glass bowls. The fireplace nursed what it could of a log that was cracked and gray, red glowing beneath the char, above the ash. The only light came from a fat, squat candle on the desk, illuminating the pages and pages filled with a doctor's scrawl.
Pestle and mortar from South Ilica sat at the edge, a pungent smell emanating from the stone, bitter and grassy. It mixed with the smoke, uncomfortable and itchy in one's nostrils. The sort of unpleasant smell that made one not to linger because of the bite, in how the tongue could taste it despite never being outwardly exposed to it. The doctor had gotten used to it, much like he had gotten use to the smell of the sickly people on Kari. He had gotten used to the smell of rotting flesh, of the blight, of the oily boils and only through the herbs, the smoke, the asters and the juniper could he keep himself from making a face.
The doctor was busy measuring vials, murmuring about yellow and black vile, swirling the vials with blood and confirming their consistency. His notes would only make sense to him as he opened up a desk drawer, pulling out a item wrapped protectively in cloth. He had a grater ready, often used for the dried mushrooms that were becoming harder to come by. As he began unwrapping the cloth with ginger hands, his door was slammed open. The doctor quickly hid the item between his legs, looking up like a child caught stealing a treat from market. His mouth opened, relief settling in his eyes.
The candle was shielded by the doctor's shoulder, not bright enough to catch onto the knife in hand.
Astenvale Monastery The 1st of Akozith, 352 EOD
Seabreeze pushed and pulled long wavy tendrils of the elf's hair over and across his sallow face. Sabinian had been seasick the entire boat ride, only now did he feel brave enough to raise his head towards Astersaar, the safe haven that would get him off this rickety, wooden behemoth that rocked with every wave and gust of wind. Green eyes had lost their elven glimmer, now as dull leaves turning yellow in the Autumn months. Broad shoulders were well hunched, back bent like a cooked shrimp. The needling headache that had found it's way to the very center of his head felt very much like his head had been skewered, his neck stiff from an uncomfortable night filled with unrest.
"Why am I even here?" He moaned to the waves sloshing up, could almost taste the foam and salt. A romantic notion arose in him, how splendid would it be that some locked up box of infantile trauma had been unlocked by this trip. His distaste for the sea came from his parents shipwreck, that this fear came from his mother nearly drowning as she somehow brought him to Unicorn Bay. Or maybe he was the one who had nearly drowned, saved only by his mother's cold yet loving hands as she paddled a makeshift raft to the shore.
The boat seemed to skip over a wave to only crash into another, knocking the thought out of Sabinian's head after it rattled around in his skull. The knight's knuckles were white as he held on for dear life, waters still not calm despite land in sight. Sabinian looked poorly at the sky. Whoever told him that keeping his eyes on the horizon would help with seasickness was a liar.
