Private Tales Alistair's Kindness and the Folly of Greed

[Alistair Wren]

​

A plague swept through a small village just west of the Allirian border.

The sleeves of his robes tucked into his belt, Alistair mopped a layer of sweat off his brow just as he finished healing a patient. Wearing an apron smeared with blood and pus, he handed some prescriptive herbs to the little girl and gave her a swift nudge, sending her on her way. Rain belted the cobblestone, pouring off the faces of the sick and dying as they dragged their feet through the streets. The town crier rang his bell, bringing news of more death and disease as ravens cawed, picking away the coalesce of corpses on an overburdened cart at the end of the street. The young mage sighed. Inhaling the smell of the protective ointment on the inside of his mask, he leaned against the wooden beam of the bay and waited for his next patient.

Meanwhile, Anton was in the back room, safely enclosed from the waste, rain and muck, counting out the money they had made from treating plague victims. Treatment for this disease was rare, expensive and could only be performed by an Elbion mage. Turning around, Alistair glared at Anton as he watched him count out his gold.

"You know, many of the patients ask me who's in charge of this healing bay, and when I tell them it's you, they tell me they want to thank you," Alistair remarked plainly, some snide in his tone.

Washing his hands with disinfectant and freshly boiled water, he took off his mask and gloves, then left them aside. He switched around the sign on the door, letting people know that the bay was closed. Grabbing the hems of his robes, he pulled them out of his belt and swished to the back room where Anton was sitting and counting out the money they had made that day. Alistair was disgusted with himself, charging sick people for treatment, and he was only doing it in exchange for information about a rare spellbook on empathy that Anton knew the whereabouts of. Sighing, Alistair rested a hand against the doorframe and lapped his parched lips.

He had been healing all day and he was dehydrated. Pouring water from a bucket into a basin, he set it on the fire to boil so he could drink it later. As the water started to bubble, he walked into Anton's office and stood in front of his desk.

The Elf looked immaculate as usual. Purple, silk tunic and gold rings, he was a speck of luxury in the midst of poverty and Alistair felt sick just looking at him. Standing in his soiled apron, he stared at him plainly, his brow creasing slightly as he glared.

"How much money did we make today? Is it enough to pay back what I owe you?" He asked, hands clasped together.

His apron was stinking up Anton's study, but Alistair did not care. The only thing he could smell was the Elf's greed.

Patients rarely came in, and when they did, they had no money. Alistair hadn't told Anton, but he sometimes treated them for free. They were waiting for a rich patient who could pay for a full heal and the potion Alistair had made to treat the disease, but the presence of the poor deterred them from coming, and when they heard there was a kind, young mage healing for free, the poor continued to come, driving the paying customers away. Shifting his eyes, Alistair swallowed a gulp, unable to deny his squandering of Anton's business.

Anton

 

[Anton]

Flicking over some of the documents that he had at his desk, Anton was feeling all sorts of glee. Who knew that this could lead to hear, of all places? A small place, even, with such an easy way to earn money. It was enough to get a smile upon his face. In one hand that Anton picked up some coins, trickling them down to the desk. That was when Alistair had come in to find him there. At first meeting they had seemed to get along just fine. Anton could understand the glare.

Instead of answering the Elf said nothing, looking over his documents still. Before looking up with a quiet hum. Looking up with a half-closed gaze upon Alistair, he regarded the boy.

"Oh, you are done. Yes, I would say you have earned plenty." Not that he truly knew just how much he had received in the end. "You are most resourceful, dear friend, most resourceful..." Anton said quietly in response while returning to his documents. He read over them for a time. Before setting them down, leaning against the desk and speaking directly to Alistair.

"We make such a good team, you and I. Look at this business we have here. Is it not delightful?" Anton asked smugly, grinning a bit as well.

Alistair Wren

 

[Alistair Wren]

Alistair had met a few nasty sons of bitches on his travels.

Anton was the nastiest so far.

Alistair didn't want to say that he hated him, he couldn't bring himself to say that he hated anybody, but he absolutely disliked him. Standing in an apron covered in vomit and pus, he narrowed his eyes, biting the inside of his mouth as Anton laughed, coins dripping from his hands. He was blind, totally blind to where he was, where his money was coming or even how much money he was making at all. People were dying in the streets and he was laughing, laughing as he made gold off it.

"No, I'm not done, patients will be coming in all night and I need to stay up to treat them," Alistair stated, his tone stern.

He wanted to call him a cunt just then, but didn't. It wouldn't do to break Anton's fantasy of their "profitable friendship."

Ugh.

What a jerk.

Grumbling, Alistair reached into his robe and grabbed a small purse, which contained the coins he had earned that afternoon. It wasn't much, as he had been treating patients for free when they couldn't afford to be healed, but Anton was so blinded by his sick ploy to make money that Alistair doubted that he would notice.

Alistair tossed the purse on Anton's desk, "that's what I've made this afternoon, a few more days and we should have enough to head up the Spine," withdrawing his hand, he reached around and scratched his backside, eyes bleary and exhausted. The spellbook was in Molthal, but they needed the money to get there. While Alistair would never turn a sick person away, even if they had no money, he needed it for his trip, which meant working for Anton.

"I need a rich person already!" Alistair thought to himself, "then I can get away from this cunt," grumbling, he kept his thoughts to himself.

The doorbell rang. Still scratching his butt, the young mage turned around, then looked at Anton.

"Plan out our expenses and figure out how much we're going to need to make it to Molthal, I have a patient coming in," he ordered, pointing a finger at the desk.

 

[Anton]

Anton lifted a coin he had from his purse up to the light that filled his room, the candle that kept his smooth face illuminated. To him this was very much a good use of time. Counting his coin, looking through business documents, working over his 'business partner'. Yes, this was working in his mind...

Until Alistair produced something to him. Tossing something onto his desk, and Anton looked it over...then back up to Alistair. "Just that? Well, either there is another doctor in this little town or they are poorer than I suspected...or...but no, I doubt that highly" Anton said, slowly rising from his desk. With an odd look about him. "I know how business goes. One such as you would never do something such as that." Anton put too much faith in this boy. Thinking that holding the location of this prized item as if it were a hostage was a good idea.

Slowly rounding the desk, Anton came to sit at the edge. Crossing his arms before him, he heard the bell. "Perhaps you will need to earn a bit more coin from them, Mr. Wren! Or you may miss our quota!" Anton laughed a bit, watching quietly.

 

[Alistair Wren]

Alistair simply stared as the bag of coins hit the desk. The line of his mouth straight, he beheld Anton with a stern glare, his chest heaving up and down in anger as the businessman counted his coins. He knew there was something up and looked at Alistair, perplexed as he tried to figure out where all his money was. Saying nothing, Alistair stood his ground, all manner of explanations running through his mind.

"I can't let him know I've been healing patients for free," he thought, his fringe hanging around either side of his forehead.

Alistair remained silent. Anton spun around and snapped accusingly, questioning his intentions. He was beginning to suspect that something was amiss and Alistair needed a rich patient soon or Anton might dispose of his service, or of Alistair himself.

"Of course not, it's expensive to employ a healer from Elbion, so not everybody in the village can afford to come here," he shrugged, scratching his backside nervously. Eyes shifting, he jerked around as the bell rang, his mouth hanging open.

"Yes my lord, I'll charge them for the full healing process and throw in the remedy for an extra cost," hands against his diaphragm, Alistair bowed accordingly.

"Bugger, he knows," he thought to himself. Grabbing the hems of his dark blue robes, he scurried out the back room, down the corridor and opened the door.

Alistair kept the healing bay out the front of the house, beneath a roof made out of hay. A bed stood on the stone, beside a fire and his workbench. The bay faced the street, the clangs of the town crier's bell echoing throughout the town. Standing in the doorway, he beheld a weary woman carrying a small boy. He looked around five or six, but his sickness probably made him look younger than what he actually was. Alistair's features softened when he saw them. Closing the door gently, he tucked the sleeves of his robes into his belt and pulled on his gloves. He smeared a mask with ointment which protected him against the disease and tied it around his head.

"Lord mage, this my son, he came down with the plague a few weeks ago," the woman said, clutching her skirts in one hand. A veil on her head and rings around her eyes, she looked exhausted and without any money to her name.

The young boy whined. His face, hands and feet were covered in black, pus filled sores, his eyes red and seeping yellow fluid.

"Thank you for coming, milady, give him here," Alistair bowed and extended his hands, inviting the woman to hand him her son.

The woman strode forward, handed the boy to Alistair and took a step back, clutching the ends of her veil. Wrapping his arms around the boy, Alistair lay him down on the bed gently, stroking his hair. The boy cried, arms and legs contorting into unnatural positions.

"Hey, shh," Alistair cooed, stroking his hair.

 

[Anton]

Anton was not one to bother with anger from a client nor customer. Simply regarding them with a glance, and Alistair was no exception. Watching as the boy stood his ground. Why, that defiance reminded him of his younger self. And he barely held back a smirk. Yet he said nothing more.

Once Alistair had gone, Anton sat down with a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. "This boy has heart...and that is what will be on his tombstone no doubt" Anton murmured to himself. What had kindness ever gotten him? A scar on his back, that's what. He was going to get himself killed.

Just barely could Anton hear the situation. A boy that was ill. That was about all he heard. Anton nearly wanted to walk out there, offer a charity case to them. But charity only ended in greed in all cases he delved into.

 

[Alistair Wren]

The boy in his arms, Alistair swished over to bed on the front porch of the house and lay him down. He tucked his robes into his pelt and tied his apron, then carried the bucket of freshly boiled water outside. The poor woman, she looked like she hadn't slept in days. Hovering his hands over a tray of tools, Alistair lightly plucked a pair of tweezers and a rag, which he soaked in the bucket and rubbed in disinfectant.

The boy cried himself into a sweat, chest heaving up and down and his wrists coiling into unnatural positions. Leaning over him, Alistair stroked his hair.

"Hey, shh," he cooed, "I know it hurts, but I need you to stay still," he reassured him gently, his voice soft. Gripping the boy's shoulder, he stroked his hair and popped his sores with the tweezers, gently wiping pus away with the rag as he did so.

"Milady, I have a remedy that will quicken the healing process and prevent him from catching the plague again, it's expensive, but it's worth it, I assure you," the tweezers in hand, Alistair looked at the woman from over the top of his mask as he spoke.

"Lord mage, I'm afraid I have no coin," the woman shook her head, speaking regretfully.

"Ugh," Alistair groaned. Closing his eyes, he sighed and continued to relieve pressure from the boy's sores, taking a moment to cool off, "you do realize I charge, don't you?" He asked.

"Word has spread that you've been healing patients for free, so I came to you, the other healers from the college are too expensive," the woman stammered slightly, her voice breaking as she realized her mistake.

Alistair sighed. He couldn't send her away now, not after he had started her son. Slamming his eyes shut, he breathed in, swallowed his remorse and soaked the tweezers and the rag in disinfectant. Saying nothing, he looked at the vials of blue potion in his case and felt his heart sink. Picking one up, he unscrewed the lid and lowered it to the boy's mouth.

"It's not like I need the money anyway," he sighed, "drink all of it," he said to the boy. Raising his head, he fed him the potion and tossed the vial into a pile of rags.

"Bless your heart, lord mage, is there any way I can repay you," the woman said, her eyes glassy with gratitude.

"Tell the name of a patient who has money," Alistair responded, almost sternly.

"The daughter of the Earl, my lord, she is kept up in her tower and won't see a healer in town, but she has the plague and will die soon if she isn't treated," the woman said.

Eyes wide, Alistair grabbed a bundle of herbs from his case and froze, astonished by his luck. His kindness seemed to have paid off in the end. Relaxing his shoulders, he laughed to himself and snapped his fingers to create a small flame, which he used to set the ends of the herds alight. Carrying them over to the boy, he he hovered them over and splayed a hand against the air, then cleared his throat.

"Light of the sun and the force by which the earth turns around it, seek out what is marred and cleanse it, purify the ill by which holds this vessel with thy hand," the herbs in hand, Alistair walked around the boy and sang, his smooth voice lifting above the ring of the town crier's bell. Green energy poured from his fingers, seeping into the boy's system as he inhaled the herbs, their properties strengthened by the potion. Bending his wrist elegantly, a finger outstretched, Alistair held his hand above the boy's head, "expel thee," he sung.

"Penetrate thy bond and rid thee of what is ill, close their sores and replenish thee," retracting his hand, he wafted the herbs around, spreading smoke across the bed on which the boy lay, "cleanse this vessel and save thee," he sung, pouring green energy from his fingers, "make sure they are well," he recited the final chant and withdrew his hand, the herbs having burnt away from the effects of the spell. He threw away the ends and brushed his hands, then slid one underneath the boy's head.

The boy coughed, his sores crusting and closing up. Sweat dripped off him as the fever broke, but he would need to sleep to be fully healed.

"He needs to sleep, only then will the healing take full affect," Alistair said, nodding as he stood at his full height.

"Thank you, Lord mage," the woman bowed her head profusely. Swishing over to the bed, she helped her son stand and guided him off the porch.

"No, thank you," Alistair smiled behind his mask, "I shall give the Earl's daughter my regards," untying his mask, he soaked it in disinfectant and walked inside.

Anton was still in his office, pouring over the funds for their trip. Inhaling a breath, Alistair sighed, fists clenched. He would try not to get too angry. Breathing in, he knocked and poked his head around the edge of the door.

"My Lord, my patient has just sent word of a woman who needs to be healed," he said plainly, allowing for a moment of pause, "she's rich," he raised both his eyebrows, his head tilting to the side.

 

[Anton]

Anton had been waiting in his office. He could hear through the walls, the murmurings of the boys chanting. The sound of magic, he recognized it as. It was mystical....and it reminded him more and more of his own family. Who did those chants when he refused to, wanting more of a life away from tradition. Anton pushed those thoughts back, focusing upon some notes he had to write, for an order of jewels.

While he wrote down these order lists, Anton heard something. Looking up to see Alistair arrive at the door, peeking inside. Hearing that magical word, 'rich', he waved the boy inside. "Well come then, come. We shall both go to visit this woman. She should come to know both the men who aided her and this town, yes?"

He knew that he helped little in this endeavor, all except for supplying it all with his money and setting up shop here. "Tell me, with all this business we have and how weak this town must be...do you find it surprising there are no bandits? I find it odd, that they have not come for the two apothecaries who must be rich, wouldn't you say?" And there was that smug look again, as he stood up from his desk and moving to the door.

 

[Alistair Wren]

Taking off his gloves and apron, Alistair soaked them in disinfectant as he listened to Anton speak. Taking a much needed gulp of freshly boiled water, he swished into Anton's office and stood in front of him, hands clasped in front of his black robes. Lips pursed, he clenched his teeth, suppressing his rising anger as he listened to Anton talk about their work as though it was a business establishment, rather than saving the lives of innocent people.

"My patient will send word to her," the young mage nodded.

A pause followed.

Hands clasped, Alistair watched Anton busy with his documents, none the wiser that he had just healed a patient for free, but in so doing, he had earned them word of a patient who had money. Navy eyes flashing, Alistair withdrew an enraged breath when Anton referred to the town as weak, then closed his eyes, sighed, and prepared himself to speak.

Alistair shifted his eyes, "shit, he's onto me," he thought to himself and raised both eyebrows as he collected his thoughts.

Bandits hadn't come for them because they had no money, which was not something he could hide from Anton for long. Withdrawing a breath, Alistair laughed, stammered and forced a smile.

"That is curious, my lord, perhaps the bandits in this region are more honorable and don't want to rob an innocent apothecary treating the sick," he shrugged. Alistair was good with magic, runes and mathematics, not outwitting the sly words of a conniving Elf. Shrugging, he shook his head in confusion and raised a hand to scratch the back of his head. The lie was poor, and Anton most likely would not be convinced, but it was worth a try to save his skin.

He could earn back his trust once he healed the Earl's daughter, who most surely pay back what Alistair owed Anton.

"We will have to watch our backs once I heal the Earl's daughter though, her family will pay us handsomely," Alistair raised his head and nodded.

 

[Anton]

Anton had himself prepared for leave by the time Alistair began speaking of the bandits in the region. And he paused...and threw his head back, echoing out a laugh. Bandits? Honorable?! He found that way too hilarious, beyond belief. How was he even meant to respond to that? Anton was unsure, by the time he had finished with his laughter, simply shaking his head while moving out the door.

With a pack of a few things he felt were needed such as contracts, documents, a bag of money and food in case he got snackish along the way. Anton glanced back to check if the boy was following.

"I hope you know how to fight, in case. We will be hefting a large amount I am sure. And we will have to defend it with our lives...because if anyone wants it, they won't spare us."

 

[Alistair Wren]

When Anton laughed, Alistair shifted his eyes, fiddling with his fingers as he smiled nervously. Anton still said nothing on the matter, too obsessed with making money to care. He seemed to think Alistair had been joking, judging by the way he reverted straight back to the matter at hand and for Alistair's case, it was only fortunate.

"Not with a weapon, milord," looking down, Alistair scratched his head, both eyebrows raised at the thought of taking down bandits.

In truth, Alistair's worry was feigned. It was well known throughout the region that he treated patients for free and didn't bring in much pay, so the chance of them actually getting robbed was unlikely.

But Anton didn't know that.

With a nod, Alistair swished around and accompanied Anton to the back of the house. The town bell chimed overhead, cutting a swathe through the cry of ravens as they soared down and landed on carts loaded with bodies. The sky was dark and death hung thick on the air. Alistair made a few new vials of the remedy, prepared herbs and stashed them away. He helped Anton load up their cart with supplies and changed into clean robes, plain and drab ones to make potential bandits think he didn't have much money. As he was hauling supplies up, he turned to face Anton, who was still ornately dressed.

"Uh, milord, might I suggest wearing something more plain, we don't want any bandits to think that we have money, after all," he raised a finger in the air, eyebrows raised as he tilted his head towards Anton's purple tunic.

Once the cart was loaded up, Alistair and Anton set off up the road. Sitting in the back of the cart in his plain, beige and brown robes, Alistair tempered a vial containing the remedy that the Earl's daughter was paying good money for, all the while swallowing his worry over what might happen if they didn't get robbed at all. Anton would then know the truth about their financial situation.

A flame hovering above his fingertips, Alistair stirred the liquid in the vial apprehensively, eyes shifting as he looked over his shoulders. He shrunk into his capelet and only hoped Anton didn't pay heed to the lack of bandits who were after them.

 

[Anton]

Anton had started taking a few steps out the door by the time Alistair had said that. The elf sighed. Of course he had no weapon...then he smirked a little bit. What a time for a witty remark, would it be. "You had best hope we don't run into trouble. Or that some magic could be used against bandits, or that poor daughter will never make it." Perhaps the witty remark had taken a gloomy serious turn, as did his own tone while saying so.

With Alistair, at the back of the house, Anton watched over the many carts of bodies. His face seemed to shift. His ego fell down, seeing so much death and the pests swarming over bodies. Alistair speaking up brought him out of it while lifting over a sack of supplies. "Yes, yes. Simple robes should do..." Getting to the supplies he had, he pulled out a rather worn out brown robe and a black vest to replace his purple tunic with.

The elf took up the reigns, peering back at his companion now and then. He stuck around, longer than most ever would. He recalled that the longest that had stayed around had been a stubborn dwarf who robbed him blind. For now, they were in the clear.

After some time, was their destination. Anton reached back to tap his knuckles to the board separating the seat from the back, knocking on it to let Alistair know. "Are you ready to save a life? Again."