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((This thread is going to be largely un-GM'd; I won't stop you if you do something, and I'd love if you were to use your own ideas to advance the thread just as much as I myself will be looking to move it along. I've set the scene, and I will only be moving things along as necessary to push us towards our goal.))
The Spine, Foothills, Gal Urgash Tribe Village
HotepseAken carefully studied the red boil. It's shape, it's roots, and the sounds his patient made when it was so much as moved. He had removed plague from the equation, disease seemed more likely. It wasn't puss-oozing, though there was bile within that much was clear. It wasn't an infection from an open would... perhaps a follicle? He dabbed lightly with an antiseptic agent with mild numbing properties, a rarity out here but a common herb in Nubydos. The Scum Rose was a valuable plant to the Physician's trade.
He looked up from his study; he counted seventeen more boils... yes, that did put question to the follicle idea. Infection for certain, but that was a symptom. There was something else at play here. The Orc under his care looked at him with a wellspring of discipline and grit, waiting for something to happen. While it was imperceptible, HotepseAken did look him in the eye, taking in his expression. No need for pain management yet, though that might come soon...
Not a one of the boils was scratched; good, this one had heeded the advice given when HotepseAken first arrived to combat this outbreak. It looked the same as all the others: He had contracted Southern Weeping Pox. Fatal around 40% of the time without treatment, with, only 2%. That fit the symptoms best. Boils, aches, congestion, sore throat, and a rash across the glands within the neck. He smiled; the Chieftan of the tribe would be pleased that another of his warriors would live to see the next summer.
HotepseAken set to work; he applied an ointment of SpineMint and Winter Poppy to the rash, procured his bladed spoon, and began to drain the boils. The inflamed skin was carefully removed, and antiseptic paste applied to the resulting wound it would scar, but the chance of survival increased with less boils afflicting the body. Each open would was a chance for further infection, and only half truly needed to be removed to ensure higher chances of survival.
The procedure was done and over, minimal pain and numbing applied where it could be. The well-built Orc was grateful for the attention but, given the pox still battled inside, wished to rest. Or rather, HotepseAken advised rest which the proud warrior accepted as expert advice. He left the yurt with a confident stride himself; that was the last of the afflicted at current. He made for the chieftains tent then, to report his success and subsequently that he would be leaving in the morning.
"Warlord Urgash will see you," informed one of the guards, a rather young Orc with a wolf pelt on his shoulders, "this was, Physician."
He was led into the tent, just a scant few feet past the flap, and stood before the bandaged and recovering Orc leader; he wasn't the worst case, but he was in poor condition. His shaman hadn't encountered this disease before, and as such hadn't known the best practices for recovery. That, however, had been the easiest part: the Shaman in question, a rather gruff woman with a strong build, stood behind the chieftan. The two had swapped knowledge and skills during Hotepse's stay. While he taught more than learned, there was much the Orcs could offer. Folk remedies HotepseAken could refine, allergies only Orcs had, and how to encourage the hardiness of the green skins to fight back against disease.
"Physician," addressed the Orc leader, the one who held the name of Urgash, "Your services have helped my tribe. My warriors shall not die like vermin in their beds. If there is anything I might offer, speak."
Hotepse weighed the offer; a few loaves of bread maybe? Perhaps some beer? Ultimately, he bowed his head, deciding on what would be an apt reward: "The exchange of knowledge, and ability to teach, has been reward enough. I could only ask for rations enough for a day, and only if they could be spared."
This surprised the Orcs; though far be it from them to accept the aid for free, honor demanded something given. These Orcs, of the Gal Urgash, would not let a good turn go unrewarded. After a moment, Urgash made a motion. A guard left as he began to speak once more, smiling lightly, "If you are ever seen by our hunters, or if word reaches us of your harm, you shall be known as a friend by us and our allies. We shall prepare a weeks worth of supplies, and pray for your safe journey."
HotepseAken bowed. He didn't bow deeply, more a show of respect than submission, but the respect of an ancient High Priest to a mortal Chieftan was not something easily gained. The knowledge of the Orcs of this tribe, and the conviction of their people, had earned that much at least.
He'd seen enough of these people to fill a new volumes on their biology and sociology. That crossed off his real reason for attending them.
Half an hour later and the Anaphite was running across the hills, leaping streams, and dodging trees. He had to move with some haste; he was expected in the crossroads town of Badzislaw. The Burgomeister of the town had owed HotepseAken a favor, and had recently put out a call for all those medically inclined or of sharp eye to engage in the greatest undertaking of this age:
HotepseAken, with a team of the most capable Physicians, Witches, Priests, and Mages, would discover the root cause of Lycanthropy and find a cure. Failing that, a treatment would be sufficient.
With a strut he slowed and came to a halt; on a hill overlooking the town, its stout walls hewn from limestone and granite, sprawled Badzislaw. Smoke rose from the many chimneys, the roads to it's simple gates were paved with cobblestones, and even from here the Physician could hear some yelling. It seemed the hounds of ignorance had already begun to gather within the sleepy trade town...
All who wished to answer the call were instructed to meet at the Burgomeisters manor, near the center of town. Eager to meet his new assistants, the Physician began to walk into Badzislaw with a calm and proud sense of himself. The people remembered him here, when he aided them against the red pox a few years ago. The guards, mostly old hands, nodded politely and let him pass through their gates without a lengthy search and harrassment. The dingy, moss-eaten burg was haunted by a dewy air, one which HotepseAken theorized might be a cause of sickness itself.
He was not hailed as a returning hero; not that he would have enjoyed the attention, but a tall, black dog-man was rightly regarded as unusual and shunned as politely as possible by the people of Badzislaw. The merchants politely hawked to other people, the thieves gave him a smile and a toothy grin, the children ran around him, and the mothers smiled wordlessly. Badzislaw was not a center of tolerance, not any more so than most population centers in the Spine, but they still remembered the help the Physician gave to it's people. That was enough to afford him a lack of stares and harrassment.
The crowd that HotepseAken had heard from outside the city was present; a few Flagellants, screaming to the heavens about the sinful world, riled up the peoples. They were either too enthralled with their own ranting or didn't care that an Anaphite had walked right past them and into the Manor, but they were certainly screaming about the moral filth within this town and many others. As HotepseAken knocked on the door, he heard a few of them call out that, like all vermin, Vampires and Witches must be flushed from a pure community with fire and iron.
None too soon, a manservant opened the door. HotepseAken greeted the man, "Im Hotep Se," recieving a polite bow in return.
"The Gentleman shall accompany; the Master is in the study," HotepseAken was informed, and shortly hence was brought to a small library: Thousands of pounds of gold in paper, ink, and leather. All signs of culture, understanding, and temperament. The Burgomeister himself was enjoying a drink, fresh water with a slice of citrus fruit. Being a trade town certainly had its advantages, and the common-born trademaster looked up as HotepseAken entered.
"Ah! Hotepsy Ackon, a pleasure to see you well," he greeted warmly, though pronouncing the name off, "Good of you to arrive. We have had three others ahead of you, a Physician from Vel Anir, as well as a local witch. Shall you join me for a spell? Supper will be soon, I am certain you can meet everyone there."
Hotepse paused... well, while he did have his job, to put to practice theorized cures his people had developed, there was no harm in friendly company. Especially when it could help him with his ultimate goal: understanding simpler life, such as Humans. He sat, agreeing without much fanfare, an Amol Kalitan gameboard upon the table. What harm could conversation and a match do, when the measure of their work would be in months, not days.
The Spine, Foothills, Gal Urgash Tribe Village
HotepseAken carefully studied the red boil. It's shape, it's roots, and the sounds his patient made when it was so much as moved. He had removed plague from the equation, disease seemed more likely. It wasn't puss-oozing, though there was bile within that much was clear. It wasn't an infection from an open would... perhaps a follicle? He dabbed lightly with an antiseptic agent with mild numbing properties, a rarity out here but a common herb in Nubydos. The Scum Rose was a valuable plant to the Physician's trade.
He looked up from his study; he counted seventeen more boils... yes, that did put question to the follicle idea. Infection for certain, but that was a symptom. There was something else at play here. The Orc under his care looked at him with a wellspring of discipline and grit, waiting for something to happen. While it was imperceptible, HotepseAken did look him in the eye, taking in his expression. No need for pain management yet, though that might come soon...
Not a one of the boils was scratched; good, this one had heeded the advice given when HotepseAken first arrived to combat this outbreak. It looked the same as all the others: He had contracted Southern Weeping Pox. Fatal around 40% of the time without treatment, with, only 2%. That fit the symptoms best. Boils, aches, congestion, sore throat, and a rash across the glands within the neck. He smiled; the Chieftan of the tribe would be pleased that another of his warriors would live to see the next summer.
HotepseAken set to work; he applied an ointment of SpineMint and Winter Poppy to the rash, procured his bladed spoon, and began to drain the boils. The inflamed skin was carefully removed, and antiseptic paste applied to the resulting wound it would scar, but the chance of survival increased with less boils afflicting the body. Each open would was a chance for further infection, and only half truly needed to be removed to ensure higher chances of survival.
The procedure was done and over, minimal pain and numbing applied where it could be. The well-built Orc was grateful for the attention but, given the pox still battled inside, wished to rest. Or rather, HotepseAken advised rest which the proud warrior accepted as expert advice. He left the yurt with a confident stride himself; that was the last of the afflicted at current. He made for the chieftains tent then, to report his success and subsequently that he would be leaving in the morning.
"Warlord Urgash will see you," informed one of the guards, a rather young Orc with a wolf pelt on his shoulders, "this was, Physician."
He was led into the tent, just a scant few feet past the flap, and stood before the bandaged and recovering Orc leader; he wasn't the worst case, but he was in poor condition. His shaman hadn't encountered this disease before, and as such hadn't known the best practices for recovery. That, however, had been the easiest part: the Shaman in question, a rather gruff woman with a strong build, stood behind the chieftan. The two had swapped knowledge and skills during Hotepse's stay. While he taught more than learned, there was much the Orcs could offer. Folk remedies HotepseAken could refine, allergies only Orcs had, and how to encourage the hardiness of the green skins to fight back against disease.
"Physician," addressed the Orc leader, the one who held the name of Urgash, "Your services have helped my tribe. My warriors shall not die like vermin in their beds. If there is anything I might offer, speak."
Hotepse weighed the offer; a few loaves of bread maybe? Perhaps some beer? Ultimately, he bowed his head, deciding on what would be an apt reward: "The exchange of knowledge, and ability to teach, has been reward enough. I could only ask for rations enough for a day, and only if they could be spared."
This surprised the Orcs; though far be it from them to accept the aid for free, honor demanded something given. These Orcs, of the Gal Urgash, would not let a good turn go unrewarded. After a moment, Urgash made a motion. A guard left as he began to speak once more, smiling lightly, "If you are ever seen by our hunters, or if word reaches us of your harm, you shall be known as a friend by us and our allies. We shall prepare a weeks worth of supplies, and pray for your safe journey."
HotepseAken bowed. He didn't bow deeply, more a show of respect than submission, but the respect of an ancient High Priest to a mortal Chieftan was not something easily gained. The knowledge of the Orcs of this tribe, and the conviction of their people, had earned that much at least.
He'd seen enough of these people to fill a new volumes on their biology and sociology. That crossed off his real reason for attending them.
Half an hour later and the Anaphite was running across the hills, leaping streams, and dodging trees. He had to move with some haste; he was expected in the crossroads town of Badzislaw. The Burgomeister of the town had owed HotepseAken a favor, and had recently put out a call for all those medically inclined or of sharp eye to engage in the greatest undertaking of this age:
HotepseAken, with a team of the most capable Physicians, Witches, Priests, and Mages, would discover the root cause of Lycanthropy and find a cure. Failing that, a treatment would be sufficient.
With a strut he slowed and came to a halt; on a hill overlooking the town, its stout walls hewn from limestone and granite, sprawled Badzislaw. Smoke rose from the many chimneys, the roads to it's simple gates were paved with cobblestones, and even from here the Physician could hear some yelling. It seemed the hounds of ignorance had already begun to gather within the sleepy trade town...
All who wished to answer the call were instructed to meet at the Burgomeisters manor, near the center of town. Eager to meet his new assistants, the Physician began to walk into Badzislaw with a calm and proud sense of himself. The people remembered him here, when he aided them against the red pox a few years ago. The guards, mostly old hands, nodded politely and let him pass through their gates without a lengthy search and harrassment. The dingy, moss-eaten burg was haunted by a dewy air, one which HotepseAken theorized might be a cause of sickness itself.
He was not hailed as a returning hero; not that he would have enjoyed the attention, but a tall, black dog-man was rightly regarded as unusual and shunned as politely as possible by the people of Badzislaw. The merchants politely hawked to other people, the thieves gave him a smile and a toothy grin, the children ran around him, and the mothers smiled wordlessly. Badzislaw was not a center of tolerance, not any more so than most population centers in the Spine, but they still remembered the help the Physician gave to it's people. That was enough to afford him a lack of stares and harrassment.
The crowd that HotepseAken had heard from outside the city was present; a few Flagellants, screaming to the heavens about the sinful world, riled up the peoples. They were either too enthralled with their own ranting or didn't care that an Anaphite had walked right past them and into the Manor, but they were certainly screaming about the moral filth within this town and many others. As HotepseAken knocked on the door, he heard a few of them call out that, like all vermin, Vampires and Witches must be flushed from a pure community with fire and iron.
None too soon, a manservant opened the door. HotepseAken greeted the man, "Im Hotep Se," recieving a polite bow in return.
"The Gentleman shall accompany; the Master is in the study," HotepseAken was informed, and shortly hence was brought to a small library: Thousands of pounds of gold in paper, ink, and leather. All signs of culture, understanding, and temperament. The Burgomeister himself was enjoying a drink, fresh water with a slice of citrus fruit. Being a trade town certainly had its advantages, and the common-born trademaster looked up as HotepseAken entered.
"Ah! Hotepsy Ackon, a pleasure to see you well," he greeted warmly, though pronouncing the name off, "Good of you to arrive. We have had three others ahead of you, a Physician from Vel Anir, as well as a local witch. Shall you join me for a spell? Supper will be soon, I am certain you can meet everyone there."
Hotepse paused... well, while he did have his job, to put to practice theorized cures his people had developed, there was no harm in friendly company. Especially when it could help him with his ultimate goal: understanding simpler life, such as Humans. He sat, agreeing without much fanfare, an Amol Kalitan gameboard upon the table. What harm could conversation and a match do, when the measure of their work would be in months, not days.
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