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Post by Manson Doktore on Jan 24, 2015 2:57:22 GMT -5
It had been about 3 days since the incident. Nothing had happened yet, he had spent those days getting the office back to normal, it was like he, or rather, the Grey Fox hadn't trashed the room at all. However he did notice a few things missing, spare cash for one thing. He was completely sure he had kept a bit of gold in the locked drawer but it was now all gone... and he had kept a sample of a rather rare flower from a Cydonian botanist he had helped through an allergy season. There were also several case files missing, mostly focused on the more affluent patients he had taken on since settling into the position. It was concerning, but nothing to agonize over. Flowers could be grown, gold could be earned and who cared if an Elven lordling had come down with an STD? It was probably whatever cleaning crew had come in to deal with the broken items and that rotting carcass left behind.
He was glad that the council was understanding at least. No real complaints to speak of, save perhaps an exasperated sigh that was intended to berate you for your own weakness. They funnelled the funds to him and he replaced what was broken then completely scrubbed the place down making it sterile once again. Everything was in its place, he sat at his familiar desk to the left of the entrance where he did his usual paperwork. It was easy to mistake him for a receptionist with the way he deeply focused on the papers in front of him. A little handsome too, how he'd bite down on the edge of his pen lightly when in thought. He was doing that quite a bit more than usual though. The paperwork was easy, he didn't have to think about it. It was the new... Responsibilities he had acquired.
His eyes had returned to normal the morning he woke up after they had their celebrations. It seemed normal for two days after that. However there was a slip up today. A child bumped into him, and then had the gall to blame him for being in his way. He tried to make nothing of it and walk along but the mother showed up and then began to roar about her lovely little shitstain. He kept trying to just walk off but it was when she grabbed him by the arm he lost control got a moment. He meant to simply raise his voice but ended up hissing "UNHAND ME."[/color] in a tone that was not wholly his own. The pair looked into his eyes and they bolted. He was confused for a moment till he looked into a reflection in a puddle near by. Red eyes, far more sinisterly crimson than even any Beastfolk could imagine. They burned in his skull and reminded him of how deep in the shitter he truly was. It cemented the dreams. Manson never dreamed since he was a child. Yet the past three nights, he could feel something around him. He felt enclosed. In that state between realities he could feel a dry heat emanating off a massive body. It would lightly brush against him at times, striking his cheek with a thin yet gentle touch. He could hear the force whispering things in a language he didn't truly understand. Yet the words felt like those old legends his mother used to tell him about how the world came to be. These legends had a different feeling to them. A truth in fact as opposed to faith. Then when the truths all started to get to a place where he could start to piece the puzzle together they vanished like warm snow.
He was awake now. Yet still he felt the warmth stayed with him a bit. It was an odd feeling to him, being warm from the inside. He intended to keep his disposition cool however. He didn't need to risk exposure. He would do his work as usual, and didn't need irrelevant stress to cause him to throw himself to the gallows. A bell jingles as the door opened. He kept it unlocked, this was a free clinic after all. If you were willing to accept the idea of healing without magic words then you were always welcome. He did not look up from his papers, choosing to retain his focus. A humorous thought crossed his mind however, as he wondered if this walk in was going to be whoever that idiotic Cult sent to retrieve him. Well, Cultist or not if a patient came to him he needed to solve the problem, which began with stating a few ground rules without once looking up at the visitor.
"Greetings, and welcome to the office of the Commissioner of Public Health. If this is your first time here then please fill out this form so I may have a quick glance at your information. If you have an emergency issue then please notify me immediately to assist you, otherwise, I must inform you that if you intend to become a regular patient at this practise then I will have to request that you undertake a full physical examination before I treat any chronic or underlying conditions. If you have any questions about the form please feel free to ask and I will assist you. Do you have any questions or immediate issues I can deal with?"
He could've said it with a bit more enthusiasm but the explanation itself was one way he was set apart from other healers. Things like actually understanding your health care was still a mystery to most Terrans who preferred to only come in when they actually had an issue to cry about.
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Post by Deleted on Jan 24, 2015 21:11:01 GMT -5
A new High Priest, hm...? An interesting matter. Given just how long Xanthe had been with the Dragon Cult now, it was no surprise to her that a new one was declared yet again. The spot seemed to be more of a figurehead than anything substantial by now. Perhaps this one would be different though. Or perhaps he wouldn't. But it didn't matter that much as long as he simply got things done. In the mind of the elven warrior, the only thing that mattered was progress and the Dragon Cult was the way of the future, not the mindless worship of long dead individuals. Well regardless, here she was striding towards the office of the Commissioner of Public Health for all of Dracon. To think the new High Priest would be such a public figure would have been a bad decision not too long ago. But now the upper echelons seemed to think it a brilliant idea.
Xanthe entered the office dressed as usual in her leather armor and cloak, the wyvern skull resting upon her left shoulder and side as normal. Her sword hung at her waist and the fact she measured an impressive 6' or more often served to add an air of intimidation for those of smaller height. But as she got a look of the prim and proper man that greeted her arrival, he measured almost just as tall as the aging warrior. Still, he certainly looked like the usual civil servant rather than someone of his actual position. Perhaps they hadn't been so foolish in choosing such an average looking individual after all, even if he was a public figure of sorts. Besides, considering he was a doctor and all, it reminded her of another matter she'd been meaning to attend to lately. Playing along with his day job could work for the moment.
"I suppose that depends. Have you ever worked with amputations before?" Xanthe spoke up as she looked over the form. A simple enough document with all the standard dealings. Name, age, height, weight, previous conditions of note, all that sort of information. Her silver eyes looked up from the form to look at the bespectacled doctor once more, noticing the deep set of his crimson eyes, almost the very color of blood. It would seem the first signs of his ascendance had now set in.
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Post by Manson Doktore on Jan 24, 2015 22:45:07 GMT -5
Manson felt his eyes burn a bit. Unbeknownst to him they had turned that terrible shade of red again. "Amputations? Why yes, though rather rar-" he began before hissing in pain as the burn got worse when he turned his head to look up at Xanthe. "Agh, damn blasted... excuse me..." he muttered as he quickly got up from his chair. It was strange, he didn't know the cause. Though Xanthe more than likely did. Members of the cult could idly sense each other if they willed it, and it seemed that Xanthe had wanted to be found to a degree. The doctor went over to the office proper where there was a basin and sink, reaching blindly for the tap and turning on the cold water. The water eased much of the pain and after washing his face a few times while looking away from her the burning sensation seemed to ease. "Excuse me, I must have caught something in the eyes, dust, particles, it just happens to everyone you know. Now then I believe you asked something about amputations?" He asked as he put his glasses back on and did a quick check in the mirror which happened to be where Xanthe could see as well. Back to mundane brown like they should have been. Manson assumed there really must have been some dust or something.
"Why yes, I have performed several amputations in my career. If you want an official count, three full legs, seventeen toes, two feet, eight full arms, four fingers, and two to the forearm."
If anything could surprise Xanthe it would no doubt be the raw count and the banal manner in which he delivered it. No one in Terra could talk about the act of cutting off someone's extremities so casually, most of the time someone talked about an amputation it was themselves going on about their badge of honor or some midwife spreading gossip about why the drunkard beat his wife. He slipped on his trademark gloves and turned back to face her, meeting her eyes again. She had a definite strength about her now that he looked, though he wondered why the weight placement of her stance seemed to favor one side. The cloak and skull did a great enough job of obscuring her silhouette that at a glance you couldn't tell if Xanthe had lost an arm. He wondered if Xanthe would admit it, but she was rather fetching in an ephemeral way. If she came as a patient though then he would have to stuff those kinds of ideas, it wasn't a good idea to socialize with your patients too much or you couldn't make the tough decisions when it counted. His eyes seemed to warm up however when they drifted over her chest where her Pact mark was. He seemed to feel a strange... kinship emanating from there. Little did he know that his eyes quickly shifted again as they lingered shifting back to brown once he met her eyes again, but now Xanthe could see full and well where the appointment and all the rampant excitement was coming from. There was a strange golden symbol embedded into the center of those red eyes. The holy mark of the Dragon herself, even Xanthe with her great experience only had a Pact brand marking her as a trusted servant. In her history with the cult it was considered the highest any Terran could go. To see Manson's symbols would be like seeing some of that progress she had been craving. He was no mere thrall like the other High members. He was not made to be a soldier or a servant. He had the mark of the Dragon herself, the brand of a chosen child. It meant he had survived swimming in her blood and was now considered one of it. Manson would've hated the idea if he knew but, in the eyes of the Cult he was more than a mere celebrity. He was Divine.
"Though I will preface my experience by saying that amputation is not an easy decision on mine, nor the patients' part. They were saved as a last resort, when I had no other options left to me. They would be angry of course but... when you have a condition that even magic cannot heal, and you ask for my help you had better be happy your heart is beating in the first place when I'm done. Either way, they would usually shore up through therapy. I've developed several techniques to help reduce the onset of things like Ghost Hand Syndrome and to facilitate the body's re-routing of the major veins and arteries."
He was learned, that was a fact. Much more in-depth and the things he had offered to do in order to speed up healing would no doubt be ideas that were unheard of those many years ago when she lost her arm.
"I am curious however, as to the reason you would make such a specific inquiry Ms...?"
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Post by Deleted on Jan 25, 2015 2:55:42 GMT -5
What an interesting man this was. To talk of something like amputation so casually and with such calculated precision, it was as if it was a common day for the good Doktore. He briefly retreated from her company, showing signs of mental pain. In truth, it reminded Xanthe of her first time dealing with part of the Pact's offered power. A slight frown crossed her otherwise neutral expression. Had they told the man nothing if he could not recognize another of the Cult from the mental compulsion? Hm... It was going to be a good thing that she was the first to truly speak with him on these matters then. Experience was good for training the unaware and unprepared. And while this man would have to have some capability, it was currently being suppressed by the lack of solid information he possessed.
Manson returned quickly enough, looking no worse for the wear and as prim and proper, even as calm as he had before. However, there was something very noticeably different. His eyes had lost their crimson coloration and a golden symbol that was extremely recognizable for Xanthe briefly appeared in his eyes. It would seem that he had managed to impress the Dragon enough to be more than another puppet even in her own radiant eyes. Impressive, to be certain. The Cult themselves did not yet know just what this meant. But for all the years that the elven woman had worked for her powerful mistress, this was the moment that the great Dragon had foretold would come.
Then he began to speak once more of concepts that truly were new to Xanthe. Such ideas were things she'd never heard before. But they did sound quite nice compared to what she had put herself through those 100 or so years ago now. "Phantom Hand", huh? Well, more like "Phantom Arm" given her situation. But regardless, it brought a small grin to her face and she began to chuckle, perhaps adding her own bit of morbidity to the situation.
"Xanthe. A pleasure to meet you, sir." Her visible arm then began to rise unhook the clasp of her cloak. With a tug, she removed the cloak from around her shoulders and the rather glaring reason for her question appeared in the lack of a left arm. "Simply looking for a check up as it were. Fighting Wyverns can take alot out of you, you know. I wish those advances of your's were around 100 years ago."
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Post by Manson Doktore on Jan 25, 2015 12:55:01 GMT -5
"Ah. Ms. Xanthe then. My condolences for the injury and the circumstance. I will admit that I don't know very much about Wyverns, I've never seen one myself."
He stepped closer and leaned in to take a better look at the wound. He cleared his throat and adjusted his color a bit as he now felt a bit hot under the color. Going nearer to her Pact brand only made the heat in his body go up. Manson reminded himself to take his temperature later, he might have caught a fever or something. Refocusing on the wound though he did notice a few interesting things about it that the healing could not truly hide. First off was the lack of scarring around the small stump itself. It was also the shape of the stump, nearly a perfect circle. The placement of the cut was also rather exact, just between the humerus and scapula without touching the clavicle. There were also two distinct scars just above the stump on her shoulder itself in two straight lines.
"Ms. Xanthe I must profess that I am rather... taken aback by the nature of this wound. It is inconsistent with an animal bite."
He reached into his back pocket and took out his pen and notebook, quickly scribbling her name and some factoids about herself and the wound. This was a bit of a funny trick you could pull on Manson. You didn't really need to fill out forms with him as he would usually end up filling it all out himself while he examined you.
"While I do not mean to disparage you or doubt what you have told me, your wound does not appear to be caused by a Wyvern. Look at the placement of the cut, for example" He began, taking a finger and tapping the end of the stump. "Your stump has actually healed rather well, mostly due to the fact that your amputation avoided severing a major bone. The healing has properly capped off because there was no broken bone for the body to have to repair as well. Note as well that you have no residual scars in the general area of your stump as well, if an animal did cause this wound then they should have left at least some larger teeth marks on your shoulder or che-" He paused, when his finger went to push Xanthe's shirt to the side slightly. It wasn't as if Manson was trying to get a dumb look at her assets, he was more than capable of divorcing his work from his pleasure, but as he dragged his finger to expose more of her shoulder and collar he noticed a marking that seemed somewhere between a tattoo and an intricate burn. It would have been something he could have ignored, tattoos were a regular occurrence in his experience but... most of them didn't glow when he touched them. He pulled his finger off. It disappeared. He poked the area again. It reappeared. He did this several more times, almost like a child playing with a light switch before he sighed in complete exasperation and put away his notebook and pen. He swore quietly, muttering "Just had to be real, couldn't just let me think of it as a bad god damned dream, justhadtofuckinghappentomedidn'tit" as he quickly rushed to the entrance and slammed the door shut. His swearing continued as he locked all three locks and the four dead bolts he had just had installed after the incident and paid no mind to Xanthe while he rushed around the office, shutting and locking every single window there was. When all was said and done he exhaled loudly out of sheer irritation, looking like a massive balloon that deflated. "Sit. On the table. Now." he ordered, pointing to the large metal table in the center where he performed examinations and autopsies. He went over to his desk and kicked a moving stool he had over to the table before slumping onto it holding his face in his hands and his elbows on his knees.
"Who. What. Why me. How. Explain. Please. Don't be a jackass. Please." He murmured, his words muffled through his hands. If he placed his face any harder into his palms he'd flatten it forever.
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Post by Deleted on Jan 25, 2015 16:23:54 GMT -5
Xanthe casually began to put her cloak back on now, the pretense well and truly dropped as he noticed the tell-tale mark upon her chest. Manson rushed about meanwhile, locking doors and even windows in his paranoia that was quite proper for where they were currently located. She casually strode over to the table that he had insisted she sit upon and indeed, she did. As he finally ceased his motions and the half-mad sounding ranting, it was time for a proper explanation that he had been denied once already. "Tell me something before I begin. How much have you been told already?" After hearing out the good Doktore's words, Xanthe began to lapse into explaining the situation for him.
"Quite simply, you are now the High Priest of our mutual friends, Manson Doktore. You have been weighed, measured, and you have been found acceptable by our Great Lady. You more specifically are what I have been waiting for. The previous High Priests were all ultimately thralls, but you have been found worthy of being more than they ever were. The Great Lady had told me of this day and now it's here. You have a great responsibility on your shoulders now. But you are not alone, either. I have come to aid you in this time of need." She went silent for a time, allowing Manson to ingest and parse through all that Xanthe had just told him. After a time, the silver haired elf began to speak once more. "I will answer whatever questions you have as best as I can. As said, I'm here to help."
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Post by Manson Doktore on Jan 26, 2015 0:27:21 GMT -5
"Tell me something before I begin. How much have you been told already?"
What had he been told? Oh what HAD he been told? He was told many things that night. The problem was that most of it was the same damn thing and all of it was completely useless. "You're the chosen one!" "You'll bring justice to the Dragon!" "The world of Terra will hear your name!". Great. What did that mean. What do chosen ones do. What did anyone ever do to this goddamned dragon. These were questions he quite desperately wanted to roar to the heavens, preferably to the dragon itself if possible.
"Quite simply, you are now the High Priest of our mutual friends, Manson Doktore. You have been weighed, measured, and you have been found acceptable by our Great Lady. You more specifically are what I have been waiting for. The previous High Priests were all ultimately thralls, but you have been found worthy of being more than they ever were. The Great Lady had told me of this day and now it's here. You have a great responsibility on your shoulders now. But you are not alone, either. I have come to aid you in this time of need."
Well... that was at least an actual explanation. It wasn't much of one but it was something. The talks of great responsibility were like nails of a chalkboard. Mum and Pa used to go on and on about that. As a kid he sort of just accepted it, but since they passed... well... the idea of a greater purpose didn't really suit the young man that well. He had his cushy job, his cushy pay, his cushy sense of indignation, was that not enough? Now he had to be the chosen son of some idiotic reptile who could trick stupid people into accepting a bargain without any benefit to themselves?
Though when he mulled over that last thought he raised his hands from his palms to look at Xanthe for a moment. She herself didn't seem too stupid. At least not now. For all he knew when the full introductions to the Cult would start she would start prostrating and declaring grand prophecies like the rest. She didn't seem like it though, seemed rather sure of herself in fact. Wonder what lies that Dragon could tell to get someone so old to actually join up?
"I will answer whatever questions you have as best as I can. As said, I'm here to help."
Well at least she was willing to assist. More useful than the rest of the damn Cult and he'd only known her for a good few minutes. Manson sighed and made a mental note, to at least keep Xanthe around. He had no idea of how the whole group worked, so he figured that if for some reason Xanthe was just some errand girl he should still keep her near him if only to provide a bastion from the rampant idiocy he would soon be exposing himself to. He rested his chin on his fist and began to think. A moment turned into a minute. That minute into fifteen. Through the whole silence Manson's jaw seemed to rummage around in his head, reflecting the rummaging around his own brain was doing at the moment. With the speed at which he was grinding his teeth it was suddenly clear that Manson was doing something that, while tragic in it's rarity, was heartening in it's sight: Critical Thought. He was taking this entire situation rather seriously, it was his own damned life on the line after all. If the Grey Fox were to suddenly pop into his office now, and then run screaming through the streets he'd be impaled up the ass with a metal rod within the hour. He considered multiple situations, infinite scenarios and with the way he would sometimes raise and eyebrow or shake his head in disagreement it was as if he was silently appraising a thousand different lives he could live based on his choices. A full hour later, the timer in Manson's brain oven seemed to click and he more or less nodded to an unseen adviser that he had found his answer.
He looked over at Xanthe calmly and stated "So. They called me Ra'Doh vas Shadah just so you know. Said I was some chosen son or something, and apparently I'm allowed to just... do whatever the hell I want. So I guess we'll just have to start with questions then". He peered over at a side of the table and pushed a button on it. Currently with the stool he sat on, the table was at the height of his head. A few gears were heard whirring in the mechanisms and the table smoothly lowered just slightly until Xanthe's feet could be firmly planted on the floor and her knees were about level with Manson's chest. As nonchalantly as was his protocol, Manson scooted his stool over to sit directly in front of the Elf and proceeded to... lower himself... into her thighs. Well that makes it sound much worse than it is, he sort of just let his body and face fall head first into her lap. Contrary to popular opinion, if presented with privacy, permission, and a good pair of legs Manson was definitely the type to take the opportunity to appreciate if the situation so allowed it. To him, he wanted to see if the position he had was the permission he technically needed. He did feel distinctly tired in her lap though. In a somewhat lazy manner he even reached around and gently grasped Xanthe's waist, locking his fingers just above her buttocks which allowed him to adjust his distance for proper comfort. His words were muffled by the presence of comforting flesh, but clear enough for Xanthe to make sense of as he asked his, admittedly extremely poignant, questions.
"So. This Cult thing. Explain. Better. Member make up. Organization structure. You've been with it a long enough time. Tell me what the problem is. It's been around for centuries hasn't it? What the hell goes wrong? Why haven't we won yet?"
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