Pipe Dream

[Alistair]

54th of Vhalar, Arc 716

Medical Journal

Patient Name: Marcus Folten
Race: Mixed-Blood (Human/Biqaj)
Sex: Male
Age: 23
Status: Under consistent treatment/care

Symptoms: Inflammation, feverish traits, coughing, nausea, throat congestion, excess of mucus, nosebleeds, bowel blockage
Condition: Severe

Entry 1, Treatment of Marcus Folten
Overseeing Medical Professional: Alistair Venora, of Sabaissmais, Rynmere
Current Location: Ne'haer; taking on additional patients, medical facilities limited

This is my fourth day of treating the patient Marcus Folten. Plagued by a slew of different illnesses, his mother - Maria Folten - brought him in on the 50th of Vhalar, Arc 716. Unfortunately, I have had difficulty in treating the majority if not all of these illnesses, despite my medical expertise. I fully believe that were I even slightly more amateur, the patient would have passed on within the first couple of days of treatment. Fortunately, I am able to treat Marcus despite the difficulty of his condition, but I do not know for how long.

I have examined his body fully, through visual and touch-based examination. My analysis of his skin and muscles revealed a massive amount of internal inflammation; this illness is one that I have never quite encountered before. It is almost as if there are tumors growing between his skin and his muscles, and they are quite thick and resistant to blunt force. Indeed, I have attempted to relieve (some would say break) several of these inflamed areas, but to no avail; unfortunately, it appears as if they are made of a solid organic material.

The rest of his symptoms tend to be typical of a strong fever or an introduction to influenza, but unlike with these more typical illnesses, I have not been able to treat him to any considerable degree as I have many patients of the influenza. His mother supplied me with Acid Crocodile Blood and a variant of Strangler Fig Bark, generally effective in treating fevers and other similar illnesses, but neither of these health supplements had any notable effect. I fear that perhaps he is experiencing a new disease - a plague of sorts - and so I have taken precautions by wearing thick gloves, a plague mask (provided by a Ne'haer medical association, though only for borrow), as well as other garments meant to protect my immune system.

I have isolated the patient in this room, in a fairly deserted corridor of the hospital that I have been working in as a contracted professional. I am quite sure - almost entirely, in fact - that this individual will not be surviving. What I am concerned of now, and I have relayed these concerns to the hospital, is whether or not he is a victim of a new disease that could potentially sweep through the city and cause a massive influx of these same particular conditions.

I shall be watching closely.


- - -

Placing his quill against the table, and capping the ink with which he wrote, Alistair returned to his duties in overseeing the patient. The entries he had begun to scribble onto his parchment would serve as a method of clarifying with his own thoughts, as well as putting together a plan in solving and containing this particular illness. Still, a manifest on the patient would not do nearly as much as a quick mind and expertise on the situation, and Alistair knew that this man's wellbeing would require constant care. The nights before, he had slept very little, and only a few rooms away from the place in which he'd contained the subject.

Tonight, he knew, would be very similar.

[Alistair]

After hours of consistent treatment and examination, Alistair exited the treatment room to take a breather in the courtyard, leaving the patient in a mostly stable condition before gathering his un-contaminated belongings and bringing them with him to the outdoor area. It was evening, with mid-Vhalar's chilly winds blowing through the natural area. Alistair embraced the cold air against his skin, feeble and tired from the heat of the treatment room all of these hours; especially hidden behind thick clothes and a plague doctor's mask.

In the courtyard, he discovered that the patient's mother - the widow Maria - had been waiting in the courtyard for several hours, hoping to see Alistair when he took his break from treatment. The woman grew almost excited as Alistair exited the hospice, though the grim demeanor she bore was still present as it had been when she'd first given her son over to Doctor Venora's care.

"Listen," the woman said. "I should tell you a little about Marcus - so you can know who he is. And why it's so important that he survives this... Immortal's rancor." She gestured for Alistair to take a seat, and she seated herself beside him.

"Marcus is my eldest child of twelve," she said. Alistair did not reveal any surprise at the large number of children she'd procreated; in his time as a medical professional, he had met a mother and father of nearly twenty children. Unsurprisingly, their reason for visiting was to seek a doctor's counsel on the state of the Lady's pregnancy. "His father died a few arcs prior, when Marcus was seventeen. All that time when his father was alive, he aspired to live as an astrologer, capable of pursuing this dream due to my husband's income and assistance in raising the children. Unfortunately, with his father's passing, he was forced to abandon his education and go into the workforce, as well as assisting me and my mother in raising the many young children at home. From then to now, he has worked tirelessly, not less than half a trial's worth of breaks each and every morning. He returns to us near the end of evening, only to put his siblings to sleep and then himself; each and every day is the same laborious process, with no end in sight. I have seen how this has burdened him... physically and mentally. This is the life of a man rejected by his dreams, I understand. And I have felt guilt over his dilemma since it all began, a few arcs ago."

As she explained this to Alistair, the man merely listened quietly to her story. He didn't say anything, or really even blink; his breathing was barely audible, and his expression did not rise or falter. He merely stared. It was his way - few others knew any other demeanor by Alistair. Despite the woman's sad story, she could not provoke empathy. But he understood early on that empathy was not her goal. She wanted to share with Alistair a bright future for Marcus - that was what she wished to show him.

"After years of pursuing a way out for my son, balancing my investigations with the raising of my young children, I've discovered a way to save my boy from this crisis of self. I found a school for astrologers in Uthaldria, willing to pay their young aspirants in order to jumpstart the field, as Uthaldria is known to lack in an industry for the sciences. They would pay him enough to provide for both him and his young siblings, while providing him with the final arcs of his education and an opportunity to flourish. Yet, shortly after a courier telling us of his acceptance into the institution came from Uthaldria to here, he was plagued with such virulent illness. I cannot--"

[Alistair]

. . .

He paused, for a moment, carefully analyzing those words. Then, before she could continue, she was interrupted by the Venora.

"Wait," Alistair stopped her, his hand motioning for her to pause. "Who opened this letter? Was it you?" he asked her.

"No," she replied. "It was Marcus. Why?"

Alistair, while totally unsure, knew at this moment what the answer could have been. It started with the fact that the woman's story sounded too good to possibly be true - a school that subsidized its students instead of charging them - and continued with the courier's reply. It was a slight hunch, but he had to ask...

"When was Marcus to arrive in Uthaldria?" he asked her.

"The forty-ninth of Vhalar was the date they requested. Unfortunately, he was to arrive very late, as he needed to raise more money to pay his way there. He would not have arrived in Uthaldria until nearly the eightieth by our estimation, and we sent the school a letter informing them of such. Surely they will not be pleased, but..."

At this point, he tuned the woman out, trying to piece together this information. An offer far too good to be true, sent by a city renowned for their ignorance in the sciences, yet recruiting for an almost theoretical science; astrologers were not the most charming investment, as much of their studies ended up in naught but misinformation and pretentious bauble. Uthaldria would not start with them, surely not - it would be chemists, alchemists, biologists, medical professionals . . .

And to subsidize his education, as well as paying him... that was an impossibility. Even in Rynmere, which possessed great public service, such a thought would be laughed out of the Kingdom. The Lotharro would have to be the richest men in Idalos to afford such a thing, and he highly doubted it. To recruit all the way in Ne'haer, too - ridiculous. It could only be one thing.

"Miss," he called to Maria, "there is no way that letter was authentic. Instead, I think I know exactly what this was. Think - Marcus' symptoms appeared almost immediately on the fiftieth. A day after he was intended to arrive in Uthaldria. He, with no documentation, would arrive in the city and - possibly - be subjected to an illness that turned him docile, fragile and weak. Considering the impossibility of the advertisement they sent your son, I believe they likely rigged the courier's letter with poison meant to come into full effect some time - briefly - after arriving in Uthaldria. Simply put, I believe your Uthaldrian recruiters were likely frauds; possibly to an organ trade or a human trafficking ring. Your son's internal system appears to be well save for his stomach, despite the illness, and he's quite attractive; either is a possibility." He placed his hand underneath his chin and sighed.

To think, the cure to this issue could - theoretically - have been as easy as an anti-toxant. He supposed there was no reason to imagine a slow-working poison as the cause of his illness, but now that it stood as a possibility, he would attempt to utilize said anti-toxants to save Marcus' life.

- - -

"Whitemoss," he revealed before the sleeping patient, supplied to him by the hospice. "A bit of strangler fig bark in the air - can't hurt," he whispered to himself, boiling the root as the steam spread throughout the room. Between his fingertips he held a concentrated whitemoss, meant to be eaten by the patient. If this truly was the work of a slow-killing poison, the whitemoss would likely fight off some or all of Marcus' current symptoms. All he could do now was wait for the effects to play out. It would likely take trials to see a difference, but he would remain to witness either the man's recovery or decline.

He didn't really care about the woman's sob story regarding her son. What he did care about, though, was her stupidity and willingness to trust others and their "miracle solutions" resulting in the death of her son. Such a travesty - born not of his own failures - was one Alistair could not sit idly with. He would ensure the survival of Marcus Folten, to be sure - but for now? All he could do was write more drab analytical entries onto other sheets of the same sort of parchment. He would write, eagerly, about the present situation... in which he acted almost as if a detective, for a moment, to provide his patient with the right helping hand.

[Niv]

Alistair

Knowledge:

Investigation: Examining patient marcus though visual and touch based examination.
Investigation: When a opportunity sounds too good to be true.
Psychology: Maria wasn’t intending to inspire empathy, but talk of Marcus potential.
Poison: Unnamed poison that creates hard tumours in the skin and muscles.
Writing: Making notes on a possible new plague in the medical journal
Writing: about when you almost played Detective.
Writing: used to clarify your thoughts.
Illness of Marcus Folten: Tumours growing between his skin and muscles.
Illness of Marcus Folten: Tumours are nearly impossible to break.
Illness of Marcus Folten: most symptoms are typical of strong fever or start of Influenza.
Illness of Marcus Folten: Resistant to Acid Crocodile and Strangler fig bark.
Illness of Marcus Folten: A possible new plague
Illness of Marcus Folten: a man made poison from Uthaldria likely used for human trafficking or organ harvesting.
Acid Crocodile: Medicine effective in treating fevers
Strangler fig bark: Medicine effective in treating fevers.
WhiteMoss: Used to cure poisons by boiling the root.
The Widow Maria: Needs Marcus to survive
The Widow Maria: a dumb idiot women
Marcus Folten: Eldest of twelve siblings.
Marcus Folten: Rejected by his dreams

Loot: 

N/A

Injuries: 

N/A

Fame:

N/A

Magic:

These points can NOT be used for Domain Magic

Devotion:

Story: 

5/5
Short but interesting and fun to read

Collaboration:

0/5
Because solo

Structure:

5/5
I didn’t see any noticeable mistakes and it was well written.





Art credit to Yoshitaka Amano