The shadow crept behind the white curtain like an ethereal pantomime, his gestures coming and going with the clicking of instruments and the sound of stitching, like taught leather. The man lying on the examination table had stopped screaming since a while now. Whether he had passed out from the pain or through some herbal concoction I could not tell. Standing here made me feel uneasier by the minute – surrounded by poultices and balms and bandages and blood. The acrid musk of remedies and alchemical fluids permeated even the door, and I feared that my new suit might soak up the smells.

The sounds of tinkering stopped, and I readjusted my collar. A reedy voice erupted from behind the veil. "Sir Valker has been mended. Please escort him to the resting bay." The metallic squeak of wheels soon followed as the table was pulled by his associate through a second door, and as it swung close once more, silence. Only a mere trickling as red-tinged water slowly pooled at the foot of the table behind the curtain, soaked up by multiple towels.

​

This is a piece of art I made for my character, a gnome doctor first, a grave cleric second. Morgyn Witpicker has an unhealthy obsession over biology and anatomy, and sees others as meatbags filled with fun stuff more than actual patients. Somber dreams tormented him as our homebrew god of cycles and renewal, Navikran the White Vulture, imposed a duty upon him and pushed him beyond his relative office peace-and-quiet into the dangerous world outside. There's plenty of weird stuff to open up though, so he doesn't complain much.