56th of Ymiden, Arc 717
Location: Kaelserad
Jeger Alistair,
It has come to my attention that Ren Norendel, the son of Demavend Norendel (my superior and liege), has become plagued by a particular illness that has wracked his mind and caused a monstrous rift within his life at home. Considering their busy schedules, his fathers - Lucien Lordaeron and Demavend Norendel - have sought an outside expert to examine the potentially physical nature of this illness.
By the arrival of this letter, Ren should be less than a few breaks from your office in Aedirn. I have attached a pouch of gold nel to this parchment, carried directly by Sohr Khal to make clear the urgency of this treatment.
Thank you,
Shae Asharan von Metzen of Clan Stahlmark
He arrived, shortly afterward, the door swinging open and inviting the dim light of the setting sun. A group of men came, escorting him with bindings to hold his wrists together behind his back, a blindfold over his eyes. He was ridden over by Drexion, but willingly walked the remaining distance. He seemed clean throughout all of it, with a monotone expression and nothing to say.
At first, at least. Eventually, after being seated for half a break in the reception area of Kaelserad, the boy began to speak.
"Beautiful building," he commented, a smirk curling on his lips. Alistair's brow rose - though it quickly dropped, realizing the sarcasm. He was blindfolded, and so had no way to tell whether or not the building was beautiful. Apparently, at least.
"I know what you're thinking," Ren started, shaking his head slowly. "Crazy, right? Sarcasm? No. I'm saying it feels beautiful. I'm really enjoying the texture of the chair I'm seated upon, and the walk here was soothing, calm. So much... breeze. You Jegers live it up when you're not dying to monsters," he remarked, a statement that surely would've bothered Alistair if he were more of a Jeger than he currently was.
Eventually, he started answering questions, which allowed for Alistair to record his information in a patient's log. This was how he began non-urgent treatment, especially if he would be seeing these patients again in the future, which seemed plausible with Ren.
Patient Information: Ren Norendel. Age 18. Height, 5'11", Weight 164 lbs. Race, Biqaj. Symptoms: Sudden vulgarity, dangerous impulse, threatening nature. Apparent lack of fear, discomfort and shame. Psychologist's areas of specializations. However, there is also a clear fever running throughout his body; Ren's skin is immensely hot to the touch. This could very well be the source of the mental trauma, and so is worth investigating.
"You know why you're here?" he asked the Biqaj. The boy laughed, blowing his bangs with a sudden breath.
"Because I'm fucked up," he said. "I've always been fucked up. Dad's never loved me. Except when he did."
The mage... wasn't sure what he meant by that, though he had an idea, one that made him incredibly uncomfortable and equally empathetic. With Kaiserion and Fridgar staring blankly from the corner of the room, he quirked his lips, and sighed; he had to make use of them. "Fridgar, remove his bindings and examine his torso. We need to see if there's any evidence of a bite, or internal damage, or some source of an illness inflicted by external means. If we can't find any, we'll have to rely on health tonics and healing salves. Not very reliable, but if it's just a fever, we may be able to reduce the effects."
Ren shook his head. "No," he whispered. "Let it go on. I'm liking the changes. I feel liberated."
When Fridgar drew near, the patient would coo at him, before his bindings would apparently undo themselves, a cabal of insects fleeing the leather shackles once they'd ripped through them with their insectoid maws. Ren would throw his jaw forward, razor sharp teeth springing forth, as he attempted to bite hard into the Lotharen physician.
Location: Kaelserad
Jeger Alistair,
It has come to my attention that Ren Norendel, the son of Demavend Norendel (my superior and liege), has become plagued by a particular illness that has wracked his mind and caused a monstrous rift within his life at home. Considering their busy schedules, his fathers - Lucien Lordaeron and Demavend Norendel - have sought an outside expert to examine the potentially physical nature of this illness.
By the arrival of this letter, Ren should be less than a few breaks from your office in Aedirn. I have attached a pouch of gold nel to this parchment, carried directly by Sohr Khal to make clear the urgency of this treatment.
Thank you,
Shae Asharan von Metzen of Clan Stahlmark
He arrived, shortly afterward, the door swinging open and inviting the dim light of the setting sun. A group of men came, escorting him with bindings to hold his wrists together behind his back, a blindfold over his eyes. He was ridden over by Drexion, but willingly walked the remaining distance. He seemed clean throughout all of it, with a monotone expression and nothing to say.
At first, at least. Eventually, after being seated for half a break in the reception area of Kaelserad, the boy began to speak.
"Beautiful building," he commented, a smirk curling on his lips. Alistair's brow rose - though it quickly dropped, realizing the sarcasm. He was blindfolded, and so had no way to tell whether or not the building was beautiful. Apparently, at least.
"I know what you're thinking," Ren started, shaking his head slowly. "Crazy, right? Sarcasm? No. I'm saying it feels beautiful. I'm really enjoying the texture of the chair I'm seated upon, and the walk here was soothing, calm. So much... breeze. You Jegers live it up when you're not dying to monsters," he remarked, a statement that surely would've bothered Alistair if he were more of a Jeger than he currently was.
Eventually, he started answering questions, which allowed for Alistair to record his information in a patient's log. This was how he began non-urgent treatment, especially if he would be seeing these patients again in the future, which seemed plausible with Ren.
Patient Information: Ren Norendel. Age 18. Height, 5'11", Weight 164 lbs. Race, Biqaj. Symptoms: Sudden vulgarity, dangerous impulse, threatening nature. Apparent lack of fear, discomfort and shame. Psychologist's areas of specializations. However, there is also a clear fever running throughout his body; Ren's skin is immensely hot to the touch. This could very well be the source of the mental trauma, and so is worth investigating.
"You know why you're here?" he asked the Biqaj. The boy laughed, blowing his bangs with a sudden breath.
"Because I'm fucked up," he said. "I've always been fucked up. Dad's never loved me. Except when he did."
The mage... wasn't sure what he meant by that, though he had an idea, one that made him incredibly uncomfortable and equally empathetic. With Kaiserion and Fridgar staring blankly from the corner of the room, he quirked his lips, and sighed; he had to make use of them. "Fridgar, remove his bindings and examine his torso. We need to see if there's any evidence of a bite, or internal damage, or some source of an illness inflicted by external means. If we can't find any, we'll have to rely on health tonics and healing salves. Not very reliable, but if it's just a fever, we may be able to reduce the effects."
Ren shook his head. "No," he whispered. "Let it go on. I'm liking the changes. I feel liberated."
When Fridgar drew near, the patient would coo at him, before his bindings would apparently undo themselves, a cabal of insects fleeing the leather shackles once they'd ripped through them with their insectoid maws. Ren would throw his jaw forward, razor sharp teeth springing forth, as he attempted to bite hard into the Lotharen physician.
