Thread Closed
Somewhere, deep in the Shroud: a small shack.Â
(Really, a place of no consequence, and a man no one cares about.)
Doctor Josephe Bloom paced across the room; boots clacked against the wood floor with a measured, if fast, rhythm. Everything had been going well. With the assistance of the adventurers, his patients had been restored to their former selves; they had determined that the mystery illness was not, in fact, an illness but withdrawal symptoms from an addiction to the recently banned Horse Oil.
Alchemically mixing voidsent blood with holy water had seemed repugnant at the time, but the results spoke for themselves when the bath was applied to the patients. It had given him a new appreciation for alchemy, one that perhaps he should have ignored. After his patients displayed signs of recovery, Josephe spread the word to the other healers around the city for what to do to treat the mystery illness. He was ostracized. Word spread that his medicines were contaminated with the blood of voidsent and soon no patient would seek him out, no healers would work with him.
He was forced to watch as more and more citizens of his beloved home fell ill with the same symptoms he had thwarted. So what if it was with the assistance of adventurers and their questionable alchemy? Was it wrong to place your hopes in an illegal substance, if that substance worked? Was it wrong to trust an adventurer?
Was it wrong to hate those who were once your colleagues for throwing you out of your home and denying you the practice of your true talent?
The good doctor may have been banned from healing within the reaches of the Black Shroud by his peers, but he would not forsake his calling. He had retreated from the city with several books imported from Ul’dah. There, he could study, and there he could find a cure no matter what it took.
(Really, a place of no consequence, and a man no one cares about.)
Doctor Josephe Bloom paced across the room; boots clacked against the wood floor with a measured, if fast, rhythm. Everything had been going well. With the assistance of the adventurers, his patients had been restored to their former selves; they had determined that the mystery illness was not, in fact, an illness but withdrawal symptoms from an addiction to the recently banned Horse Oil.
Alchemically mixing voidsent blood with holy water had seemed repugnant at the time, but the results spoke for themselves when the bath was applied to the patients. It had given him a new appreciation for alchemy, one that perhaps he should have ignored. After his patients displayed signs of recovery, Josephe spread the word to the other healers around the city for what to do to treat the mystery illness. He was ostracized. Word spread that his medicines were contaminated with the blood of voidsent and soon no patient would seek him out, no healers would work with him.
He was forced to watch as more and more citizens of his beloved home fell ill with the same symptoms he had thwarted. So what if it was with the assistance of adventurers and their questionable alchemy? Was it wrong to place your hopes in an illegal substance, if that substance worked? Was it wrong to trust an adventurer?
Was it wrong to hate those who were once your colleagues for throwing you out of your home and denying you the practice of your true talent?
The good doctor may have been banned from healing within the reaches of the Black Shroud by his peers, but he would not forsake his calling. He had retreated from the city with several books imported from Ul’dah. There, he could study, and there he could find a cure no matter what it took.