Dexter Montgomery Todd

by **Dexter** on June 6th, 2012, 4:47 am

Recent Activity: formatting changes (6/9/2012)

Table of Contents

Basic Information

Character Concept

Biography and Roleplays

Master Lists

by **Dexter** on June 8th, 2012, 12:14 am

Known to the inhabitants of Ravok only as Doctor Dexter Montgomery

Race: Nuit (previously human)

Age: sixty-seven (born Season of Winter, Day 81, 444 AV)

Sex: previously a male human (willing to inhabit the bodies of either sex)

Home: Ravok, Sylira

Income: Currently waiting on approval to start earning 8 gm/day as a doctor

Living Expense: Common (1.5 gm/day) upon approval of income

by **Dexter** on June 8th, 2012, 12:15 am

Appearance

Original Body

The man called Dexter walks slowly and stiffly, one of his gloved hands always gripping a sleek wooden cane very tightly, but stands tall and straight and holds his chin high. His gait is that of a man stubbornly ignoring the angry protests of his old bones. A fine, hand-tailored, black velvet suit gives him a dignified appearance, although it is slightly worn around the edges. He also notices much more room in his once form-fitting clothes than he did five years ago.

A crisp top hat covers the wrinkled skin of his bald forehead and the frosty bristles of his ever-receding hair. A trimmed white beard adds to his noble appearance, and seems to hide his true intentions, obscuring the lower portion of his face and wobbling slightly with every syllable he pronounces in his smooth, calming voice.

Though his heavily-lidded hazel eyes, which fix people with unnervingly piercing gazes, are crinkled at the corners in an amused fashion, dark shadows give his eyes a haunted expression. It is very difficult, at a glance, to decide whether or not to trust the old doctor. His visage is either that of a kindly old man, marred with old age, or that of a sinister master of deceit; in truth, nearly seven decades of enjoyable research, stress, and painful experiences are etched conflictingly into Dexter's wrinkled face.

Personality

[WIP]

Although Dexter's personality is being discovered and developed by me through roleplay, he is a conflicted character who attempts to cling to shaky morals and carry out his own dark plans simultaneously.

Character Development Questionnaire

Questions :

Gossamer kindly provides the following questions here. I have answered them from my character's point of view (as of Season of Summer, Day 7, 512 AV), but Dexter himself has never actually sat down to fill out a questionnaire like this. I'll probably update the questions every so often. (I may also go back and reanswer particular questions completely if my character development contradicts their answers.)

General Information

1. What is your Name? Dexter Montgomery Todd, though I am forbidden by the Black Sun to speak my surname.

2. Do you go by a nickname or pet name? My father called me "Dex" when I was a child, but that was a long time ago.

3. How old are you? I am sixty-seven years old.

4. What is your height? I believe I am about five feet and ten inches.

5. What is your weight? In my old age I am probably only about 130 or 140 pounds.

Aesthetics

1. Describe yourself as you see yourself. I'm a frail old man in desperate need of a new body. I try to hold myself with dignity and wear fine velvet suits, but I am weak and am sure Nuit hunters see me as an easy target.

2. Describe yourself as others typically see you. I would hope that my patients see me as a voice of reason and someone they can trust in their dark times. I know that the Black Sun sees me as an annoyance and a former slave who shouldn't even be allowed his own house and freedom. I try to avoid Ebonstryfe agents at all costs in case they decide to harass me. Most people probably see me as nothing more than a kind old man, however.

3. What is your favorite body feature? I have always kept my white beard neatly trimmed and groomed. I enjoy the wise appearance it gives me and its ability to mask my facial expressions.

4. How physically fit are you? A physical examination would find me to be on death's door. In fact, even now that I have been blessed with undeath, my body still runs the risk of dying of old age and physical illness.

5. How do you typically dress and what is your style? In front of my patients I always wear a fine velvet suit (thought it is slightly worn) and in public I wear a matching black top hat. I also wear black leather gloves when I go out to hide the slave brand on the back of my right hand. When alone, typically doing psychological and hypnotic research, I don cotton casual wear or simply remain in my silk nightgown. I would describe my fashion style as dignified and formal, though not flamboyant or vain.

Family

1. Who are your parents and what are they like? I have very little memory of my parents. Both of them and I were arrested by the Ebonstryfe for heresy when I was only a small child and I never saw them again. I do recall they were very warm and caring, though.

2. Do you have any brothers or sisters? No.

3. What is your extended family like? I have no idea if I have any living relatives. The Black Sun doesn't want anyone to know they acquitted me and reinstated my citizenship when I was just into manhood, so I cannot safely contact any other Toddses in Ravok. I fear I am always being watched. [OOC: I may decide to post a flashback in which a younger Dexter discovers a relative or two.]

4. Do you consider close friends as important or more/less important than family? My patients are the closest to friends that I have, and given as I'm not acquainted with anyone in my family, I would have to answer that my friends are more important.

5. Do you treat animals like family?As a younger man I would often practice hypnotism on small creatures such as mice or chickens, sometimes driving them insane or even killing them in the process. If this constitutes as treating animals like family, then yes, yes I do.

Location

1. Where were you born? I was born in Ravok.

2. Where do you live now? I dwell in an old shack overlooking a Ravokian canal.

3. If you could live anywhere in Mizahar where would that be? I am planning to travel to Sahova sometime in the near future. Although I love the city of Ravok, with all its beauty and intrigue, there is not much left for me here. I also fear persecution by Ebonstryfe agents or Nuit hunters.

4. Do you have a favorite place to vacation or spend leisure time? I enjoy researching and experimenting in the quiet of my own home.

5. Where do you fear to be? I am always a little apprehensive in the streets or on the canals of Ravok, though I can't think of anyplace that actually frightens me.

Traits

1. Do you have any physical weaknesses (disease, scars, and missing limbs?) My own body is a physical weakness. It is rapidly deteriorating and I need to discard it as soon as possible.

2. Are you right handed or left handed? I am right handed.

3. What languages do you speak? What do you sound like? Do you have an accent? Of course I am fluent in common, but I also speak a bit of Pavi and Vani.

4. Do you have any odd mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics? I suppose I tend to mutter to myself when I'm under stress and it can sound slightly maniacal. However, eradicating odd mannerisms and annoying habits is my profession.

5. Do you have (or want to get) any tattoos or piercings? Why do you have them (or will get them)? I have none and I can't see any reason to.

Occupations

1. What is your occupation? Psychiatrist.

2. Do you like/dislike your work? Why? My work is my obsession. Research into the mind is the only thing I care about. In fact, I only drank Nuit's ichor and bestowed undeath upon myself so that I could continue my work.

3. If you could be anything you wanted to, what would you be? I only strive to be a more competent psychiatrist and a more powerful hypnotist.

4. What occupation do you admire the most? Why? My own, of course.

5. What occupation do you lest like? Why? Corrupt officials irk me, I suppose. After all, they did tear my family apart and enslave me for over ten years.

Childhood

1. What sort of child were you? I was an obedient and hard-working slave, of course. But I also recall being curious and inquisitive, which I suspect is what alerted the Black Sun to my family's heresy in the first place. [OOC: See biography for further information.]

2. What is your favorite memory from childhood? I have a few memories of my mother's smile and the Ravosala rides my father used to take me on, but these happy recollections are few and far between.

3. What is your worst memory from childhood? It's hard to decide; there are so many choices. I suppose the site of one of the vile soldiers that helped arrest my family violating my crying mother is even more painful to me than the many beatings I suffered as a slave.

4. What sort of relationship did you have with your parents? As far as I can recall I had a perfectly loving and healthy relationship with my mother and father.

5. Who was your most influential role model? I hate to say this, but my drunken lout of a master fits the bill. He was a doctor and I became interested in medicine because he ordered me to assist him in his work. Of course, he was also an excellent example of how not to lead one's life.

Education

1. What sort of education do you have? Initially I learned from either observing Doctor Ward, my master, treating his patients, but almost all of my knowledge has been gained from the dozens upon dozens of books I've read over the years.

2. Do you like/dislike learning? I live to learn.

3. Where or how did you learn most of your skills/abilities? Books and practical experience are my only instructors.

4. How do you learn best? By experiencing hard, unforgiving mistakes -- doesn't everyone?

5. What are your educational goals for the future? Soon I plan to study at Sahova to make up for my lack of formal education after all these years. I am also intrigued my the University of Zeltiva.

Relationships

1. Do you form close bonds with people? Why? Why not? I know the minds of my patients better than they do, I think. However, I wouldn't describe our actual relationships as anything more than deep, professional bonds.

2. Do you trust people easily? If not, why not? Of course not. People are scum and should always be treated with cynicism and suspicion.

3. Do you consider yourself straight, gay, bi, or something else? I am heterosexual, though I must admit my work has become more important to me recently than even beautiful women.

4. Have you ever been kissed? If so, describe the first time. I've been kissed a few times by women I've met, though I certainly can't remember the first time.

5. Have you ever had sex? If so, describe the first time. I've shared my bed a fair number of times over the years, with romantic interests or, shall we say, "working girls". [OOC: I'm not going to describe the first time because I have no idea what it was like for Dexter and I want to leave it open for future development.]

Drugs and Alcohol

1. Have you ever been drunk? If so, describe your first time. I honestly can't ever remember picking up the bottle in my life. I'm afraid my despicable master has soured alcohol for me forever.

2. Do you like to drink on a regular basis? No.

3. What sort of alcohol do you prefer? Alcohol is a vile drink which turns even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels.

4. Have you ever tried drugs (mood altering substances)? If so, which kinds and what did you think of them? I have tried several of my own unique blends of mind-altering concoctions over the years, but only to test their medicinal properties.

5. What do you think of drugs and alcohol? Be specific. I believe I've answered this question sufficiently already.

Likes and Dislikes

1. What are your hobbies? When I'm not delving into the complicated minds of men, I am researching other cultures and civilizations. I consider myself an amateur anthropologist, actually.

2. Do you like to read? It is one of my favorite pastimes.

3. What annoys you more than anything else? It is often irritating to know nothing of my heritage.

4. What do you find the most relaxing activity to do? Sleeping, obviously. What sort of question is that? (Although I suppose I can't sleep anymore due to my recently acquired "condition".)

5. What kinds of things embarrass you? Why? Forgetfulness and ignorance in front of my patients is embarrassing, since they look up to me as the man with the answers. I try never to admit to not knowing something to them.

Favorites

1. What is your favorite color or colors? Soothing colors such as dark blues, grays, and blacks, contrasted by lighter, tasteful colors such as very lights pinks, blues, or white, make up my wardrobe, so I suppose those would be my favorite colors.

2. What is your favorite time of day? The night is when terrible things happen, but it is also when I do my best thinking. I don't know whether to embrace it or fear it.

3. What is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? I once saw a recently-recruited Ebonstryfe guardsmen fall into lake Ravok and drown.

4. What do you like to eat? What do you hate to eat? I don't like to talk about food anymore, as it reminds me of when I was able to eat it.

5. What is your favorite type of weather? Does any kind scare you? I enjoy overcast or rainy days, although I was scared out of my wits during the recent storm which destroyed much of Ravok.

Outlook

1. Are you optimistic or pessimistic? I would call myself a cynical realist: many good things and many bad things occur in this world, but most of the bad things are because of the low-life scum known as humans.

2. What are your religious views? I worship Rhysol out of fear and respect. If left to my own devices, however, I would probably honor Eyris and Gnora instead.

3. Would you be able to kill? I have killed, twice. The first was my master and the second was the young Nuit whose ichor I drank.

4. What are your views on sex? To each his own, to each his own.

5. What, in your opinion, makes a successful life? Avoiding death.

Actions

1. What is the worst and best thing you’ve ever done? My greatest achievement was probably my acquisition of undeath, as it allowed me to continue my research. The thing I am least proud of is the murder of the Nuit which made my condition possible in the first place.

2. What is your greatest regret? Bringing the Ebonstryfe's wrath down upon my family.

3. What is your best/worst memory? I'm sure I've answered this question already.

4. If you could change one thing about your past, what would it be and why? My separation from my parents, obviously.

5. What are you the most proud of doing in your life? I am most proud of my research into the mind and the healing I've provided for many mentally ailed people over the years.

Emotions

1. How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings with others? I prefer to discuss the thoughts and feelings of others rather than my own.

2. Do you have any biases or prejudices? As I am a man of science, I try to see everyone objectively -- with the exception of the treacherous Ebonstryfe and its evil master, the Black Sun.

3. What makes you happy? My research.

4. Who or what, if anything, would you die for? I think I've made it clear that I wouldn't die for anything.

5. What makes you angry? The fact that I will most likely never lay eyes on anyone in my family ever again.

Relationships

1. In general, how do you treat others? With the formality, respect, and caution that is gained after over ten years of slavery.

2. Who is the most important person in your life, and why? Myself, of course.

3. Who is the person you respect the most, and why? I show respect to everyone, but it is often false. I don't know who I respect above anyone else.

4. Do you have a spouse or significant other? If not, describe an ideal lover. An ideal lover would be someone who shares my passion for my research and brings that passion to the bedroom.

5. Do you trust anyone to protect you? Who, and why? I can only rely on myself and, I hope, Rhysol and The Voice.

Group Situations

1. Do you tend to argue with people or avoid conflict? I avoid conflict. It's almost never worth it. (Although it did free me from slavery and earn me immortality.)

2. Do you tend to take on leadership roles in social situations? As a psychiatrist, yes. As a citizen on the streets of Ravok, no.

3. Do you like interacting with large groups of people? Why or why not? Not particularly. I like to be in control of the situation and as a hypnotist I am not yet powerful enough to manipulate multiple people at a time.

4. Do you care what others think of you? Only if it affects their behavior toward me.

5. What do you think of others, in general? People cannot be trusted, unless I am the one in control of their minds. But even then they may turn again me.

Self Image

1. What is your greatest strength as a person? My ability to sway the thoughts and feelings to further my own agenda.

2. What is your greatest weakness? My old body.

3. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? As I've stated already, I am already planning to possess a younger, stronger body.

4. Are you generally introverted or extroverted? I am extroverted in that I interact willingly with many people, but introverted in that I always maintain firm self-control in social situations.

5. Are you generally organized or messy? I can organize my books, papers, and other materials, but not very well. My house is scattered with miscellaneous possessions.

Beliefs

1. What God or Goddess do you find most appealing, if any? Eyris and Gnora for their teachings regarding clarity of the mind, and of course Rhysol for the protection he provides Ravok.

2. Which God or Goddess do you fear, if any? Rhysol, Rhysol, Rhysol.

3. Do you have any Gnosis Marks? If so, how did you receive them? No.

4. What lengths would you go to to please your deity? If I thought I was in danger of incurring his wrath, I would probably do whatever it took to appease him.

5. Where do you draw the line at pleasing your deity? What is too much? I suppose selling my own soul to him, to be trapped under his control for all eternity, would defeat the purpose of avoiding his wrath. Other than that, I would do anything to please him.

Life and Death

1. What do you absolutely live for? My research.

2. What is the best part of life? My research.

3. What is the best part of death? There isn't one.

4. If you could choose, how would you want to die? I would prefer to ascend to godhood, but I suppose passing away peacefully in a comfortable bed, after thousands of years of gaining power through research and experimentation, would be acceptable.

5. What is the one thing for which you would most like to be remembered after your death? If I die, which I hope I won't ever do, I want absolutely everyone to remember me as the father of modern psychiatry and the greatest hypnotist alive. But I have a lot of work to do before that.

by **Dexter** on June 8th, 2012, 12:18 am

The Times of Dexter Montgomery Todd

The Life (Biography)

SummaryThe Life of Dexter Montgomery Todd is told via a series of eleven exciting (I hope) anecdotic chapters which I worked pretty hard on. However, you may glean the crucial information from eleven bland sentences which took very little effort on my part at all:

(1) Dexter is born in Ravok. (2) He lets slip in public that his family doesn't worship Rhysol when he is six years old. (3) He is arrested by the Ebonstryfe and never sees his parents again. (4) His papers of citizenship are burned. (5) He is sold to a drunkard of a doctor on the slave market. (6) Barely into manhood, he kills his abusive master. (7) He regains his Ravokian citizenship and begins practicing psychiatry. (8) A middle-aged Dexter stumbles across the ramblings of an old hypnotist, learns from and expands on them. (9) The old man falls very ill as winter arrives. (10) He discovers the properties of Nuit ichor and determines to procure the substance to save himself from death. (11) The wizened doctor sacrifices his morals by killing a young Nuit woman and drinking her ichor in a desperate attempt to gain unlife.

A Cold night :

Curiosity :

Consequences :

Consequences

Dexter mistook the sound for a bird flying into the front door, or perhaps one of the older boys throwing a rock at the Todds' house out of boredom. However, at the single, clear knock, Mr. Todd sprung nervously to his feet. He had been engaged in an urgent, whispered conversation with Mrs. Todd ever since he and Dexter had come home from their Ravosala ride. The little boy had been trying unsuccessfully to listen in, and had no idea what his parents were talking about. He had momentarily forgotten his father's promise to show him the family's so-called shrine, which was still nowhere to be seen.

With a very nervous glance at his wife, Mr. Todd, white as a ghost, crossed quickly to the door, his feet lurching unnaturally. His face was much greener now than it had been on the night of his son's birth, and as he opened the door, it looked very much like he might be sick all over the dark boots of the two men at the door.

The visitors wore black, sturdy armor embroidered with a symbol that Dexter had seen on a few of these sort of men around Ravok: a midnight blade piercing a pure white sun. Although the child had never asked what these men did exactly, the blood had drained completely from the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Todd at the sight of the strangers.

Without waiting for so much as a greeting from Maximilian Todd, the two soldiers pushed their way roughly into the clean house, stamping down the fine velvet carpet with their dirty boots. The one in the lead took one look around the lounge, with its plump cushions and fur rug, and laughed cruelly. His brooding fellow smiled maliciously and placed a firm hand on the longsword at his hip.

"Where is it, then?" He sneered at poor Mr. Todd, who was clenching and unclenching his hands, a vein throbbing in his left temple.

"Where -- where is what?" Said Maximilian with forced innocence.

Dexter watched with shock as the man who had laughed whirled around and pinned his father roughly to the wall, a sharp knife at the poor man's throat.

"The shrine, you ungrateful heretic, the shrine! I see no structure dedicated to the worship of our Great Protector here!"

"B-but not all homes h-have a sh-sh-shrine!" The terrified Maximilian stammered. "We s-still say our p-pray-yers j-just like ev-veryone e-else!"

His voice was shaking so badly it was difficult to understand what he was saying. His tormentor, unfortunately, heard every garbled word.

"LIAR!" He screamed. "You never show even the slightest sign of acknowledgement of our Benefactor. Do not lie to us. We are always watching." He intoned menacingly.

Up until this moment Mrs. Todd had seemed frozen to the spot a few feet away, but now she rushed forward, hands outstretched toward her husband. The sneering man was upon her in an instant. There was a sickening crack as he twisted the woman's arm behind her back. He laughed cruelly at her scream of pain, pinning her to the wall a few feet from Mr. Todd, a muscular hand squeezing her throat. As the soldier began biting her lips and licking her cheeks revoltingly, groping her shamelessly, Dexter, who had been crouched behind a large cushion, began to wail.

Mrs. Todd's assailant whipped his head around and, spotting the boy, shoved his victim brutally to the floor, where her head slammed against the wall and she lay motionless. Drawing his sword he advanced on the Todds' son, but before he could raise his sword, his companion spoke up.

"Bring the brat to me. He could be of some use."

The other soldier shrugged and hauled the crying Dexter up by his hair, walking back to his comrade, throwing his prisoner roughly to the ground, and turning back to the prone figure of Mrs. Todd.

"You take the filth back to the Temple, then. I'm going to have some fun with this one." He grinned wickedly and undid his belt buckle.

The other man snickered and dragged both the crying boy and the shouting and struggling man out of the front door, closing it tightly behind him.

The Slave :

The Slave

Dexter awoke quite suddenly in the dark, and at first he thought he was safe and sound in his own home. The first thing he noticed, however, was that his throat was burning and prickling with thirst, and his stomach felt like it was being gnawed on by rats. He opened his eyes and found himself sprawled on a cold, stone floor. The very small, square cell he occupied seemed to be completely sealed except for a square vent in the ceiling. The air was thin and musky.

Not much regarding the situation was understood by the small child's mind. He only knew that very bad men had hurt his parents, and he had no idea where he was. He vaguely remembered receiving a very nasty blow to the back of his head (and sure enough there was a stone-sized lump rising through his dark hair) and crying for a very long time.

Soon, he began to cry again. He was terrified. Even his cold shock at the violence he had fallen victim to could not prevent his body from racking with sobs. Presently, however, he found the tears no longer came. His body could not spare an ounce more of liquid, it seemed. Bells passed. Nobody came. Dexter's head pounded with misery and fear. He thought he was going to die.

Finally, weak with thirst, hunger, and fatigue, the poor boy heard the sound of a bolt being drawn back from behind a wall. He raised his head slightly and noticed a door, which had been camouflaged in a dark corner of the room, being pushed open. Suddenly, he was lifted firmly but surprisingly gently to his feet by a gruff-looking guard, who seemed to be almost wary of hurting Dexter, who was now so paralyzed by fear that he did not cry, and remained curled and stiff.

"Come on, you slime," the man said harshly; obviously the child's captors' verbal attitudes had not changed toward him in the slightest.

The jailor threw his prisoner over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried him from the room and down a dank, narrow passageway. Up a winding flight of stone steps they went. Although Dexter could only see the black armor of the man's back, he heard a handle being turned and a door creaking open. The pair emerged into a large rectangular room, brightly lit by torches fixed to the stone walls, lined by rows and rows of shelves, filled with sheaves and sheaves of paper.

"Right, then," grunted the jailor, setting his captive on his feet. "First things first."

He withdrew a shoddy old chain and collar from a leather bag at his side and fixed the collar around the boy's neck as tight as it would go.

"Skinny little runt, aren't you?" He spat.

Then he set off down the rows of shelves, dragging a quivering Dexter behind him. After what seemed to the terrified child only a matter of seconds, the guard pulled a yellowed envelope from one of the numerous shelves. He peered at it and grinned evilly and waved it in Dexter's face.

"See this?" He demanded. "Know what it is?" He said gleefully. "'Course you don't, you stupid brat."

It was true the boy had only caught a glimpse of what he thought might by his own name on the envelope. At the moment, he was too frightened to guess at what might be inside. Suddenly, the jailor dragged him over to a torch set between two stone shelves, out of reach of their flammable contents, and held the corner of the envelope in the flame. The parchment contents were revealed for an instant as the envelope burned away, before they too curled with the heat and burst into flame.

The man threw the flaming mass at Dexter's face, and the boy yelped and leapt back, though he hadn't really been burned. His tormentor cackled with delight.

"You're a slave now, you blasphemous whelp, you little son of a bitch! You're to be sold to the highest bidder at the next auction!" The sound of the man's cruel laughter echoed off the walls of the record room.

The Doctor :

The Doctor

About two weeks later, after being fattened-up, exercised, and seeing some of the fleeting autumn sun to put some color in his cheeks, Dexter was bathed roughly and a tattered but clean tunic was pulled over his head and a rough cloth wrapped around his loins. One of the women responsible for readying the slaves for auction led him coldly out onto a raised platform.

He was met with the noise of a jeering crowd and the sight of an assortment of fellow slaves. Most of them were strange races he had rarely or never laid eyes on before: there were a handful of foreign humans, of course, with different shades of skin and hair and strange markings, but there were also bestial-looking humanoids who bore fangs, slanted eyes, or claws which couldn't belong to any human, and creatures with many more than two arms, who held themselves proudly and looked disdainfully upon the noisy customers.

There were sinister-looking creatures with large wings, clipped to prevent them from flying away, there were pale things with golden, crimson, or violet eyes and long black claws, and there were scowling blue men who were struggling against twice the number of chains and weights as most of the other slaves, their midnight skin rippling over their powerful muscles. Most of the men in the crowd were staring hungrily at a stunningly beautiful woman with golden white hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her short tunic seemed to have been deliberately torn open in the chest, midriff, and hips to display her assets. She stared sadly at the cloudy sky, a resigned look upon her gorgeous visage.

Few noticed the strange little creatures in a wooden cage resting on a stool near the entrance to the platform where Dexter stood. If they hadn't been whispering urgently to each other, the boy would have taken them for clay figurines. But those customers who were not gazing eagerly at the exotic woman were looking either with excitement, apprehension, or both at an enormous apelike creature, who sat miserably in a large steel cage in the middle of the stage, right next to the object of every man's desire. These two slaves were obviously the main attraction.

The woman escorting Dexter led him by his chain to a metal ring fixed into the wall at the very end of all the slaves, next to a frail old woman with dark skin and white hair. He was obviously the least valuable of any of the slaves, and no one was paying him any attention, to his great relief. His chain was fixed to the iron ring and his collar tightened for good measure. His escort left without a word to him.

Presently a short man bounced jauntily onto the platform and down a short flight of wooden steps and onto a podium in front of the stage, raised above the crowd but below the the slaves so that they were clearly visible to the onlookers over his head. He sat on a wooden chair fixed to the podium and banged heartily on the spindly table in front of him, which creaked and wobbled with protest.

"Ladies and gentleman! Your attention please!" He had to announce boisterously several times before the crowd quieted. "Allow me to draw your eyes to the fine collection of merchandise behind me. As you can see, this is the best haul we've had in quite some time. I know you're all just itching to get your hands on the young woman there -- literally," this drew enthusiastic laughter, cheers, whistles, and catcalls from the crowd, "but you're going to have to hold on to your mizas if you want her, because we're starting with the riffraff as usual!" He gestured toward the ends of the line.

After the groans and boos had faded and the rotten fruit and stones had stopped raining down upon poor Dexter and his fellow rejects, the auctioneer pointed to his right, to the slave furthest from the six-year-old, at the other end of the line. It was an ancient man who looked as if the fattening-up over the past two weeks had done him no good whatsoever. His scraggly beard and what was left of his hair was a faded orangish color. His clouded eyes stared unseeing through the crowd, and he didn't seem to react to any of the noise around him.

"All the way from Wind Reach I bring you this old Inarta. He's an expert birdkeeper and can help you to train even the most stubborn of falcons or eagles into submission. He may appear to be on death's door, but I can assure you he has many long years ahead of him."

If Dexter had been paying attention at all he would have seriously doubted the validity of this statement, but as it happened he was staring at the ground just as blindly and deafly as the old man. His fear and shock at the situation hadn't diminished at all, and he had seen and heard very little over the past two weeks, although he had wailed openly when his little right hand had been branded with the mark of a slave: half of a blackened sun.

Before he knew it, a tall, fierce-looking slaveholder with a patch over his eye and scars covering both forearms had lead the frail old slave away.

"...all the way to my left," the auctioneer was now saying dramatically, "I give you an example of what happens to those who reject the protection of Rhysol Himself! If you do not allow our Mighty Lord to watch over you, look what could happen to you!"

This statement was met with little more than whispers and the grim nodding of heads. There was no enthusiasm toward purchasing Dexter at all. The auctioneer's smile faltered slightly.

"Starting bid...five gold rimmed mizas!" His voice rang clearly through the stony silence.

After a few moments, a gravelly, slurred voice replied, "Whadda overprished li'l swine....I'll give yer one gol' Mizza, an' tha'sh it...."

"Ten gold mizas and I'll throw in a bottle of wine, my friend!" The auctioneer was back to his charismatic self in an instant.

The overweight man who had spoken, his filthy stomach spilling out over his belt, screwed up his unwashed face in concentration, attempting unsuccessfully to do the arithmetic on his stubby fingers.

"Done," he said at last, swaying heavily on the spot.

A balding man rushed up to Dexter and unlocked the collar from around his neck with a large iron skeleton key.

As the sweaty, putrid-smelling man dragged the child roughly away by the hair, cradling his new wine bottle to his chest as if it were a newborn baby, he muttered, "An' they don' even gimme th' chain 'n' collerr...whadda bloody shcam...."

It wasn't until he had been hauled down several dirty streets, through a great amount of filthy sewer water, and up the sagging wooden steps of an old wooden shack and through a door hanging from its hinges, that Dexter finally spoke. His voice was hoarse and slurred (though not nearly as much as his new master's) after having spoken so little in the last few days.

"Where are my mother and father?" He asked tearfully.

It was as if the enormous primate from the slave market had slapped him across the face. He was thrown across the room and into a table by the force of the blow, off of which spilled several wicked-looking instruments, mostly knifelike tools. A heavy, nearly-empty jug of wine hit him painfully on the head.

"I own yer now, shcum!!" The man raged drunkenly. "So yer kin clean up tha' messh yer've made an' then shtart mixin' potionsh fer m' patientsh!" He took a long gulp of wine.

"P...patients?" The boy mumbled groggily, light bursting in front of his eyes.

"Yer got tha' right, yer filthy li'l pig." Dexter's master said fiercely, breathing heavily. "I'ma docterr....Docterr Ward, they call me...." He threw his bottle of wine towards the boy and roared, "But i'sh jusht Mashter ter you, unnderstan'?!"

First Blood :

First Blood

Dexter Montgomery Todd, who had been known only as "boy", "filth", "scum", or "swine" over roughly the past eleven years and had forgotten all but his first name, which he never spoke, was the most comfortable he had been in weeks -- months, now that he came to think of it. He was lying on the only real bed in the old ramshackle house, and although its mattress was flat and its blankets thin, his sore body was in a state of ecstasy to be resting itself on something other than the hard wooden floor.

Even the entertainment was quality, as far as Dexter was concerned. He was engrossed, as his father had been that fateful day on the canals all those years ago, in a particularly good book. Of course, the average citizen of Ravok wouldn't consider Afflictions of the Mind: Diagnosing and Treating Mental Maladies, a brick-like medical reference book, very interesting reading material, but then the young man sprawled rebelliously on his master's bed was hardly average -- nor was he a citizen.

So enthralled was he by a long and informative chapter concerning unexplained cases (there were quite a few more of these than there were of the successfully diagnosed mental disorders) that he failed to hear the sound a slave must always be on the alert for: his master's return. Doctor Ward very rarely went anywhere in the city, preferring to send Dexter to load up on mead and wine in his stead. But on this specific occasion he had informed his young slave, who was not quite so young as he used to be, that he would be gone for several bells, but that had only been a short while ago. He'd grunted something about being invited to a party, though Dexter, his thoughts ever more mutinous in his manhood, thought that it was more likely his master was headed for the local tavern.

And so it was that the slave was reveling in the rare opportunity of being alone for a while, not expecting his tormentor to return any time soon, and was completely oblivious to the danger until he heard heavy footfalls outside the door. He hastily attempted to stow the medical manual behind him and spring off the bed all at once, but he was too late.

"FILTH!" The Doctor roared through a heavy slur, leaning against the doorway, bottle in hand. "Dirrt! Shcum! Filth in my bed!" The man's eyes bulged and wine dribbled down his dark, stained chin.

He threw the heavy bottle he was holding at the disobedient slave, who dodged it easily, as he had done countless times over the years.

"Master, I was only taking a short break -- "

"Shlavesh don' take 'breaksh', yeh mangy curr -- "

"Call me Dexter."

Doctor Ward's eyes narrowed, struggling to keep Dexter in focus. For the first time during one of his drunken rages, he was at a complete loss for words. His face contorted in silent fury and he mouthed wordlessly. Finally:

"Whaddid yeh jush shay?" His tone was menacing, but also bewildered; he had never been told what his slave's name was before.

Dexter's face was set as he seemed to decide it was too late now to take the words back.

"I said," he repeated firmly, "my name is Dexter. Call me by my name."

It all happened very fast. Doctor Ward seized the nearby leg of a broken chair (another victim of his inebriated abuse) and threw himself on the younger man, raining vicious blows down upon every inch of Dexter that he could reach. Dexter gave a mighty shove and managed to throw off his heavy assailant, who stumbled drunkenly and landed on the floor with a loud thump. His adrenaline urging him on, the slave snatched up the first thing he saw on his master's bedside table, an old knife used for bloodletting patients. With a lunge forward and one quick swipe across Doctor Ward's throat, he liberated himself after over ten years of slavery and abuse.

He went to lie back down on the bed. It was soft. Then he opened his book and continued to read.

The Price of Freedom :

The Price of Freedom

There was still the matter of Dexter's slave status to deal with. Although he wore black leather gloves to hide the brand on his right hand and pulled a wide-brimmed hat down over his face when he went to the grocer, to buy food with the little money he had "inherited" from Doctor Ward (the man had squandered most of it on alcohol, of course), he needed his citizenship officially reinstated if he was to live safely in Ravok for much longer.

Over the years he had learned as much about medicine as was possible to learn from a violent doctor who frequently made his patients violently sick with vile drugs or left them weak from over-bleeding them. In Dexter's personal opinion he was the only reason his master's practice had had any success at all over the past few years: it was always he who mixed the correct amounts of medicine and watched over the patients if they fell very ill.

Of course, the slave had failed to receive anywhere near a complete education in medicine, as his master was both unwilling to and incapable of teaching him; Dexter had always learned through trial and error (the latter of which always earned him a harsh beating) and careful observation. He also stole money and secretly bought books of medicine at secondhand bookstores, or borrowed the few remaining texts his master owned (most of them had been sold to pay for drink) and read them in his precious spare time. Whenever possible, he acquired information regarding the human brain, social behaviors, mental disorders, and anything else pertaining to the mind. He had even researched the mental structures of a few more exotic races, though scholarly medical work focusing on anything but humans was rare in Ravok.

And so, medicine being the only thing Dexter knew or cared for, he knew he had to regain his citizenship and social status in order to begin his own medicine practice. Ever since he had slain Doctor Ward only one month previously, he had locked the door of his master's old bedroom during the day, telling any patients that stopped in that the old drunkard was under the weather and only needed a bit of food and rest. Although he knew this charade could not go on indefinitely, he was content at the moment to treat injuries and maladies by himself. After he was no longer a slave, he hoped to begin treating only mental disorders, but it would look too suspicious if he began practicing an entirely different area of medicine while his master was supposedly only bedridden.

In truth the Doctor was in several neatly sliced pieces, crammed in a rough cloth sack full of moldy old food, empty wine bottles, and several heavy rocks, and was most likely now being picked apart by fishes at the bottom of Lake Ravok. The deed had made Dexter slightly sick to his stomach, but in his hatred of the dead man he was ashamed to find that it also gave him grim satisfaction. He pushed the thought deeper into the back of his mind whenever it surfaced.

Now, lying on the Doctor's bed (his bed, he corrected himself silently) in the dark, having washed the sheets clean in the canals, he began to plan the plan. By the time he drifted off to sleep in the darkness, the bedside candle burning low and finally drowning in its own wax, he knew exactly what he was going to do in the morning. It all began with a letter.

* * *

A simple court appeal, that was all it was. A crisp piece of parchment neatly folded in thirds and placed in the best envelope Dexter could find, addressed as legibly as possible to the court of the Black Sun. It informed the organization that Doctor Ward had died quietly in his sleep, and if the man had no living relatives (Dexter certainly knew of no one who had cared for the lout) who he had given his slave to in a will, then Dexter Montgomery Todd was requesting to see his citizenship reinstated. He assured the Black Sun that he was much more devoted to Rhysol than his parents had been. This was true, as he had prayed dutifully to the god over the years in the hopes of being forgiven for his parents' misdeeds.

But just because Dexter worshiped the god out of fear and an attempt to appease Rhysol didn't mean he trusted the Black Sun whatsoever. The horrors of the Ebonstryfe's invasion of his first home were still fresh in his mind, taunting him in nightmares to punish him for suppressing the memories during the day.

So of course he suspected that, instead of a cordial court summons, he would soon find at least one Ebonstryfe agent knocking at his door. At first he was confident in his plan to deal with the militant arm of the Black Sun, but by the day after he had sent the letter via courier, he began to feel very sick to his stomach. What was he thinking, alerting the Black Sun to his master's death? He should have fled the city or just carried on pretending Doctor Ward was ill. Then he stubbornly pushed these doubts to the back of his mind, which was becoming steadily more cluttered with pain and worry. He had work to do.

Soon the old house was decorated with all manner of holy items. There were ebony talismans and little stone statues of Rhysol on all the surfaces. Prayer beads adorned the torch brackets. In a corner a small shrine had been erected from a spindly wooden table, decorated with more objects of worship. Dexter walked through the rooms, admiring the fruits of his labor.

He had lived on as little as possible since his master had died, eating meager amounts of food and bathing and washing his clothes only in the canals. And though he was not proud of it, he may have led his patients (there were more of them now since he had replaced Doctor Ward, and he had even daringly instructed them to call him by his name) to believe they were in worse health than they actually were, and several of them had purchased very expensive remedies. Due to his efforts, Dexter had managed to amass a fair amount of gold mizas, which he planned to use to help him throw off the status of slavery under the law. So far his money had paid for the courier who had been hired to deliver his court appeal, and for all the religious decorations.

Now he had only to wait. He didn't know when the Ebonstryfe would arrive, but he jumped at the slightest noise, waiting for them to kick down the already battered door at any moment. In fact it was only a few bells until there was the sound that had haunted Dexter's dreams for over a decade: the single, clear knock on the front door. His whole body shaking almost as badly as his father's had done during the Todds' arrest, he quickly crossed the front room and opened the door with as much confidence as he could muster.

Sure enough, an intimidating man clad in black armor stood before him. Dexter hoped the intense resentment he felt toward the uniform would not show itself in his face.

"Todd?" The man grunted.

"I am Dexter," Dexter replied noncommittally, supposing the surname must belong to him, although he had long since forgotten it.

"You're under arrest." The soldier informed him simply.

Despite himself, Dexter automatically took a step backward. He wasn't surprised, of course, but he had hoped things might go differently than this.

"On what charges?" He squeaked.

"P'raps I should clarify." The soldier took a step into the house, gripping the hilt of his sword. "Only citizens can actually be arrested. I'm simply here to bring you back to the slave market."

"There must have been some mistake." Dexter said desperately. "I sent an appeal, you see, I want to apply for citizenship. My master died." He finished lamely.

The other man glanced quickly around the room. "All this stuff's his, I s'pose?" He said, gesturing to the talismans, prayer beads, and Rhysol figurines.

"Oh no, sir," Dexter explained with delight, "He never did much praying to our Mighty Ruler, I'm afraid. I brought this all in after he was -- buried."

"Your devotion's admirable, but give me one good reason why I shouldn't haul you back as a slave right now despite it." The soldier sneered.

"Ah, I was hoping you would say that," Dexter responded excitedly, drawing a bulging money pouch from his pocket. "Here." He tossed it to the Ebonstryfe agent, who caught it. "It's everything I have," he lied.

The man stared greedily at the sparkling gold coins in the bag. "I think I'll just take these and you, shall I?" He said with a wicked grin.

"I don't think the Black Sun would be very happy if I told them you pocketed the money which they would have taken from me for their own coffers." Dexter quipped.

The man's mind seemed to be working furiously. Dexter spotted indecision in the soldier's features.

"Think about it," he pressed on, "if you take me as a slave, you won't make any money after I'm sold and the profits are sifted through the bureaucracy. But if you accept my coin, you'll walk away a wealthier man. All you have to do is tell your superiors of my devotion to Rhysol, the remorse I feel for my parents' heresy, and my determination to regain my citizenship." He finished with confidence. He knew he had a solid argument. "And remember," he added slyly, "Rhysol smiles upon those who favor his more devoted followers."

"Neither The Voice nor Rhysol look very kindly on those who allow former heretics to walk free," The soldier sneered disdainfully. "Nevertheless, I accept your 'peace offering' and will inform the Black Sun of what has transpired."

Bowing deeply, for he had not completely forgotten his place in society, Dexter thanked the man and saw him to the door.

* * *

Just the sort of formal reply to his letter that Dexter had been hoping for arrived promptly by courier a few days later. He had been summoned to court to make his case, and though he doubted the Black Sun was taking his request very seriously, it was a step in the right direction. In a few weeks' time he would be able to plea for his freedom in court. And he was determined to receive new papers of citizenship, even if he had to lie, cheat, steal, and bribe his way out of slavery. As it turned out, he had to do all of these things and more.

Student of the Mind :

Student of the Mind

Dexter had no idea how important his trip to the bookstore would be that day. He rarely allowed himself any time off as he couldn't afford it, and although he frequented the secondhand bookshops of Ravok every week, this was the first time in months he had been able to browse at his leisure, pulling book after book off the shelf, reading page after page and retaining as much knowledge as his mind could hold.

By now the storekeeper, a middle-aged, heavy-set woman, knew Dexter by name: "Doctor Montgomery", everyone called him, for when the Black Sun had informed him of his full birth name, upon handing over his citizenship papers, they had forbade him to speak his surname to anyone. Obviously they didn't want anyone who remembered the Todd family to recognize the name and realize that the Black Sun had acquitted a man of heresy and set him free of enslavement. It hadn't been easy, pleading his case to the corrupt court officials. Even now they were taxing half his profits from the psychiatric practice he ran in his home. They would have demanded more than that, except Dexter had not only bribed the judge in secret, but he had also promised (in front of the entire court) to urge all of his patients to devote themselves to Rhysol to cure their mental afflictions. He wasn't exactly happy about his psychiatric advice being influenced in this manner, but there wasn't much he could do about it unless he wanted to live in squalor.

In truth he led a comfortable life of good food and a warm bed occasionally shared by pretty women. As long as he was careful not to be frivolous, he could support himself very well. Every so often he worked extra hard and saved enough mizas to buy a new art piece or other decoration for the house he had moved into several years ago; the novelty of presiding triumphantly over his hated master's old house had finally worn off. The living room, which he treated patients in, was equipped with a red velvet couch, a plush arm chair, and aesthetic furnishings that made most of his wealthier clients feel at home -- after all, psychiatry wasn't exactly affordable for the common man.

Looking now for a new book, having skimmed countless others over the past few chimes and finding no new knowledge regarding the human mind, the good doctor's hand slipped and sent a precarious row of books sliding off a sagging shelf and onto the floor.

"Now, really, Doctor Montgomery!" The woman at the front desk exclaimed.

"Sorry, sorry," the middle-aged man apologized hastily, scrambling to put the books back in their rightful places.

As he picked up the last book, a very shabby little journal with an untitled leather cover, a few of its stained and yellowed pages slid out. Snatching them hastily up, relieved that the shopkeeper hadn't spotted him accidentally destroying her merchandise, he carefully flipped through the ancient book, attempting to find the pages' proper place. As he skimmed through the untidy scrawl, trying to put the pages in his hand into context, he became intrigued in the text and forgot about replacing the missing pages entirely. The author apparently performed bizarre psychological experiments on small animals which involved influencing their subconscious minds. Stuffing the pages back into the journal and resolving to find their place back in the quiet of his own home, he brought the book to the woman at the front of the shop.

"Have you come to apologize for scattering my poor books all over the place, Doctor?" She asked grumpily.

"Who brought this journal in?" Dexter asked abruptly, taking no notice.

Slightly affronted, the woman replied, "I dunno, some girl whose father'd died. Said it was his. Right old cook he was, from the bit I read of it. Are you going to buy something or not?"

The Doctor took a small coin purse from the chest pocket of his faded shirt. "I'll give you five gold mizas for this." He offered.

The woman merely smirked and wordlessly accepted his money.

* * *

From the moment Dexter settled himself into his comfortable psychiatrist's chair next to the patient's couch and began to read his purchase, his life changed forever. He marveled at the writings of the eccentric recluse, although it took some effort to decipher the spidery handwriting which was faded and smudged in many places. Some pages were missing altogether (although the Doctor was able to find the rightful place of the few pages that had fallen out in the shop).

Soon his patients began complaining of the smell and noise of the chickens, rats, and other creatures he was now keeping in a corner of the house. Although his profits dropped slightly, he was not deterred, preferring to go hungry every so often and continue recreating the experiments described in his beloved journal. He soon learned to influence the feeble-minded creatures in his house using very unorthodox methods. He couldn't understand the science behind the manipulation of their little brains, and soon he grudgingly accepted the art as magical rather than scientific.

He soon realized, however, that the old man who had written the journal would have had greater success in his research if he had practiced his magic on humans, whose minds were easier to relate to than the primitive, foreign brains of rodents and birds. The book came to an abrupt halt and there were several blank pages left, but the author had only managed to make mice scurry around in fear and chickens gorge themselves to death on feed.

Soon Dexter decided to attempt highly subtle forms of hypnosis on his patients. He was very cautious at first, using only minor forms of subconscious suggestion to coax particularly stubborn patients into revealing painful experiences or embarrassing secrets. Soon, however, he began swaying his patients toward one emotion or another, combining his own charismatic skills with his newfound ability. His profits climbed rapidly.

And so it was that Doctor Montgomery the psychiatric practitioner became a fledgling wizard in his own right.

Winter Cometh :

Winter Cometh

A window rattled with wind beside a bed piled high with blankets in a small yet comfortable bedroom, lit only by a dim candle on the bedside table. The view of the winding canal running through a cobbled street outside was obscured by brilliantly-patterned frost: winter was coming. If the bed's occupant, a frail old man who was drawing feeble, rattling breaths, hadn't been in such discomfort, he might have appreciated the work of nature's paintbrush. However, he was suddenly racked by a fit of hacking coughs, and a few spots of crimson appeared on the white sheets pulled up to his chin. Staring at the blood in horror, he tried several times to sit upright before finally succeeding.

Seizing a polished, dark wooden cane from his bedside, he exited the room as quickly as his stiff legs would carry him. He emerged into a fine living room and bent over a chest in the corner, removing pieces of parchment, books, and other supplies, searching for something. In his haste he shattered an ink bottle all over a painstakingly handwritten document. It was a very bad sign when Doctor Montgomery paid the destruction of one of his precious texts no heed whatsoever. At last he pulled out a few vials of liquid, a pouch of herbs, and a mortar and pestle, which he struggled to lift, although the marble tools were not that heavy.

As he crossed to a spindly desk and sat down, spreading the items across the table, he began muttering furiously, although there was no one in the room with him.

"Ah, yes, Rhysol, Rhysol you old trickster...well played, well played...just couldn't let me go on my own terms, could you? Had to bring this cold down and strike me ill, eh? Well, not if I have anything to say about it. Rhysol, Rhysol, Rhysol, Rhysol, Rhysol...."

He carried on with his inane babble ("Haven't done this in years, I barely remember how!") while he began furiously to grind herbs into a fine powder, his arthritic old fingers popping painfully as he did so. He tipped the contents of the smooth mortar into a beaker resting over a small stove on the desk and poured the liquid in as well. Seizing a nearby candle stub which was already beginning to sputter out, he hastily lit a small fire beneath the beaker, and the mixture within began simmering gently.

Closing his eyes and leaning back, Dexter's frail body was seized again by violent convulsions, more blood spattering the desk and beaker in front of him. Swearing under his breath, he waited impatiently for his potion for come to a boil, then blew the fire out (the effort came at the cost of another coughing fit) and waited for the elixir to cool. In his impatience he drank the entire concoction straight from the beaker, and while it was still scalding hot, but he paid his burning mouth and tongue no heed: time was running out. Although the Black Sun was no longer confiscating half of his profits, he could hardly see many patients anymore due to his illness. Unless he found a remedy soon, the doctor was sure to run out of money for medicinal supplies and die.

The Miracle Medicine :

The Miracle Medicine

But Dexter soon found he was out of his depth; he hadn't practiced general medicine in several decades and he couldn't do much more than ease the burning in his throat caused by his frequent coughing fits. And although he began squandering his life's savings hiring doctors and apothecaries and sending couriers to buy all the medicinal books the shops of Ravok had to offer (such as Miracle Medicines: Alleviate any Ailment! and The Immortality Instructional: Say Goodbye to Old Age...Forever!), he was informed countless times that he couldn't put a stopper in death. When the medicines prescribed to him finally lost effectiveness after several months and his health began deteriorating again, and he couldn't walk across the room without leaning on his cane, he decided he was going to try damn well to do just that. He soon sold his expensive home and surplus possessions (even his beloved books) and moved into a cheap, one-room cottage to cut housing expenses. In the process he lost most of his remaining wealthier patients, who turned their nose up at his new place of residence.

Although he had survived all the way through the winter and most of the way through spring, he knew he needed to find a cure for his condition soon, because he was too sickly to be nourished back to health by the warmth of summer. In a change of tactics he sent for a courier to buy him several books from the shadier magic shops hidden in sinister alleyways and dark corners of the city. It was not until one morning, the temperature its usual, unnaturally mild self, that Dexter came across exactly what he was looking for as he sat reading in bed. A chapter regarding Nuits in Unlife, a revolting book which the old man strongly suspected to be bound by human skin, briefly mentioned an insecure method of transmitting the Nuits' curse. Almost as an afterthought, the section about the white ichor of Nuits concluded with a single line informing the reader of the ability of the ichor to transform living beings into Nuits.

Dexter reread the sentence several times. He scanned the rest of the chapter for further information, but found none. Under normal circumstances, he would never have bet his life on such incomplete and unreliable information, but since he supposed his death was only just around the corner anyway, he had nothing to lose. He drifted into a mid-morning nap, his mind working furiously as he devised different methods of procuring Nuit ichor, each more dangerous than the last.

Second Blood :

Second Blood

Soon a team of couriers, paid with the last of the doctor's gold (and the profits he made off selling the books he had only just purchased to help find a cure), began spreading the word across Ravok in the form of public announcements and the distribution of hastily-drawn propagandic advertisements nailed to every sign, billboard, and wall in the city: "Montgomery's Miracle Elixir: Cure undeath in a pinch! (Especially for unsatisfied Nuits.)"

As he expected hoards of Nuits to flock outside his house in a matter of days, Dexter was disappointed when he didn't receive any visitors for over two weeks. As he coughed up more and more blood, he began lying awake at night, petrified with fear that he might die in his sleep. It wasn't that he was afraid of death, not exactly. It was more that his research into the mind of men had become such an obsession that he wanted, he needed, with every fiber of his being, to continue it.

Finally, one warm summer's night there came a timid knock at the front door. If Dexter hadn't been sitting in a chair right beside the door, listening for any signs of a visitor, his old ears wouldn't have detected the noise.

"Come!" He barked impatiently, excitement creeping into his voice.

The door opened slowly and a young women stepped cautiously inside the house. Her skin was paler than fresh snow and her eyes were haunted by dark, heavy circles.

"Doctor Montgomery?" She asked nervously.

"Yes, yes!" The old man cried with mounting impatience, standing as quickly as he could, leaning on his sleek wooden cane for support, and seizing her tightly by the wrist, pulling her all the way inside and shutting the door firmly behind her (and latching it, though she didn't notice).

Flustered, the girl explained hastily, "It's just that I was wondering about your medicine!" She uncurled the fingers of her left hand and smoothed out a crumpled flyer bearing a badly-drawn corpse pouring the contents of a beaker down its throat.

Although Dexter was so ecstatic he could have sung joyously for all he was worth, he settled for leading his patient quickly over to his bed and sitting her down.

"A Nuit! A real live -- well, a real Nuit!" He thought to himself gleefully. "What took you so long?" He demanded aloud.

"What?" The girl said bewildered.

"Nevermind, never mind child, I suppose you'll be wanting the cure? The cure for your cursed condition?" He implored eagerly.

"Well, yes, yes I -- well, it's rather a long story, see, there was this salesman, and he said he had a potion of immortality -- I know I was foolish, but oh, he was so very charming -- " She began, but the doctor impatiently thrust a large flask at her.

"No time for that now, my dear," and he couldn't help but cackle gleefully, "just drink this up and I'll be saved! I mean you, you'll be saved."

Hesitantly, the young Nuit raised the potion to her lips and began to gulp it down. Before the flask was halfway empty, the girl's eyelids drooped and she fell back on the mattress, the flask falling to the floor with a dull thud and spilling most of the remaining mixture all over the wooden floor.

"Suppose I made it a bit strong," the doctor muttered reflectively. "No harm done, though, she'll be fine once she wakes...unless...." he paused, deep in thought, then began talking to himself again. "Yes, yes why not? After all, she's not even really alive...but soon I'll be like her, and I'll still value by existence, won't I? But she's obviously miserable, unlike me. Probably deeply depressed. Yes, it's for her own good -- and mine. Need to make sure I drink enough of the stuff, anyway. Yes...I'll spill it all...."

Slowly but determinedly, Doctor Montgomery crossed the room to his supply chest and rummaged around in it for a few moments before pulling out a wicked-looking meat cleaver. His face hard and set, he walked back to where his victim lay. Raising the blade high, he prepared to slaughter the pale creature before him....

But suddenly, the girl kicked out clumsily, knocking the old man to the floor. His bones ached and it felt like his muscles were on fire. The butcher knife flew from his hands and landed a few feet away. He clutched his cane to his chest as if holding on for dear life.

"Treacherous old man!" The girl cried. "I'd recognize that potion anywhere! Sniffed out its secrets, I did! Used to work for an apothecary. Don't you know you can't put us Nuits to sleep?" The girl demanded.

Of course, thought Dexter despairingly. How could he have been so foolish? The little brat had been faking: Nuits didn't lose consciousness except after death....

He lunged for the meat cleaver, but his opponent, already on her feet and with much younger, stronger legs, got to the weapon first. She held it out in front of her with both hands.

"Don't try me, old man!" She warned. "I -- I'll do you in! I'm not afraid to get blood on my hands!" But she didn't sound very sure of herself at all.

Don't kill me. Dexter said suddenly.

Though his tone of voice was pleading and desperate, his words were infused with a strange power. For a moment his enemy hesitated, pity flashing across her pretty face. This was the only opportunity the old Doctor needed. He gripped the handle of his cane and tugged, unsheathing a long, slender blade.

The girl froze like a deer in the bright lantern of an oncoming carriage. It wasn't simply her sluggish Nuit reflexes: she was simply incompetent when it came to reaction timing or dealing with sudden, stressful situations. The blade flew up to her wrists, slashing across them and causing her to cry out in pain and drop her weapon. Dexter continued slashing and stabbing at her but only managed cut her a few more times before she scrambled out of reach. He stuck the point of his sword in the floor and pushed himself to his feet, grabbing the meat cleaver, adrenaline causing him to forget the pain of his old bones in the heat of the moment.

Like the uncoordinated, blundering fool she was, the young Nuit woman panicked and charged straight at the old man. Spreading his weight out firmly, supported only by his two old legs, he lifted the blade and skewered the girl straight through her lifeless heart. He felt the sickening feeling of the weapon sliding through his adversary's chest and yanked it out, strands of ichor clinging to it like spittle.

Dexter saw what was coming before it happened. The girl opened her mouth and a gurgling sound issued forth. She was moments away from screaming from the unbearable anguish she was now experiencing. He threw himself on her, knowing the secrecy of the operation depended on stifling her cry. Just as she seemed to find her voice, the butcher knife in the Doctor's other hand came down swiftly. The Nuit's head rolled away into a corner, the ghost of the woman's agony still etched upon her face.

Now that the conflict was resolved the old man slumped with fatigue, the adrenaline which had carried him through the battle leaving him. He crawled laboriously over to the flask which lay beside the bed, poured the last of the sleeping potion onto the floor, and dragged himself back to the lifeless Nuit. From the undead's severed neck was oozing a great amount of fluid, and Dexter hastened to capture as much ichor as possible in the flask, squeezing the throat until every last drop had been collected. Then, without a moment's hesitation, the old man said a silent, desperate prayer to Rhysol and tipped the vile substance down his throat....

The Unlife (Roleplay)

Thread	Summary	Experience
They're Both Insane [Valerius]	Season of Summer, Day 7, 512 AV (Ravok) Valerius Nitrozian stops by the psychiatrist's house for treatment, but Dexter has only just woken up after his transformation into a Nuit, and the headless corpse of his young victim is still lying in the middle of his one-room dwelling.	not yet awarded

by **Dexter** on June 8th, 2012, 12:23 am

Master Lists

Skills

Skill	Points	Description
Embalming	10	The Nuit knows the basics of the preservation of dead bodies from the many medical books he's studied over the years.
Interrogation	26	As a Psychiatrist, Dexter is very capable of coaxing sensitive information from stubborn minds.
Medicine	9	He has basic knowledge regarding treating minor injuries.
Herbalism	5	Though many psychiatrists are very skilled in the application of medicinal herbs in the healing of the mind, Dexter only knows the basics, as he prefers instead to talk his patients through their problems.
Philtering	5	The process used in actually mixing herbs and other substances into medicines.

Magic

Discipline	Points	Description	Source(s)
Hypnotism	5	Dexter has the potential to become a powerful hypnotist, but due to limited resources has been unable to learn more than the very basics of the magical art.	Starting package

Lores

Lore	Description	Source
The Dangers of Inebriation	Dexter has witnessed firsthand what drink can do to a man.	Starting package
Mind-Altering Substances of Ravok	The old psychiatrist is familiar with a number of potions, plants, chemicals, and other substances which affect the mind, for better or for worse, and can be found in Ravok.	Starting package

Languages

Language	Fluency	Description	Source(s)
Common	fluent	The primary language of Ravok.	Starting package
Pavi	basic	Dexter has gleaned a rudimentary understanding of the language from the Drykas who sometimes ride North across Sylira to visit Ravok.	Starting package
Vani	poor	He has also picked up a few words in this language from traveling Vantha and Kelvics from Taldera	Starting package

Possessions

Possession	Price/Source
ClothingThe old psychiatrist kept his most expensive suit out of proud vanity when he sold the rest of his fine clothes to help pay for his medication.
Pants, VelvetDexter's finest dress pants.	Starting package
Gloves, LeatherFashionable black gloves which conceal the old slave brand on the back of his right hand.	Starting package
Top Hat, VelvetThe Nuit is inseparable from his top hat.	Starting package
Jacket, VelvetHis finest dress coat.	Starting package
Shirt, VelvetHis finest dress shirt.	Starting package
Shoes, LeatherHis finest dress shoes.	Starting package
SuspendersThey're fashionable and they hold his pants up.	Starting package
LoinclothAn under garment for any occasion.	Starting package
StockingsHis best pair of stockings.	Starting package
Belt, LeatherAn all-purpose leather belt	0.2
Belt Buckle, Plain	0.2
Pants, Cotton (5)Casual pants.	0.5
Cloak, Wool	0.5
Jacket, WoolA casual jacket for cold days.	1
Shirts, Cotton (5)Casual shirts.	1
Shoes, LeatherCasual footwear.	0.3
Loincloths (6)Spare underwear.	0.18
Stockings (6 pairs)More socks.	2.4
Nightshirt, SilkA soft nightgown to keep him comfortable at night in his old age.	6
Tools and Items
AlembicThough Dexter inherited nothing from his parents, who he hasn't seen since it he was six years old, he did gladly "inherit" his master's old alembic after murdering him.	Heirloom
Chest	2
Lockbox, AverageContains the psychiatrist's savings.	8
Mortar and Pestle	1
Soap (1 lb.)	Starting package
Vials, Ink (2)	2
Whetstones (2)He sharpens the blade concealed in his cane regularly, just in case.	0.02
Outdoors, Wilderness and Exploration
Backpack (Empty)	Starting package
Flint And Steel	Starting package
Furniture
Arm Chair, AverageHe sits in this comfortable yet not-too-relaxing plush chair while treating his patients.	4
Bookcase, AverageOnce crammed full of all manner of books, only a few books now rest on its shelf, all the rest having been sold to pay for Dexter's medicine and other expenses.	8
Chair, AverageThe chair at the desk.	0.7
Couch, AverageThe couch his patients lie down on.	3
Desk, AverageThe desk with the chair.	2
Wardrobe, Average	2
Wash Basin, GoodAn unbathed psychiatrist keeps the patients away.	5
Melee Weapons
Meat CleaverThis is the butcher knife Dexter used to murder the young Nuit woman. I based the price off of a regular knife.	0.5
Sword CaneThis polished wooden cane conceals a sharp blade and never leaves the old man's hand.	35
Enlightened, Magic and Magic Related
Candles (20)	0.2
Books (2)Dexter had to sell all his books except Afflictions of the Mind: Diagnosing and Treating Mental Maladies and the old hypnotist's journal to pay for his medicine. Fortunately, he had committed most of his texts to memory.	10
Parchment (2 sheets)	2
Quills (5)	0.25
Uncategorized
Comb and Razor	Starting package
Bottle of Embalming Fluid	Starting package

Ledger

Note: Income and living expense will be applied retroactively (starting on Season of Summer, Day 7, 512 AD) when income is approved

Gold Rimmed Mizas Gained	Why?
+100	Starting package
-0.2	Belt, Leather
-0.2	Belt Buckle, Plain
-0.5	Pants, Cotton (5)
-0.5	Cloak, Wool
-1	Jacket, Wool
-1	Shirts, Cotton (5)
-0.3	Shoes, Leather
-0.18	Loincloths (6)
-2.4	Stockings (6 pairs)
-6	Nightshirt, Silk
-2	Chest
-8	Lockbox, Average
-1	Mortar and Pestle
-2	Vials, Ink (2)
-0.02	Whetstones (2)
-4	Arm Chair, Average
-8	Bookcase, Average
-0.7	Chair, Average
-3	Couch, Average
-2	Desk, Average
-2	Wardrobe, Average
-5	Washbasin, Good
-0.5	Meat Cleaver
-35	Sword Cane
-10	Books, Common (2)
-0.2	Candles (20)
-2	Parchment (10 sheets)
-0.25	Quills (5)

Total: 2 gm, 0 sm, 5 cm (2.05 gm)