Solo A Poisoner Heals [The Infirmary]

[Lock Cicuta]

1st of Winter, 512 Lock needed money, badly. He needed resources, poisons were Lock's preferred tools, and no poison that he had ever made had come cheap. Strength came from power, and one type of power was money. It bought you necessities, secrets, tools, allies, and much else. Lock had scoured the city for a place in which his skill sets might be applicable, and so he found himself walking in the Zeltivan University. He came not to apply as a teacher, he had not the time nor the expertise for that, but at the infirmary. Lock had no desire to help people, but the infirmary was perfect for his needs. As of late many sick had appeared, and the Infirmary would be strapped for personnel. Lock knew a thing or too about herbalism and his poison skills could become applied to antidotes. As a most decided plus, many medical ingredients were vital to poison work, and the dying always made the most willing of test subjects. Click, click, click reverberated of the stone walls as Lock's boots marched him towards the Infirmary. The pale man entered the Infirmary, busy indeed. Medical staff rushed to and fro, the beds packed with sick and fevered. The place smelled of linen, rubbing alcohol, poultice herbs, and sweat. Patients were being tended to, having medicine administered, splints set, and sheets changed. Ward after ward of those no one will miss, too weak to survive. Lock smiled, trying to cover the perverse pleasure on his face with an expression of hopeful concern. Aimlessly he wandered around for several chimes, taking advantage of the bustle to go unnoticed for the most part. “'Excuse me boy.” called a voice from behind Lock's shoulder, “What business do you have here?” Lock turned to look at a short, broad shouldered man in his middle years. Most likely a healer. “You sick? You don't look it, maybe a bit peaky, but nothing severe.” The man was eyed him up and down suspiciously. “No Sir,” replied Lock, his face quickly becoming as earnest as he could make it. “I am here to inquire about a job? I am looking for the head of the Infirmary?” The man relaxed a bit. “Good, we could use the help, if you are better at healing than you look.” The man grabbed Lock gruffly by the shoulder and dragged into a side room not filled with patients or doctors. “You'll be looking for Mistress Claira, she will be with you in a bit, stay out of the way until then.” The man shot Lock a warning glance before waking out of the room. To himself Lock muttered, “Well, that was abrupt.” He waited.