]Rémix, Gaulish Barber-Surgeon.
Surgery, first aid, barber, cooking, sentry, scouting, manual labour, literacy, brawling, polearms.

---

Rémix's eyes darkened and his hint-of-a-smile faded at Lugurix's mocking. Though he respected the man, he was not always eager to be treated the fool. Not that he wasn't compared to one who had seen so much.

If he can see at all.

"Of course. Thank you, Lugurix," he responded, with little sincerity but a modicum of respect. He turned and moved off towards the man designated. Any hint as to the origin of this plague was of vital importance, though he felt there was little chance of it helping much. Many diseases just weren't curable, and though the herbs and poultices that Lugurix produced may do wonders against the symptoms, the underlying problem itself was much less straightforward to target.

Approaching the man and scanning his face—as well as the positioning of his body—for signs of fatigue, illness, or signs of recognition, Rémix couldn't help but find himself a little annoyed. Another man to soothe. Another man to burn. "Goodday, friend. I would ask some questions of you if you wouldn't mind."

One man may not hold much sway, he thought to himself in silent rebellion, but one man can try nonetheless.

The man lied stiff on the hard floor, wrapped in the same dirty tunic as he had been for several days. His face lacked color, and his skin was visibly moist. His breathing was audible and raspy, and his eyes would twitch and flutter from time to time. He appeared no different than any of the other victims of the plague. He was middle aged, maybe older, but definitely able to work. His fingernails were thin, and dirt lined them. He turned his head to Remix and croaked, "Ask."

It grew quiet in the rotunda, though one certainly couldn't notice that when treating a patient if they were focused.

The Piper grumbled, visibly upset that his shaking performance had left the medicine woman noticeably unshaken. He casually strolled to the railing of the balcony, making the effort to appear as if he wasn't talking to her. "I had you personally invited, actually. I not only behave as the king's herald and court jester, but I also deal with... domestic disturbance. It is the reason that no one knows my real name, and few know my real occupation. I trust you to withhold that information now that I've confided it in you."

He reaches into his wide, deep sleeve and retrieves a thin piece of board. He glances at it before stuffing it away. "There is someone of great significance with a horrid illness, and I need an herb. I have reached out in all directions to clear your path, so that you may deal with them as your patient; however, the person is of such authority and regard that they would not permit you to heal them personally."

He turned back to Morgan, now surprisingly stern. His face was now rigid and his voice solemn. It was clear that the Piper played another role besides the king's amusement. He extended his gnarled right hand. "Before I can disclose details of the herb and of your reward, I need to know we have a deal."

The stranger, still hardly visible, continued, "You are one of us. You hold sway with the overworld, and you will pay your dues to us in time."

Dietrich felt something wet and flat pressed into the back of his neck and removed with an audible pop. Whatever it was, it likely left a mark. Had Dietrich any more questions, he would find no answers, as he had disappeared. His eyes began to adjust to the darkness now, and he could see and hear the wind gently teasing the curtains on an open window, one that likely wasn't open to begin with. He could try and follow him, but it's likely that whatever he sought to do was done, and it would be fruitless to seek him further.

It was best to continue towards the party with an uneasy itch on the back of his neck.

Julia sighed, letting her sleek shoulders slack. She looked away again, now clearly contemplating something. She sat back down; in their lengthy conversation, she had miraculously not attracted any curious eyes, except maybe one. She sits upright, and adopts a graceful, dignified tone. She folds her hands in her lap and says, "Very well. It's a shame that there's nothing I can do to aid you, but I don't think you'll be slaying anything or anyone. I hope your last kill was a good one."

A silence follows, and the queen averts her eyes again, biting her lip. She pushes her untouched goblet of wine to him, saying, "The wine they offer the royalty is leagues better than the swill they're giving you; I'd highly recommend trying it before you bout. Please, try it. I insist."

Rémix, Gaulish Barber-Surgeon.
Surgery, first aid, barber, cooking, sentry, scouting, manual labour, literacy, brawling, polearms.

---

"Good, we may have a lot to cover." Though bedside manners had never been Rémix's favourite aspect his profession, it would never stop him from being polite, if direct.

"I need to know as much as you can tell me about the time just before you contracted the plague. Any detail could help. A man you'd never seen before. A place you'd never travelled. An animal acting oddly. A plant, a meal, anything." Rémix knelt down beside the man. "if we can find the origin of this illness, perhaps others might be saved from its grip."

The man groaned audibly, tossing his head to the side. "Well, I had some strange tasting venison a couple weeks ago..." he mumbled.

"Too soon. He's been in here for more than a week and a half." Lugurix commented, shouting without turning over his shoulder.

The man continued twisting in his agony, gritting his teeth with sweat soaking his skin. "Well... I took a trip into the woods about a month ago... to hunt."

"Nope." Lugurix shouted. "Most of our plagued patients spend their time inside the village." Lugurix continued to stare out the window with his strangely aligned eyes and warped fish face. He continued to mutter and make remarks until he grew suspiciously quiet.

The man continued to writhe like a worm in the dirt. He began to lose his breath as he spoke, "I can't.... imagine what it could be. Although, my dog... bit me a while back." Lugurix was silent.

The man's breathing weakened; he clearly needed to rest. It was best to start searching his body for the bite while he rested.

"Very well."

The Piper was unshaken (sorry) by Morgan's forceful gesture. "I'm fully aware that a person of your status has treated royalty before, but the circumstances of this case are special. My priority is domestic security, and if word that this person was ill were to escape into the great, wide open, there could be... consequences."

The Piper reached again into his draping sleeves and retrieved an envelope. "Eyes are everywhere, and if anyone does happen to see this, all they'll see is I gave you an envelope. Precaution, really."

He gave her the envelope and looked back out over the balcony. "We cannot speak much longer; I'm glad we got to speak when we did. There are many who would have caught you and not handled this with the same tact that I did." The Piper began to pace, just mulling around in a circle, something bubbling in his bald head, his cauldron of chaos. He approached Morgan again with a cheery smile, taking her hand and shaking it, without her permission. "I'm glad I got to meet you personally. It was a pleasure."

Like a flash of lightning, his cordial, toothy grin became the harrowing face of dread. His grip on the woman's hand lasted became longer and more forceful, squeezing her palm in his. He glared at her--into her--with his blank eyes, eyes that can and have frozen many hardened men. "Be careful who you grab; you may grab someone with a stronger grip." he whispered as he released her from his dastardly claw and returning to his perch on the balcony; the band came back from downstairs, filling the seats behind them. The Piper looked out into the crowd, his gangly arms behind his back; before the medicine woman leaves, he flashes her his sly, joking grin.

After all, he was just joking.

Catullus snapped back into reality. "With the old king dead, we lack representation from the island in the Senate. You are the most qualified islander to take a Senate position; I have all of your records of your education with the Magisters." he explained. He then took his staff, the dark iron cage rattling, and waved it around threateningly in Augustus' face. "Further, I choose Senate members. Don't question it."

Catullus then reached into his robes and pulled out a thin piece of board, folded in three pieces. "This is a contract. In it, your powers and privileges as a Senate member are detailed in full. You will be able to propose state motions to the floor, give hearings on the affairs of your constituency, and, as chief (and sole) representative from Rhode Island, you will be able to assemble committees, which will be approved by me."

Catullus continued as he paced around the room, "You will live in the city, beyond the riff raff of course, and you'll have all of your needs cared for. Finally, if you aren't already committed, don't associate with any of the few female representatives, or any woman you meet in politics for that matter. That is merely good sense, not law."

At last, he turned to Augustus, and looked him in the eyes. He approached him, approached further, and approached further, until his head was practically under Augustus' chin. He surveyed the young man, looked him up and down, and spat, "We'll get to know each other quite well while working together. So far, I like you; don't fuck that up. It's really not hard."

Catullus then started back towards the party and turned around. "Have it signed next I see you tomorrow, hopefully at the tournament. Any questions?"

The young queen smiled warmly, "I'm glad you enjoyed. If only you could enjoy more of it." The queen loosened up a bit, now hardly unlike the noble patrons that surrounded them: charming, witty, and high brow. She had seen it all her life, and she learned how to emulate it quite well. "I'm glad we could talk before your bout, I wish you luck tomorrow." she commented. She strangely no longer seemed concerned with Eli's life; instead, she just batted her youthful eyelids as she spoke. Her voice was still weak and frail, like the rest of her, but she had a youthful, cutesy charm with her wide, puppy dog eyes.

She waved him goodbye, "You have quite a struggle ahead; you'll need the luck, Sir...?"