An oppressive fog shrouded Cheydinhal, muffling the sounds of the waking town. A good listener might hear the soft creak of an opening window, or the sound of a mother waking her children. A really good listener might hear the faint rustles as the denizens of the night returned to their abodes, and, if the listener payed close attention, a whisper, a question searching for an answer lost to time. Then--a scream, the crash of shattering glass, and the soft patter of running feet. A figure materialized in the fog, the indistinct shape slowly defining itself as it moved closer.
Looking at the facts, Pilus thought to himself as he ran, that could have gone a lot worse. The situation certainly had all the elements of a successful night. Here he was, having fled the room of an attractive young woman through the window at an ungodly hour in the morning and--he let out a yelp as the figure chasing him grew closer--the girl's father was angrily in pursuit. It wasn't his fault he'd entered the situation through a metaphorical back door.
The father had burst into Pilus' room so early that morning that it was still, technically speaking, night. A tall Dunmer, he'd been incoherently babbling about pain and vomiting and daughters. Before Pilus could say anything, the man grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of his bed and down the stairs to the entrance of the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn. He motioned at Pilus.
The innkeeper nodded. "That's him."
"Please!" cried the panic stricken elf. "Y-you have to help! My daughter. Sh-she's so sick! I don't know what's happening to her!" He froze, then closed his eyes and slowly inhaled. "I need a healer. All the mages are in an uproar over the theft at the White-Gold tower." His voice rose again. "None of them would help me. But I heard there was a healer staying at the inn! Please!"
Pilus silently cursed whoever had kept the innkeeper up so late. All he wanted, all he really wanted, was a good night's sleep. But he had his duty, and he'd promised Grandmother he'd never turn anyone down. "Alright. Alright!" He had to yell over the frantic pleas. "I'll just need to fetch my equipment. And get dressed. Feel free to let go of me any time you like, by the way."
He'd been right to come to me. The girl needed help. The inn had come into sight, and Pilus redoubled his efforts to reach it before the furious Dunmer caught up with him.
They had returned to the girl at her house, crying, on the floor, in a pool of her own vomit. Together, Pilus and her father managed to carry the sick girl to her bed. By the time they reached her room, Pilus was covered in the remaining contents of the girl's stomach. On my only robes, too.
"What's wrong with her?" Her father asked, terror gripping his voice.
"It's this fiddly thing. In her stomach. Or by it, at least. It's...broken." Pilus still hadn't figured out what the appendix was really for. It was just...there.
"Can you fix it?"
"Well, sort of. You might say I can remove the problem." He coughed. "But I'll need privacy."
Pilus found it easiest to avoid explaining surgery to those not educated in medicine. People often assumed that a healer could just magic away problems with a wave of their hands, but often that wasn't the case, and more drastic measures were necessary. Yet, for some reason, the sick were still reluctant to remove their clothes and allow Pilus to carefully eliminate the offending organ even as they lay dying. It had always puzzled him.
A few hours later, as the impromptu surgeon carefully put the girl's appendix in his bag and began healing the entrance wound closed, the father burst into the room. Unable to contain his nervousness, he'd sat outside the door, hugging his knees until his nerves were nearly frayed. Finally, when he couldn't stand the suspense anymore, he'd decided to see if any progress had been made. He was greeted with the sight of his daughter, shirtless, drawing ragged breaths and covered in blood, and Pilus leaning over her, holding a bloody knife. Enraged and confused, the elf grabbed a candlestick and charged across the room, swinging it with a vengeance.
Thankfully, she'll survive. Hopefully, I will too. Pilus barreled through the inn's door. He grabbed the first man he saw, a large Redguard quietly eating what passed for breakfast at the inn. "I wasn't here!" he screamed. "You didn't see me!"
The healer fled up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He turned to the first room on his right, yanked open the door and dove in. As he lay on the floor, breathing heavily, he managed to kick the wooden door shut.
Oh-kay. I should be safe. If not, there's always another window.
Oh-kay...
It was then that he noticed the young Nord woman sleeping in the bed. On the positive side of things, she really was quite attractive, and very fit. However, this also meant she really was attractive, and fit, and thus, quite possibly, very dangerous. He could even make out a scar on her face, stretching from her left eyebrow down to her cheek.
Terrified of waking the woman and terrified of leaving the room, Pilus huddled in a corner and endeavored to make himself invisible.
