[hider=Oops, forgot. This still a thing?]][center]Rémix, [i]Gaulish Barber-Surgeon[/i].
Surgery, first aid, barber, cooking, sentry, scouting, manual labour, literacy, brawling, polearms.[/center]
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Rémix's eyes darkened and his hint-of-a-smile faded at Lugurix's mocking. Though he respected the man, he was not always [i]eager[/i] to be treated the fool. Not that he wasn't compared to one who had seen so much.

[i]If he can see at all.[/i]

"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 [i]symptoms[/i], 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. [i]Another man to soothe. Another man to burn.[/i] "Goodday, friend. I would ask some questions of you if you wouldn't mind."

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