[center][img]http://orig15.deviantart.net/2fa9/f/2016/187/8/b/thedoc_by_zelosse-da8xqso.png[/img][/center]
[center][h1]"[color=00a651]Teller[/color]"[/h1]
Anton Duboi[/center]

Teller merely shrugged and stowed away his syringe. The big man was a skeptic and the symptoms were written plain as day in the big mans body language. Distrust of magic, of medicine, of civilization it might have even screamed. But a doctors duty was not to judge a patient for their beliefs or their idealism. If it meant saving a life you could bet a kings ransom that Anton Duboi would do what he had to for the results he needed. The big mans injury would manifest later in the fight when his heavy weapons finally exhausted his burly frame. Though from the looks of him, that would be a very long time. 
Anton might be dead at that point. Who could say for sure in the chaos of battle.

The fanfare sounded and the knights charged. To battle, to glory, to blood, to honor, everyone fought for something. Like Sir Garette, Teller fought for the enjoyment of it. Battle had become his world. An idle blade, sword or scalpel, lost its edge. Every fight honed his mind and every end he saw guaranteed him practice. Be it fixing up a wound or finding a new way to make one.

Blade in hand, Anton separated from the initial charge. Not a well armored fellow the doctor was not the best person to have at the front line as arrows rained into the camp, and return fire came back in kind. Lacking a shield, avoiding getting stuck like a porcupine was not a viable option. His pace had gone from full on sprint to a gingerly stroll through the scenery. Few were looking his direction by the time the bandit camp was within touching distance. Teller had used that time to apply a thin layer of his toxin to 3 of his crossbow bolts and the edge of his sword. Now all that was left was to find someone to use it on.
Shouts and alarms were being thrown every which way as battle was found, the bandits hastily grabbing weapons and shambling out of their tents to fight. Most of them had gear stolen from the dead, some likely sported a fallen Knights armor they had pillaged. An insult that would cost them dearly.

Ducking under nearby cover he waited patiently. Still as stone the doctor waited for his opportunity and when it finally arrived, made a sprint to the nearest bandit occupied tent. His Curved sword cut a swift and silent arc through the neck of one such bandit trying to put on his boots. Anton stood over the dying man and plunged his sword through his heart before moving on. Taking a peek out of the tent, he spied a small fire with some burning logs. 
Men and Women were rushing about and failed to notice the long beaked intruder. 
From the sound of it, the shield wall was getting close. 

Bursting from his cover, the doctor slashed out the throat of a startled bandit and turned his attention onto its companion. This one was skilled with the blade and deftly blocked two swings of the khopesh before going on the attack. The blows were fast, the mans shortsword was sharp and light, resulting in a rush of controlled swipes that pushed Anton back with his own blade focused solely on defense. 

[b]"DIE, FREAK." [/b]

The bandit roared in the face of his opponent as he broke momentum, throwing himself into a straight lunge at the doctors chest. Though the move was brilliant, Anton had to admit to himself, the man had made a a mistake. The toxin only needed a minute or so until it robbed you of your strength. 
The bandits vision swam before him as his lunge turned to an ungraceful dive as the doctor simply moved aside. The small single handed crossbow bolt was embedded in the victims stomach, about a third of the bolt still sticking out of his flesh. 

[color=00a651]"It's a wonderful effect isn't it? Fast acting and powerful in small doses. But do not worry, you will feel no pain soon."[/color] Teller spoke clearly for the man. [color=00a651]"The poison numbs you first. Robs you of your strength. Steals from you the motor functions necessary to fight, and cripples your legs so you cannot run. Your vision will fade soon. Do not be worried,"[/color] Tellers enthusiasm at the effectiveness of his concoction was evident as he approached the downed man. His victim was frantically trying to crawl away but his hands and legs no longer obeyed the command. [color=00a651]"You will live for a few more minutes. Use them to reflect on your life and choices a bit, ok." [/color]

Anton bent down and grasped the bolt firmly, a single tug had the diminutive but effective projectile pulled from the wound and loaded back into the crossbow. Kneeling beside the twitching form, Teller reached out and closed his eyes respectfully before walking back out of the camp. He would find another opportunity, but for now it seemed prudent to swing back to the main force. Maybe check up on how the others were handling themselves.