[center][i]It wasn't a great start.[/i][/center]

Getting to this dreary place nearly cost him everything he had.  Following the blood of the wounded, the scent of battle, those brave enough to even speak to him had lead him to this miserable place.  Somehow the looks of everyone made him feel simply colorful by comparison.  The reds and greens of his vials conflicted in a rather festive fashion but only he seemed to appreciate it.  Regardless, he plied his trade, or atleast tried to.  Everyone thought as a doctor, he was rich and he was continually harassed for coin that he simply could not afford to lose.  He lost track of how many brusing neanderthals he gave a nasty case of magically induced Urticaria (Itchy Skin Hives).  Really, Apothecaries wear the leathers for a reason.  Haven't they heard the rumors?  Why would you ever get so close?

Alas there was a few high points.  A child sick with consumption, though his family paid him in apples.  Good for breakfast except that mouthful of worm he got.  A mercenary with a broken thumb didn't have any gold on him, but did offer to punch one of Pox's thugs in the face.  Quite amusing.  And finally Qwendar the Hunter who got on the bad end of an elk's antler.  A charming fellow once you got past the smell.  At least he afforded Pox another few days to rest his head.

A long day, Pox closed his door and sighed before humming a slight tune before going through the arduous process of stripping his robes from his person when there was suddenly a tap at the door.  Pox made sure to rebuckle his coat and slip back on his hat.  "Good evening?"  He said in his chiper somewhat muffled voice.  Always the pinnacle of politeness.  Another job.  "Thank you Hans."  he said with the news.

Pox ran a quick calculation.  He was loath to go out at night into the wilderness to help mercenaries (unreliable at the best of times) whom were fighting a bunch of bandits (never a fun time).  There were too many variables that screamed alarms in his head.  Still though, worth the risk.  He needed that gold.  Maybe the gentleman that told the innkeep was still below and could give Pox more information on the road.

"I'm heading out n---"  A commotion from outside.  A familiar voice.  The old hunter, in anger.  What's going on now.  "Uhhh- yeah I'll head down.  Just give me a moment."  Pox decided to see to the well being of his only paying customer for the day.  He threw on his bulky bags.  "Ugh, this pack gets heavier all the time..." and headed downstairs, through the bar and out into the crisp air, believing he could resolve a simple dispute before hitting the road to aid the captain, but fate would not be so clear cut.

He turned a corner to where he believed he was hearing the ruckus.  "What's going on?"  He called out calmly.  "Sir, you'll open your stitches if you get all worked up..."