[color=9e0b0f]Content Warning:[/color] This RP/Post may contain uncomfortable or violent themes.
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Captain Driskell stood opposite of Sacha with his back resting against his desk. The room was mostly lit by the fire place on the right hand side. The wooden furniture was far from ornate, but still leagues better than what one might find in other places throughout the keep. Driskell's arms were folded. Since Sacha arrived, Driskell had always tried to play the part of older brother...or mentor...or something. Sacha could never really understand why aside from shared noble peerage. Though Driskell didn't seem the sort for such considerations.

[color=004b80][b]You can't keep going down to the catacombs, Sacha.[/b][/color] The Captain had took his time cutting through the silence as he shifted to a more comfortable position. Father Marrow certainly hadn't wasted his time in running off to tattle to Knight Captain Driskell. 

[color=9e0039][b]My family is responsible for what is happening to him.[/b][/color] Despite his passion, Sacha couldn't return the older noble's eye contact. 

[color=004b80][b]Sacha,[/b][/color] Driskell lifted himself from off the desk before sighing. [color=004b80][b]Your anger is righteous, but as the leaders of this kingdom we are not afforded the luxury of mercy. To act in one's own interest is to betray one's countrymen.[/b][/color] Driskell inched closer to Sacha. [color=004b80][b] If the Crows or the Silvered Sons were to launch an attack- how many lives would be lost because a soldier abandoned his post?[/b][/color]

[color=9e0039][b]But what's the point of fighting, of dying- if the act of living is punishable by death.[/b][/color]

The sentiment was enough to make Driskell break his eye contact. He thought for a moment before responding. [color=004b80][b]You've the heart of a philosopher. In Cambridge or Redcliffe, that might serve you well. But you are a child of Vicelles. You know what it means to serve her, what she asks of us. [/b][/color] He paused for another moment before walking back over towards his desk. Sitting at the chair rested behind it he reached for parchment and a quill. Dipping the quill in a small cylindrical bottle he looked back up at Sacha. [color=004b80][b]I will see to it that Charles' title of Ser is returned to him, and that his family is compensated.[/b][/color]

Before Sacha could protest, the Captain was already motioning him to keep quiet. [color=004b80][b]Of course I know it isn't perfect Sacha, but it is something.[/b][/color]

[color=9e0039][b]Yes, Captain.[/b][/color]

Driskell's gaze returned to the parchment as he began writing. [color=004b80][b]You should speak with your Uncle. I imagine you'll have much to catch up on.[/b][/color]

[color=9e0039][b]I could smell the stench of booze on him from the catacombs. He's likely drowned in the stream by now. He'd hardly looked in any condition to reminisce- not that there'd be much to [i]reminisce about[/i].[/b][/color] Sacha mumbled a soft chuckle to himself. The last time he'd seen Elias Black had been four months ago before his trip to Astoria to gather the new recruits. At the time Sacha was still coming to grips with life in the Order. Black had proven himself to be quite illusive in the first month. In the second, Sacha came to learn he was hardly the man he thought he remembered. The warden was stand-offish, as if Sacha had personally wronged him. 

It was no wonder then that Driskell met Sacha's chuckle with a stifled laugh of his own. [color=004b80][b]Have you always been this uncharitable. I remember a time when you could sing nothing but praises for Uncle Black [i]protector of the realm[/i].[/b][/color]  Sacha could very vaguely remember seeing Lucian Driskell at court as a child. The man was around fifteen years his senior. Still, he would remember his father and Lord Driskell bantering about their war stories. That was before the sickness had really gripped his father's mind. Divorcing from thoughts of the past Sacha looked to the Captain with a smile. [i][color=9e0039]That was another life. Another Sacha.[/color][/i]

[color=9e0039][b]I'll speak with him soon,[/b][/color] he said with a feigned smile.
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[color=goldenrod][b]It seems this one's avoided the taint,[/b][/color] an elderly woman groaned. Her voice was coarse and low-register, no doubt grated by time. She spoke with an accent foreign to most anyone in Carthus. A sort of magnifying spyglass fixed upon a lens rested on her left eye as her old and withered hands poked and pulled at Lambert's lower lid. Her hand moved to the other eye for similar inspection. 

[color=a187be]Excellent,[/color] Sister Angelique exclaimed from behind her. Her, Karlus and Arlo sat in a makeshift examination room towards the back of the infirmary. The wailing of the injured and sickly hung just outside the door to the room. 

The elder woman sighed to herself as she tried her best to stand upright. She was a bit hobbled, forced to hunch over slightly as she walked. [color=goldenrod][i]Blackroot...Swampseed...Two Cups of Blight Milk[/i][/color] The dark-elf began to murmur to herself. As she did so she paced for a few moments back and forth all the while compulsively pilfering the many pockets of her longcoat. 

[color=a187be][b]Father Marrow wants to ensure there are no signs of blood magic as well,[/b][/color] Angelique interjected again.

Aemma stood a bit more upright, sighing one last time through her nose. She looked back towards Sister Angelique. [color=goldenrod][b]Would you mind stepping out of the room, Sister.[/b][/color]

The sister was taken aback by the request. [color=a187be][b]I-I hardly see that as necess-[/b][/color]

[color=goldenrod][b]It is my responsibility to make sure our new recruits are safe. Meaning they must also be willing to trust that I mean them no harm. They are not our prisoners. Let me do my work, sister.[/b][/color]

Conceding her defeat on the issue, Angelique took a protracted sigh. [color=a187be][b]I'll be right outside,[/b][/color] She offered flusteredly.  

As the door closed behind the sister, Aemma murmured to herself again. [color=goldenrod][i]Blackroot...Swampseed...Two Cups of Blight Milk[/i][/color]. The doctor composed herself as she continued examining Lambert. She was much darker than the relatively fair-skinned city-elf. Her hands moved up to his ears. Her fingers traced where once must have been the pointed ears common to all elves regardless of their race. They'd been shaven down, likely at birth. She paused there feeling them for a moment. She cleared her throat and blew hot air upwards to keep calmed. She then moved towards the mage's arm. Lambert instinctively flinched at her touch. 

[color=goldenrod]You're alright,[/color] Aemma said. She helped firmly onto his hand before she motioned towards her own arm, raising a sleeve to her elbow. Lining up the entirety of her forearm was a series of fresh cuts, the mark of a any blood mage. [color=goldenrod]May I?[/color] Lambert offered his arm in compliance. As she lifted the sleeve to his robes she found that there was minimal scarring save for one. The way the scar scaled the arm was clearly not an attempt at blood magic. Her eyes wandered to his for a moment in silent recognition. She turned rolled the mage's sleeve back down. 

[color=7bcdc8][b]They allow you to use blood-magic,[/b][/color] Lambert finally asked. 

[color=goldenrod][b]They do,[/b][/color] Aemma grabbed two small vials from a shelf before handing one to Lambert and another to Karlus. [color=goldenrod][b]Caster's milk, drink up. I imagine the journey here was unkind.[/b][/color] Lambert complied with the doctor's orders. He was good and bright. Not many like that in Vicelles. A small pop erupted from the cork nestled into the bottle as Lambert inched it out. He gulped it down quickly. Typically Caster's Milk took a half hour to take hold, and the taste had always felt off to Aemma. Like milk that didn't quite know how to settle in the gut.

[color=7bcdc8][b]May I ask something,[/b][/color] Lambert looked to the mage doctor waiting for a nod. She was quick to comply, and offered a smile. [color=7bcdc8][b]Why was Arlo not taken for examination with us if you're checking for more than just blood magic.[/b][/color] Aemma's smile quickly evaporated at the question.

[color=goldenrod][b]Then they haven't told you,[/b][/color] Aemma paused for a moment retrieving the now empty bottle from Lambert. [color=goldenrod][b]Arlo will likely be under my care soon enough.[/b][/color]

[color=7bcdc8][b]I'm not sure I follow.[/b][/color]

[color=goldenrod][b]There is a...ritual of a sort. When new recruits come to the Order for some crime of brutality,[/b][/color] Aemma looked back towards the door for a moment. [color=goldenrod][b]Said recruit is forced to fight, or not fight [i]really[/i]. They must withstand a fight against some of the men of the Order. A sort of repentance, they call it. To let things outside the Order die at its gates. It's barbaric if you ask me[/b][/color] Aemma placed the empty bottle on a table behind her. She shifted her attention towards Karlus. [color=goldenrod][b]If it is alright by you, I must perform the same examination for you. [/b][/color]