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Vasra Dermok

---

"You need to get some rest, Doc."

"Maybe in my next life," Vasra quipped, forcing her lips into a soft smile. Purchasing a moment to think, she swallowed a steaming spoonful of soup gratefully. The warmth as it traveled through her was a welcome comfort. Closing her eyes, Vasra heavily rubbed her eyelids, trying to will sleep further away from her.

Sonam's words troubled her. She had suspected the price for Spirit Water would only climb, no soar
to greater heights. But not so quickly. Not yet. She had known, of course, that the game she played was a dangerous one. She had known before she had made her first move. To trade in Spirit Water was to play a deadly, fast-paced game of Pai Sho. To steal from the Upper Ring was to gamble with your life as collateral. Death was not certain, but the price for being caught, was a heavy one. It didn't matter. Not really. She couldn't stop. She couldn't ignore those in need. She couldn't close the door of her clinic to someone pleading, begging for help, as they offered her everything they owned, every scrap, every shiny piece of metal, everything of value for her just act...to try to help...to do anything at all.

A shiver traveled over her weary shoulders and Vasra tried to shake her troubles away with another coerced smile. Sonam was right. She needed sleep. She needed time to think. She was being foolish. She was taking too many risks. She was alienating the wrong people. She was annoying the right people at the wrong time. She would be in trouble, real trouble if she kept it up. She knew. She knew this was the case. But she could feel a sense of fatalism overwhelm her. She had to stay the course. She had to do what she knew was right. The cost was immaterial. She had recalled the words of one of the long forgotten Avatars. An Earth Bender, a philosopher, and a teacher. She had found portions of her book. The burnt pages that remained of her writings and her thoughts.

"To save a life. At great risk or even at the cost of one's own life. Such is the path to true peace. It is a difficult path. It is an ungrateful path. But there is joy. And there is peace. Saving a life, you save the world, one kind deed, one small gesture, and one gentle thought is often enough.

"There is no time for caution, Sonam," Vasra conceded, clasping her hands together, and summoning the remainder of the energy that remained to her. "Forgive me, I have put you in a delicate position. I know. I know that this is true, but matters once again required hasty action. And you are right, there are only more patients these days. More people struggling. More people barely surviving.Do not despair though, at least we can do something about it. Small actions still matter. Every kindness helps stave off the rot that threatens this city."

"I can get more money, if it will help," Vasra began again after attacking the soup with a military gusto that suggested the doctor was well aware of how little time she had left to chat in private with Sonam. She had patients to see and Sonam no doubt had other far less pleasant tasks to see too. It was a cruelty Vasra thought, that someone as kind as Sonam, as gentle, and as intelligent was forced by circumstance to live a life of crime. Beneath her rough exterior. Hidden behind a carefully guarded mask. Vasra could sense a kind soul and a gentle heart. The world was cruel. The world had been cruel to Sonam. It still was. Vasra couldn't ask her to stop. She couldn't suggest she retire from a life of crime. They both knew it was pointless. Sonam was sworn to the triad. She owed them a respectable dept. They needed her. Vasra needed her. She needed her connections. She needed her help. And she needed all the spirit water that Sonam could get her.

"There are some favors that remain for me to call in, if things get much worse. I have not been idle when it comes to currying good will among the Upper Ring. Although I suspect professional courtesy will only go so far should I encounter unwelcome attention," Vasra continued, gratefully finishing her bowl of soup.

"I thank you for the lovely soup, as always. It is more restorative than one can imagine! It has been so nice to catch up. We really should see each other again soon," Vasra said, her voice rising above the quiet of the private conversation that Sonam had afforded her. They were friends, Vasra felt. They trusted one another. But a charade had to be maintained. Vasra "I have in my possession a most wonderful ginger tea that I acquired during my last visit to the Upper Ring. Perhaps, you would join me at my clinic? Let us say in two nights? And we can share a cup of tea and continue to discuss your brother's most unfortunate illness. However, sleep peacefully in the interim, for I have high hopes that I will have a treatment ready by then."

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Vasra Dermok

---

Slipping in through a half open door, Vasra breathed in the warm smell of beef broth soup. She smiled, surrounded as she was by rusted sheets of corrugated metal and pealing paint. It wasn't much. It wasn't enough. It never was. But...the soup kitchen was something. It was hope. Hope for a better future. Something, something to get help them make through the next moment and the next day. And in the Lower Ring, sometimes, sometimes that seemed like enough of a task for an army, much less a rag tag band of volunteers.

Rough, weary faces gazed softly at Vasra. She remembered their names. She remembered many of their troubles. She could hear the conversations shift. She made no effort to hide. She never did. She was a doctor. A doctor in the Lower Ring stood out. A doctor in the Lower Ring attracted attention. There was no point in avoiding it.

She shook a hand offered to her and smiled at the bent old man, Zulon, she recalled, that grinned up at her. His leg was healing well she noted, her mind shifting to clinical matters, but the nerve damage would likely be permanent, and the iron worker would walk with a limp for the rest of his life.

"Doc," someone else murmured, and Vasra felt herself drawn into fierce hug. Most of the residents of the Lower Ring simply called her Doc. Small hands pulled at her hair from within the embrace and Vasra's eyes met those of a small infant bouncing with glee secured in a fabric sling on his mother's chest. Wo Fang beamed and pulled Vasra closer, hugging her even more tightly.

"He looks well, very well! You both look very healthy," Vasra managed, finally escaping the hug as she buried a sob beneath a forced laugh, it had been a long night. Too long, and Wo Fang and the baby had barely survived. The three vials of Spirit Water had been worth it. Vasra did not care to recall the favors she had been forced to offer the triads. Healing one patient so that they could hurt another person in the near future and create another probable patient hardly seemed ideal. She chose to think of the lives she had saved instead. That much she could do, that selfishness she would permit herself.

Iyome approached her next, handing Vasra a cup of coffee. It was her habit. It was her way of say thanks. Vasra would have refused, but she knew better. The coffee would keep her going, it would keep her awake for a bit longer. Iyome would be pleased. The weaver had two hands thanks to Vasra. Mechanical looms were dangerous in the best of times and they were claimed hands without warning when the factory owner was pushing the workers to finish a fresh batch of RSF uniforms. It didn't matter how many times Vasra told her Iyome that she had simply done what any other doctor should have. That there wasn't any need to thank her.

Peering at the small crowd that had begun to encircle her, following in her wake, like fallen leaves caught in the current of a slow river. Vasra struck down the irritation she felt tugging at weary shoulders. She felt exhausted. She felt every hour she had been awake. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. But most of all, she wanted to sleep. Just for one night. Just for one whole night. Later. Some other time. Not now. Maybe in her next life.

A heavy slap that almost knocked her over, saved her from her flagging thoughts. Kelden, one time RSF soldier, now homeless veteran, muttered some unintelligible comment at Vasra before bursting into a fit of laughter. Few understood what he said anymore. But he had his moments. He had brief periods of clarity. Times when he seemed as he once had been. As he had been when Vasra had been a young child. His kindness had not been smashed along with the bridges of his mind. The car that ran him over remained a mystery. The driver unaccounted for and the vehicle found buried beneath a mountain of scrap metal. Vasra had tried to repair his mind. To restore his thoughts. She had managed only to reduce his suffering. She had restored only the faintest echoes of his former self. She could do no more. She had tried and that would have to be enough.

Swallowing down hurried gulps of coffee, Vasra continued. She felt an unwelcome sense of paranoia overwhelm her. She suspected someone was watching. Were they keeping score? Following her? She had heard the complaints from colleagues. Most thought her a fool. Some thought her too kind. And some she did not doubt, hated her. Reminding her illustrious colleagues of their humanity won her few favors. They did not relish their duty. They did not wish to be lectured by a wisp of a woman squandering her talent and income on an endless number of desperate patients. The feigned praise of her Upper Ring patients, her clients as they preferred to be called, would not protect her for very long. Not if she got caught dealing in illegal Spirit Water. No matter what the reason. No matter the kindness behind her crimes.

Uninitiated in the ways of espionage, Vasra still knew enough to be discreet. She hid in plain sight. Acting the boundless optimist. Behaving as if she was beyond subterfuge. I have nothing to hide, she declared. You know where to find me. She trusted Sonam, probably more than she should have, but then again, for all that they knew about each other, breaking their secret compact would only assure their mutual doom.

Despite her growing reservations, Vasra moved calmly. For all the risks she took, she felt safe in the Lower Ring. What criminal, what fiend, what murderer even, would trouble her there? She suspected people looked out for her. She had a role in the grim ecosystem of the Ba Sing Se. She had a purpose. She had a value to those at the top and the bottom. She had some favors to call in, if it came to that. The mood was festive. People seemed happy. Happier. She could share their joys. She could smile with them. There was little to celebrate in her mind. Victory in a war that had devastated the planet, hardly seemed like a victory at all. However, she would not begrudge the citizens of Ba Sing Se an escape from reality...at least not for a long day and a longer night.

Time. Time, Vasra thought. There was never enough time. She couldn't stay for long. She couldn't dawdle. She couldn't rest. Not yet. Not now. She had two critical patients. Construction workers hurt in an another unfortunate and likely completely preventable accident. They wouldn't last the night if she didn't get her hands on some Spirit Water. She'd done as much as she could. She'd stretched her skills and limited supplies to the very limit. It wouldn't be enough. Not that it mattered. Not to anyone that could do anything about it at least.

An Upper Ring businessman was hardly going to be taken to task for failing to protect his Lower Ring workers. The safety inspectors had already been paid off. The RSF wouldn't investigate any further. It would all be swept under the rug. Everyone would look the other way. And life would go on.

There was no justice in Ba Sing Se.

Not anymore, Vasra thought.

Troubled by such thoughts, Vasra finished her coffee in a fell swoop. Sonam was expecting her. She had managed to get word to her earlier in the day. Vasra wouldn't make her wait any longer. There wasn't much point. She had practically announced her presence in the Lower Ring with her arrival. As intended. As discussed. She could not hide in the shadows. She could not hide beneath a mask. But perhaps...perhaps she could hide in plain sight. Repositioning the stethoscope slung like a warding amulet around her neck, Vasra finally approached Sonam, where she saw that the woman was fast at work serving out bowls of fresh soup.

"Sonam! What a pleasure to see you on this fine day," Vasra began, flashing a kindly smile at her accomplice, and depositing her heavy medical bag on the floor with a dull thud. "Perhaps, you could spare me a bowl of soup? I haven't had a bite to eat today, and it would seem that I have new patients waiting for me here."

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Vasra Dermok

Vasra Dermok

Name: Vasra Dermok
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Element: (Eventually) Water
Residence. Middle Ring, but often visits Upper and Lower Ring for her work.
Occupation. Medical Doctor, professional idealist, and constant source of annoyance to wealthier, older doctors.

Who are you?

Excerpt from the Journal of Doctor Vasra Dermok

Who am I?

An excellent question, even when posed to oneself. I swear! I swear I am not mad! I write simply because I cannot speak freely. It is only in this journal that I can record matters related to medicine without fear of cruel censorship. And it is only here, here in this battered journal, that I may examine the truth of my world without worry that I will find myself languishing in a dark, cold cell tomorrow.

Such pleasantries and pleasant thoughts aside...I am Vasra Dermok.

I am a doctor. I am a resident of the Middle Ring, as I have ever been.

I am the daughter of Besre and Hulok Dermok. I am the younger sister of Tarnelu Dermok. In times long past, my ancestors were Water Benders. I know little of them. I know nothing of their arts. I know precious few details concerning their lives. Only stories remain. Distant memories passed on from one generation to another. The memories of my people shattered as their cities fell and burned to ash along with their books. We are not the people we once were. We cannot recall our culture. We cannot perform our ancient customs. And we are much reduced for it. There is no harmony. Not with nature and not with ourselves. Peace, peace eludes us in these bitter times.

Alas! My sorrows will not help. There is but one cure...and that is action!

I beg that no one misunderstand me! Compared to others trapped in this city, my suffering has been but a drop of water cast into a roaring river. I come from a family of modest means, this is true. I grew up in the Middle Ring, in the Rirlaq quarters. It was a neighborhood of artisans, craftsman, and low level bureaucrats who worked for the nobles that resided in the Upper Level. The Republic Security Force were a regular presence. They treated us well enough. We gave little reason for them to respond with violence.

We starved seldom. We had toys. We had several sets of clothing. We lived in our a house, cramped as it was with all four of us. My parents were stern, but kind. They only meant well, even when I angered them. They still only mean well. My parents worked often, my parents worked long hours, keeping a small textile shop that secured our fortunes. As a result, I spent much time with my older brother, Tarnelu. He was always stronger than me. Always faster. Always a bit braver. But he was kind. He taught me so much about life in Ba Sing Se. In those days, he was kind, he was a bright light that shielded me from the darkness of this city.

It has been some time since I have last seen him. He left when I was fourteen. He joined the Republic Security Forces. He did not doubt as I did. He asked few questions. He said he was doing it for us. For all of us. For everyone in Ba Sing Se. And I believed him. I still believe him. But I miss the brother that left us. He was kind. He was so kind! I swear on all that I hold dear! Once, my brother was a kind boy. A happy child, empty of all hatred. He is different now. Colder. More serious. I can see the pain he carries. I can feel it. He will not permit me to treat him. He will not admit that anything is amiss. He will not speak of serious matters with me. He doesn't want me to know. He is afraid I will act. He is afraid I will cure him.

I say for myself, as much for anyone else, I have not given up! I will not. But as to my early years...

As a child, I listened well to my parents. They told me to work hard. They told me to keep my hands busy. They told me to do my duty. They told me to serve the Republic. They told me to ask fewer questions. They told me to cause no more ripples and no more waves in the waters of Ba Sing Se. And they told me to steel my heart to the suffering that surrounded me. All this I did with great love and fealty. However, I could not close my heart to others. They have always said I have been too kind. Too quick to help. Too unthinking when it came to following the whispers afflicted my conscience. I do not deny this. I could not close my heart to others. I would not. Not then, and certainly not now.

Still, I was a gifted student. I loved to read. I borrowed so many books. I hounded my teachers for information. For more lessons, for more stories to memorize. I asked so many questions! Too many questions, many would say. As I grew, my desire to learn more only grew greater. I sought out knowledge. I sought out wise teachers. I attended lectures. I sat for the entrance exam to attend one of the institutes of higher learning.

In time, I acquired a generous patron, his lordship Yaraik Teem. Thanks to his tireless support, I attended the Hou-Ting Academy. Many say it is the finest school in Ba Sing Se. I do not doubt this, although I cannot say that I enjoyed all aspects of life in those storied halls. At the Academy, nestled in the safety and comfort of the Upper Ring, I was trained by the finest medical minds and teachers yet to be found across our ruined lands. I found mentors willing to guide me. I found a great wealth of knowledge. And I found new friends from all the three Rings.

I took to medicine quickly. And I believe medicine took to me as swiftly. I left the university as a fully fledged medical doctor. Many doors were opened to me as a result of my training and my new degree. I found myself with many new friends from the university and on professional terms with those far above my original station. Disease and injury are unfortunately common in our present world. The services of a doctor are always needed. Mortality makes little difference between wealth or status.

Some grow complacent in my position. Some grow fat off of their endless profits. Many swell with pride at their ability. Most relish their status. I have striven for balance. I have attempted to find a better way. I could do nothing else. I treat all that seek out my services. I have no aspirations for acquiring great wealth. I accept what payments my patients can offer. I make no distinctions between the residents of rings. Upper Ring, Middle Ring, Lower Ring, and even the shunned travelers of the Underground, all deserve compassion. All have a right to have their ailments cured and their injuries healed. Be they troubled in matters of the body, the mind, or the spirit. There must be no imposed distinction between these aspects of the patient, for they are all interconnected and affect the health of the patient. At least, that is what I have humbly come to believe.

Forgive me, I ramble, even in my writings I find it hard to limit my words. I am troubled. I am troubled by this world. I am troubled by what it has become. I am troubled by the suffering of the people in Ba Sing Se. I fear for the people yet living beyond the walls of our city. I am full of sorrow, but I must continue, there is work still to be done.

The hour grows, and my time is short. Many things are best left unsaid for now.

I maintain a clinic in the Middle Ring, in the Shoh Kye quarters. I have never bothered to name it, but the people in my neighborhood know where to find it, the signs plastered on the wall say Doctor and Medicine in fading script in my own hand. It is a small building, but I keep it meticulously clean. I would have it no other way. I took over the clinic after the venerable Doctor Gyon Maki retired some years ago. He was a great man and a kindred spirit. I have changed little in the clinic. Funds do not allow it and I do not have the time.

I work primarily from in the clinic. In fact, I sleep in a small room above it. One never knows when a patient will arrive, after all. Often I have the *ahem* great honor, I travel to the Upper Ring to offer my services to some of the residents of the Upper Ring. When time permits it has become my practice to travel to the Lower Ring, to offer my services to those with far fewer means. It is a habit of mine little beloved by my eminent colleagues, but respectfully, their objections do not move me.

The world remains afflicted with innumerable diseases and the scars of deep wounds beyond our own time...

Compassion is the least we can provide.

The essence of our vocation must be to heal the people of these lands and to offer our aid whenever and wherever we can.

What is your opinion on Benders?

Enciphered Page from Doctor Vasra's Journal

Benders.

Bending.

These are two dangerous words to utter in Ba Sing Se today.

Since our youth, all residents of Ba Sing Se have learned of the great ills that benders inflicted upon our world with their bending and how they steeped the lands in suffering. Few groups in our long history have been as vilified as bender. Few heroes are as condemned by our textbooks as those known for their bending. We curse the Avatar and all their ilk or so our official records proudly proclaim.

As a matter of legality, it is of course highly illegal to practice bending. Breaking the laws concerning bending, in any way, is met with swift and merciless punishment, regardless of the nature or severity of the offense.

I confess I have grown weary of this unbending...this unwavering belief. I am a learned woman. I have studied the great tomes of my profession that survived the Great War and the Great Cleanse. I have read the writings of many of the old masters and philosophers...Those books that were permitted and some books that to put it most delicately might simply have been overlooked by the censors in their fervent haste to protect our growing minds.

Between careful words and subtle prose, medical practitioners of the past speak of the power of bending to not just destroy, but to create...and to heal. Accomplished scholar call these case studies fanciful tales created by a primitive, brutish people seduced by the evils of bending. However, I would disagree. I do disagree. I disagree strongly with such words. We have forgotten the spirit. We ignored the mind. We treat only the body. Lost are the lessons of the past heroes. What if we could do more? What if we could do better? What if we could harness the power of chi to heal our patients? Surely, spirit infused water cannot be the end of our research and our medicine? Synergy is but the product of a greater process. SynEn is not our master, no matter what the corporatists tell us, and no matter the violence that they threaten us with. More may yet live beyond these metal walls...and we must seek the truth.

My esteemed colleagues call me a dreamer. They have gently advised me to ask no more questions. They find me rash. They believe me too young. They have warned me of consequences. Trusted friends among them have suggested that I might offend the wrong parties if my words do not soften.

I offer no apology for my actions. I will not be swayed by fear. I will not fall victim to ignoble ignorance. If I err. If I am too forward. If I say what should not be said. It is only because I must. It is only because the people, this city, and this world are dying. I cannot stand by as all suffer. I cannot keep my eyes shut any longer. I will not silence my tongue. Instead, I will listen to my heart.

I offer no apology for simply doing my duty. I am a student of the art and science of medicine. I can only do what I believe to be good. I desire only to see the people healed. I hope only watch as our great city flourishes once again. And I wish only to discover that the lands have been restored.

In these pages, in my own words, I freely admit to these subversive thoughts. I am no bender. I have performed no bending. Jealous rumors have assailed me and ruthless accusations have followed me despite my continued innocence. I have never sought out conflict with my esteemed colleagues, but my conscience will not permit me to spread falsehoods. I am a doctor. I am a healer. I simply collect what knowledge I can discover. I merely use the tools I have been provided. I will not beg forgiveness for my skill at administering spirit water. What crime is it to cure the sick and to mend the broken?

Truth, truth is only an affliction that gives rise to deep wounds in those already enveloped by corruption. The cure for such diseases may be painful to the patient, but is necessary to save the mind, body, and spirit.

Gear:

• Vasra's Journal

  Vasra has a journal full of medical notes and her own thoughts, written in short hand and using a rudimentary cipher of her own making. While it is possible to decipher what she has written, doing so would take quite a bit of time and effort.
• Doctor's Bag

  By virtue of her profession, Vasra carries a large leather medical bag on her person at at all times. The bag contains scissors, scalpels, surgical tubes, forceps, bandages, and a number of vials of carefully secured spirit water

Extra:

Color Code: aqua

Vasra maintains a number of shadowy contacts that are willing to sell her spirit infused water that they have acquired through dubious means. Although far from a criminal, Vasra herself, when moments permit it, has been known to "recover" small quantities of spirit water that might otherwise have been unfortunately lost to circumstance.

---

Sonam Manihn

Sonam Manihn

Name: Sonam Manihn
Age: 21
Gender: Female
Residence: Lower Ring / Underground
Occupation: Black Market Merchant

The only survivor of a once proud family of Air Benders, Sonam is Vasra's most trusted source for illegally acquired spirit water. A true believer in Doctor Dermok's personal mission to provide medical care for those in the Lower Ring and beyond, Sonam is remarkably loyal to Vasra despite her triad allegiance.

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I like to think I can roll with the punches, so big RPs aren't really a turn-off for me at first glance, but I do find there is a linear increase in communication and discipline needed as RPs grow in size.

As to picking an element, all I can say is that it came to me in a dream.

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A more edited version:

Vasra Dermok

Vasra Dermok

Name: Vasra Dermok
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Element: (Eventually) Water
Residence. Middle Ring, but often visits Upper and Lower Ring for her work.
Occupation. Medical Doctor, professional idealist, and constant source of annoyance to wealthier, older doctors.

Who are you?

Excerpt from the Journal of Doctor Vasra Dermok

Who am I?

An excellent question, even when posed to oneself. I swear! I swear I am not mad! I write simply because I cannot speak freely. It is only in this journal that I can record matters related to medicine without fear of cruel censorship. And it is only here, here in this battered journal, that I may examine the truth of my world without worry that I will find myself languishing in a dark, cold cell tomorrow.

Such pleasantries and pleasant thoughts aside...I am Vasra Dermok.

I am a doctor. I am a resident of the Middle Ring, as I have ever been.

I am the daughter of Besre and Hulok Dermok. I am the younger sister of Tarnelu Dermok. In times long past, my ancestors were Water Benders. I know little of them. I know nothing of their arts. I know precious few details concerning their lives. Only stories remain. Distant memories passed on from one generation to another. The memories of my people shattered as their cities fell and burned to ash along with their books. We are not the people we once were. We cannot recall our culture. We cannot perform our ancient customs. And we are much reduced for it. There is no harmony. Not with nature and not with ourselves. Peace, peace eludes us in these bitter times.

Alas! My sorrows will not help. There is but one cure...and that is action!

I beg that no one misunderstand me! Compared to others trapped in this city, my suffering has been but a drop of water cast into a roaring river. I come from a family of modest means, this is true. I grew up in the Middle Ring, in the Rirlaq quarters. It was a neighborhood of artisans, craftsman, and low level bureaucrats who worked for the nobles that resided in the Upper Level. The Republic Security Force were a regular presence. They treated us well enough. We gave little reason for them to respond with violence.

We starved seldom. We had toys. We had several sets of clothing. We lived in our a house, cramped as it was with all four of us. My parents were stern, but kind. They only meant well, even when I angered them. They still only mean well. My parents worked often, my parents worked long hours, keeping a small textile shop that secured our fortunes. As a result, I spent much time with my older brother, Tarnelu. He was always stronger than me. Always faster. Always a bit braver. But he was kind. He taught me so much about life in Ba Sing Se. In those days, he was kind, he was a bright light that shielded me from the darkness of this city.

It has been some time since I have last seen him. He left when I was fourteen. He joined the Republic Security Forces. He did not doubt as I did. He asked few questions. He said he was doing it for us. For all of us. For everyone in Ba Sing Se. And I believed him. I still believe him. But I miss the brother that left us. He was kind. He was so kind! I swear on all that I hold dear! Once, my brother was a kind boy. A happy child, empty of all hatred. He is different now. Colder. More serious. I can see the pain he carries. I can feel it. He will not permit me to treat him. He will not admit that anything is amiss. He will not speak of serious matters with me. He doesn't want me to know. He is afraid I will act. He is afraid I will cure him.

I say for myself, as much for anyone else, I have not given up! I will not. But as to my early years...

As a child, I listened well to my parents. They told me to work hard. They told me to keep my hands busy. They told me to do my duty. They told me to serve the Republic. They told me to ask fewer questions. They told me to cause no more ripples and no more waves in the waters of Ba Sing Se. And they told me to steel my heart to the suffering that surrounded me. All this I did with great love and fealty. However, I could not close my heart to others. They have always said I have been too kind. Too quick to help. Too unthinking when it came to following the whispers afflicted my conscience. I do not deny this. I could not close my heart to others. I would not. Not then, and certainly not now.

Still, I was a gifted student. I loved to read. I borrowed so many books. I hounded my teachers for information. For more lessons, for more stories to memorize. I asked so many questions! Too many questions, many would say. As I grew, my desire to learn more only grew greater. I sought out knowledge. I sought out wise teachers. I attended lectures. I sat for the entrance exam to attend one of the institutes of higher learning.

In time, I acquired a generous patron, his lordship Yaraik Teem. Thanks to his tireless support, I attended the Hou-Ting Academy. Many say it is the finest school in Ba Sing Se. I do not doubt this, although I cannot say that I enjoyed all aspects of life in those storied halls. At the Academy, nestled in the safety and comfort of the Upper Ring, I was trained by the finest medical minds and teachers yet to be found across our ruined lands. I found mentors willing to guide me. I found a great wealth of knowledge. And I found new friends from all the three Rings.

I took to medicine quickly. And I believe medicine took to me as swiftly. I left the university as a fully fledged medical doctor. Many doors were opened to me as a result of my training and my new degree. I found myself with many new friends from the university and on professional terms with those far above my original station. Disease and injury are unfortunately common in our present world. The services of a doctor are always needed. Mortality makes little difference between wealth or status.

Some grow complacent in my position. Some grow fat off of their endless profits. Many swell with pride at their ability. Most relish their status. I have striven for balance. I have attempted to find a better way. I could do nothing else. I treat all that seek out my services. I have no aspirations for acquiring great wealth. I accept what payments my patients can offer. I make no distinctions between the residents of rings. Upper Ring, Middle Ring, Lower Ring, and even the shunned travelers of the Underground, all deserve compassion. All have a right to have their ailments cured and their injuries healed. Be they troubled in matters of the body, the mind, or the spirit. There must be no imposed distinction between these aspects of the patient, for they are all interconnected and affect the health of the patient. At least, that is what I have humbly come to believe.

Forgive me, I ramble, even in my writings I find it hard to limit my words. I am troubled. I am troubled by this world. I am troubled by what it has become. I am troubled by the suffering of the people in Ba Sing Se. I fear for the people yet living beyond the walls of our city. I am full of sorrow, but I must continue, there is work still to be done.

The hour grows, and my time is short. Many things are best left unsaid for now.

I maintain a clinic in the Middle Ring, in the Shoh Kye quarters. I have never bothered to name it, but the people in my neighborhood know where to find it, the signs plastered on the wall say Doctor and Medicine in fading script in my own hand. It is a small building, but I keep it meticulously clean. I would have it no other way. I took over the clinic after the venerable Doctor Gyon Maki retired some years ago. He was a great man and a kindred spirit. I have changed little in the clinic. Funds do not allow it and I do not have the time.

I work primarily from in the clinic. In fact, I sleep in a small room above it. One never knows when a patient will arrive, after all. Often I have the *ahem* great honor, I travel to the Upper Ring to offer my services to some of the residents of the Upper Ring. When time permits it has become my practice to travel to the Lower Ring, to offer my services to those with far fewer means. It is a habit of mine little beloved by my eminent colleagues, but respectfully, their objections do not move me.

The world remains afflicted with innumerable diseases and the scars of deep wounds beyond our own time...

Compassion is the least we can provide.

The essence of our vocation must be to heal the people of these lands and to offer our aid whenever and wherever we can.

What is your opinion on Benders?

Enciphered Page from Doctor Vasra's Journal

Benders.

Bending.

These are two dangerous words to utter in Ba Sing Se today.

Since our youth, all residents of Ba Sing Se have learned of the great ills that benders inflicted upon our world with their bending and how they steeped the lands in suffering. Few groups in our long history have been as vilified as bender. Few heroes are as condemned by our textbooks as those known for their bending. We curse the Avatar and all their ilk or so our official records proudly proclaim.

As a matter of legality, it is of course highly illegal to practice bending. Breaking the laws concerning bending, in any way, is met with swift and merciless punishment, regardless of the nature or severity of the offense.

I confess I have grown weary of this unbending...this unwavering belief. I am a learned woman. I have studied the great tomes of my profession that survived the Great War and the Great Cleanse. I have read the writings of many of the old masters and philosophers...Those books that were permitted and some books that to put it most delicately might simply have been overlooked by the censors in their fervent haste to protect our growing minds.

Between careful words and subtle prose, medical practitioners of the past speak of the power of bending to not just destroy, but to create...and to heal. Accomplished scholar call these case studies fanciful tales created by a primitive, brutish people seduced by the evils of bending. However, I would disagree. I do disagree. I disagree strongly with such words. We have forgotten the spirit. We ignored the mind. We treat only the body. Lost are the lessons of the past heroes. What if we could do more? What if we could do better? What if we could harness the power of chi to heal our patients? Surely, spirit infused water cannot be the end of our research and our medicine? Synergy is but the product of a greater process. SynEn is not our master, no matter what the corporatists tell us, and no matter the violence that they threaten us with. More may yet live beyond these metal walls...and we must seek the truth.

My esteemed colleagues call me a dreamer. They have gently advised me to ask no more questions. They find me rash. They believe me too young. They have warned me of consequences. Trusted friends among them have suggested that I might offend the wrong parties if my words do not soften.

I offer no apology for my actions. I will not be swayed by fear. I will not fall victim to ignoble ignorance. If I err. If I am too forward. If I say what should not be said. It is only because I must. It is only because the people, this city, and this world are dying. I cannot stand by as all suffer. I cannot keep my eyes shut any longer. I will not silence my tongue. Instead, I will listen to my heart.

I offer no apology for simply doing my duty. I am a student of the art and science of medicine. I can only do what I believe to be good. I desire only to see the people healed. I hope only watch as our great city flourishes once again. And I wish only to discover that the lands have been restored.

In these pages, in my own words, I freely admit to these subversive thoughts. I am no bender. I have performed no bending. Jealous rumors have assailed me and ruthless accusations have followed me despite my continued innocence. I have never sought out conflict with my esteemed colleagues, but my conscience will not permit me to spread falsehoods. I am a doctor. I am a healer. I simply collect what knowledge I can discover. I merely use the tools I have been provided. I will not beg forgiveness for my skill at administering spirit water. What crime is it to cure the sick and to mend the broken?

Truth, truth is only an affliction that gives rise to deep wounds in those already enveloped by corruption. The cure for such diseases may be painful to the patient, but is necessary to save the mind, body, and spirit.

Gear:

• Vasra's Journal

  Vasra has a journal full of medical notes and her own thoughts, written in short hand and using a rudimentary cipher of her own making. While it is possible to decipher what she has written, doing so would take quite a bit of time and effort.
• Doctor's Bag

  By virtue of her profession, Vasra carries a large leather medical bag on her person at at all times. The bag contains scissors, scalpels, surgical tubes, forceps, bandages, and a number of vials of carefully secured spirit water

Extra:

Color Code: aqua

Vasra maintains a number of shadowy contacts that are willing to sell her spirit infused water that they have acquired through dubious means. Although far from a criminal, Vasra herself, when moments permit it, has been known to "recover" small quantities of spirit water that might otherwise have been unfortunately lost to circumstance.

---

Sonam Manihn

Sonam Manihn

Name: Sonam Manihn
Age: 21
Gender: Female
Residence: Lower Ring / Underground
Occupation: Black Market Merchant

The only survivor of a once proud family of Air Benders, Sonam is Vasra's most trusted source for illegally acquired spirit water. A true believer in Doctor Dermok's personal mission to provide medical care for those in the Lower Ring and beyond, Sonam is remarkably loyal to Vasra despite her triad allegiance.

Edit: Copied @vietmyke's formatting as I really like it (sorry not sorry)

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

"Smash and grab, now you're talking Colonel!" Ziska said, seeming to purr with satisfaction.

Catching herself, she smiled kindly, and then continued in a far more measured tone, "We should of course, most magnanimously, offer the transports the chance to surrender. However, if said transports fall into our hands and still elect to resist, well, we won't really have much choice. Violence is to be abhorred, naturally, but the survival of this fine company comes before concern for our enemies. These very same enemies will not offer us much generosity should we find ourselves out of supplies, ammunition, and most critically water. We are the villains now and a quick death is the only kindness that our new opposition will likely show us if we end up at their mercy instead."

Unmarred and seemingly unbothered by the discipline the Colonel had most cruelly leveled against her and Ingrid, Ziska seemed if anything to only be further energized by the growing tension. Her legendary conditioning had seen her through worse physicals trials and for all her many, many vices, MechWarrior Ziska took an almost masochistic pleasure in pushing her body to the very edges of physical failure. Even a pirate knew that if you wanted to fight, be it with fists, knives, or BattleMechs...you had to be fit enough to outlast your opponents. The blistering and utterly overwhelming warmth of a damaged BattleMech in combat leaking coolant by the second offered no respite for the weak or out of shape.

Basking in her newfound glory, Ziska made little effort to hide her obvious pleasure at how the day at developed. She'd almost gotten into a fight, despite having no intention to do so. It was a shame, Ingrid seemed far less amused about the matter than she was, but Ziska had begun to nourish a strange hope that she could somehow convince the Duchess to relax and abandon her hopeless chivalric notions. Even pirates followed codes of their own making, Ziska took no issue with such ideas. However, it was Ziska's firm conviction that a mercenary had to have a flexible code of honor, honor being a very loosely defined word when it came to professional sellswords piloting giant machines of war.

Equally intriguing and amusing was her new BattleMech. For it surely had not passed Ziska's notice that Reya had done something very sneaky and most wonderful to her RVN-3L. Ziska wasn't sure what exactly modifications the BattleMech engineer had completed to her BattleMech, but she knew enough about the recently popularized Guardian ECM to know that what the Colonel described was well above and beyond the abilities of the standard Guardian ECM stashed in a RVN-3L. She decided that she would interrogate the engineer at a later date. It was always poor form to remain ignorant regarding recent technological developments. Especially when said field modifications might require rapid repairs during battle given the uncertainties of combat.

"MechWarrior Daschke raises an excellent point however," Ziska continued, nodding towards Ingrid with not even a trace of annoyance or mischief, a rare sight indeed when it came to Ziska. "Isolated and under supplied as we are, we can't exactly discount any potential allies or at least less hostile parties that may aid us, even if only for a short time. We are the stunning debutante at the ball, we might as well size up our suitors before we accept any invitations to dance."

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

I think we need to bring in the heavy guns.

Let's call the UN.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

"A tournament!" Ziska suggested, positively jumping with glee at the sudden chaos that had overtaken the hanger in mere moments. Hearing her shouting, General Kerensky raised her head lazily and eyed Ziska curiously, but warmly from Reya's lap. Having decided upon her course, Ziska bowed low, in a courtly fashion towards the yawning cat, before continuing. "A tournament for the most virtuous Duchess Daschke's hand. Once we have defeated our present foes that is. General Kerensky will surely permit such a noble competition to take place in her great hanger."

Her voice now free of any vulgarities and mercenary language, Ziska spoke in gentle, luscious courtly tones and with all the formality of a Great House court noble lady.

"It is not right that a highborn women possessing such noble blood, such grace and so many, many wonderful talents should be left unattended among the multitude of rogues, rascals, and villains that can presently be found in our distinguished mercenary company."

"My most honorable person excluded, of course," Ziska quipped, grinning at her newly claimed audience.

Dancing in between Ingrid and Tarak, Ziska gently guided Ingrid backwards and away from the taller MechWarrior. Offering the tip of an invisible hat, Ziska bowed formally at Tarak and channeled her best recollection of a proud knight that she remembered from some ancient tragedy performed in the Magistracy of Canopus, "Tread carefully, MechWarrior Tarak, for should you continue to take such liberties with our most esteemed lady and dare to utter such base accusations again...then I, the most chivalrous and crafty MechWarrior Ziska, great student of courtly love that I am, will have to resolve the matter with great violence."

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

Man at this rate we're all gonna have to get together to stop Latveria.

@Sep

Yes, we must help them.

I mean, we must stop them.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Right Where I Belong...

"You've got an hour," Ziska barked to Davids, grinning like a fiend as she stole the cup of coffee he held in his hand. From his perch sitting atop an empty ammunition crate, Davids still reached to her chest.

"I heard," Davids coolly replied, snatching back his coffee cup before Ziska could finish all of it. Minhas sat next to him and smiled broadly at the sight of Ziska. Frequently amused by Ziska's antics, she burst into a fit of laughter witnessing Ziska's latest crime. Bowing low, as if she had completed a theatrical performance, Ziska flashed her a quick wink, deftly avoiding the kick from Davids that narrowly missed her leading foot.

"How's my girl?" Ziska cooed as she took a light step away from Davids. She nodded in the direction of her Raven, gazing with real affection at the sleek BattleMech. A game of poker, a dangerously large pot, and half a melted Jenner to soften the fresh pain of her humbled opponent later Ziska had somehow left the Capellan interior one state-of-the-art BattleMech richer.

"Good enough," Davids said. "Patched up the damage from your most recent adventure, ammo is still low, but not much we can do about that given the circumstances. You should be good, provided you don't do anything stupid again."

"Why, MechTech Davids, when was the last time that, I, the great and honorable MechWarrior Ziska did anything foolish."

The glare that Davids shot back her and his well-practiced frown, told Ziska all that she needed to know and she stifled a chuckle. She trusted Davids. He was an honest pirate, just like her. She knew he would get the job done or at least as good as it could be given the lack of time and spare parts. She trusted her Astechs. Kesi, Sunter, Kan, Licht, and Minhas. They'd do what Davids told them and then some. They were good and getting better, she only hoped they would make it. Civil wars of any scale were rarely clean affairs in her experience.

"This isn't a game, Ziska," Davids finally said, his voice a low rumble of gravel. "You need to to take this seriously. And for the love of whatever Canopian whore you worship, stop drinking the actuator oil. We're going to start running low soon enough."

"Minhas, don't let our dear friend Davids, deceive you. We have plenty of actuator oil remaining," Ziska began, shooting daggers at Davids, and then tutting loudly as she made eye contact with the young Astech. "And as for any whores, I will not be lectured on my intimate relationships by a man with no fewer than fourteen children scattered across the Inner Sphere. For shame, Davids."

"Ziska," Davids hissed, shifting angrily to his feet, "Enough of your jokes. Enough of your little jabs. You're drunk. You're drunk on the poison that you swallow. You're drunk on the fighting. You're drunk on all of this. Worse still, I would bet that you're enjoying every moment of this. You're a danger, you're risk, and you're out of control...again."

Minhas let out a gasp and seemed to be desperately searching for a way to escape as her two nominal supervisors bickered.

"Would you prefer it if I sat here weeping? Do you want me to apologize? Should I feel bad?" Ziska spat back, her voice full of anger. Ignoring David's towering height, she stepped closer, and jabbed a finger aggressively into the large MechTech's chest. "This is exactly the sort of game that we signed up for Davids. You just won't admit it. None of you will."

Davids didn't bother to reply, turning around, and sulking away with a furious shake of his head. Satisfied with her victory, Ziska cheerfully waved goodbye to the still flustered Minhas as she strode towards her RVN-3L. She loved it already. Just like she loved every BattleMech she piloted. The BattleMechs were just like her cherished lovers, past and present. Wonderfully exciting and remarkable in more ways that she could ever hope to remember. And always, always daring her to live more dangerously.

Her chat with Ingrid had been amusing. The Duchess intrigued her. Her ideals. Her code of honor. Her insistence on carrying a sword into battle. Her obsession with dueling enemy MechWarriors. Ziska enjoyed the strange company that she kept. Mercenary life suited her. She reveled in conflict. She constantly sought out trouble. She found fights even when they were on R&R and if she couldn't find them then she created them. Peace never suited her. It left her too much time to think. Thinking too much was dangerous. It lead to questions. Questions that Ziska had no intention of ever asking, much less answering.

Times were good again, Ziska thought, bristling with new found energy. She felt good. She felt alive. She was exactly where she was supposed to be. Fighting terrible odds. Painted a villain. Worrying only about the next moment. Trying only to survive.

She could see the weariness in the faces of her comrades. She could feel the growing tension. She could sense the desperation. She could hear the raised voices and it was impossible to miss the tear streaked faces. They didn't understand. They couldn't. Not completely. Not yet. They hadn't seen the things she had. They hadn't done the things that she had done. They wouldn't. They couldn't. Not yet.

Espian Guard. Crimson Fists. Great Houses. ComStar. Even the Star League, before they had gone tits up. They were all the same. They weren't heroes. They weren't any better than she was. They were worse. Far worse. Ziska didn't leave irradiated wastelands behind her. She didn't starve entire planets. She didn't send entire generations to die to move a line a couple of millimeters on a star chart. She killed only those she had to.

But they paid well. C-bills were enough to soften any remaining pangs from her conscience. She did her best not to listen to the whisper in the back of her head. She didn't let her thoughts wander. There was only one thing to worry about. Surviving. She'd fight. She'd hold the line. She'd kill whoever she had to. But she would survive. She would survive even if it meant killing half the planet. Better them, better them than her. The dead would understand and if they didn't, well, then she'd just run away faster.

Spotting the crowd arranged around her RVN-3L, Ziska shouted in mock offense, "Hey! Raven rides are 1,000 C-Bills, for a group it's 5,000 C-Bills. Don't think there's a discount just because we are friends!"