Chronicle: The Doctor And His Pipe

Truss was not an elderly man. Most would guess he has yet to live his 40th season, and they would be quite right in that assumption. He was not elderly, but he was very wise, and good at what he did. He dressed in meager garments though, his full sleeved shirts were always wrinkled and dirty. If it was a long night, they'd be covered in blood. But he always made sure to wash the blood out or throw it away after. His pants were typically thick and made from flax, brown and black were his colors of choice. Very plain indeed. His features were about as average as one could get. But there were two things that were utterly unique about Dr. Truss Wilven.

The first: his methods. When there were cities in these hills, Truss would not have been invited to use his skills for healing. The hospitals in these hills were generally reserved for a more spiritual healing. The sick would rely on the clerics of the village to be able to heal them. Although oftentimes a sickness would be stronger than the divine intervention required, and fathers, mothers, and children alike would pass on while the clergy did little more than mutter to themselves about how sad it was. If the gods had no mercy, there was nothing they would do. Truss was different. He prayed to no god, and he healed with his wisdom before he healed with his faith. In his entire career, not a single soldier had passed under his working hands. Although, it is not to say that he never lost a patient. Sometimes when an elder townsperson is brought in, there is nothing he can do but know when it is time for them to go. That is the Wilven way.

The other thing that is completely unique about Truss, is his pipe. His pipe was a wonder throughout the village, and there was not a single citizen who did not look upon it with awe when they saw it. The pipe itself was swirled with blues, greens, and streaked with red from end to end. It was shaped and patterned in such a way to look like an ancient and mystical dragon from the mountains to the east. This was not the amazing part. When Truss lit the end, which would have been the dragons skull, the face on the front began to move. It would sometimes blink, or stare, or look around with an impatient glare. Often times it would blow smoke out of its nose, and on rare occassions it would breathe a small spark of flame at some of the more curious onlookers. If Truss put it down while the tobacco was still lit, the dragon would flap it's wings in futility, and crawl around, as if looking for a den. Yes, this pipe was certainly unique, and it could only be held by a Wilven.

"8 bells in the morning already, how long are these adventurers going to sleep for?" Wilven said outloud to himself. Inner monologue fades when one has not slept. He stood up and stretched again. Once he was thoroughly satisfied with the amount of pops and cracks, he reached for the knob of the backdoor to the inn. Vinn was shuffling toward him, half a kick in his step. A full kick would have turned gravity against him, and he would know the joys of a face full of hardwood floor.

Vinn gleamed as he saw Wilven standing there, "Truss! They're ripe and rearin' to go! I've got 'em in the tea room waiting."

"Thanks Vinn, I'll let you know if they can help me after I meet with them." Wilven stepped through the door, and down the corridor into the tea room of the Inn.

The tea room was a most unimpressive room, just like the rest of the Inn. There were little decorations, except a few animal heads mounted above the stone hearth. The chairs were all made of a brown hard wood, and a large oak colored table took up the center. Four people were scattered about the room, all of them looked out of place, yet right where they belong.

Wilven gave them half of his best smile, "Welcome to Villehelm, I need your help. Now."

Within half an hour, he watched them from the parapets of the village wall as they trekked to the East, into the Poisonous Mushroom Forest.