Barrett lay on a couch in his mannor waiting for a healer to arrive. His leg was not getting better, in fact it hurt worse then before. At last the doors to his chamber opened the creak of their hinges echoed through the cavernous antechamber where Barrett lounged in anticipation. The healer didn't look out of the ordinary, balding with grey hairs sticking out the sides, pale skin and a creased face. He looked old enough to hold great wisdom and experience but still too young for doddering senility to set in. Nobles from across the D'hara hailed him as the greatest healer in the Dragon Isles.
Wasting no time Barrett drew back the sheet covering his wounded leg. As he did it unleashed a putrid stench. The guards and servants gagged and averted their eyes, but Barrett and the healer did not even flinch, they were both used to gruesome sights, Barrett thanks to combat and the healer because of his profession. Saying little the healer set about examining the injury. The boar's tusk had entered near the shin and pierced all the way through to the calf. The bulging swollen flesh around the wound had turned varying shades of grey-green, blue and black.
"Well how long until it is better?" Barrett asked.
"My lord you don't understand. This is what we call gangrene," He explained.
"What? That's what peasants get!" Barrett retorted.
"My lord peasants get it because they don't tend to see a proper healer until its too late. I understand you were at sea with only military healers to treat you."
"What are you saying..." Barrett asked.
"My lord we must amputate this leg, or you will surely die..."
Barrett got ready to argue, he thought of screaming, throwing the healer out, calling him a charlatan and demanding another be sent in, but he knew it was no use.
"Rum," Barrett said, "Bring me rum."
"I would recommend a-"
"No, no stronger drugs, rum and a block of wood to bite, that is all I require," he insisted.
Servants brought the items Barrett requested as the healer laid out series of blades and a terrifying bone saw. Then he called for the servants to heat an iron poker on a brasier. First the healer tied a tourniquet on Barrett's leg and then came ten minutes of shear agony. To Barrett's credit he did not let out a single scream, though by the end his face and hair were soaked in sweat.
Everything felt distant after the final cut. Barrett laid back and stared up at the warm glow of the chandeliers.
"It's over," Barrett said.
"Yes my lord, it's done," the healer replied.
"Not the procedure my life, my adventures. Am I to storm beaches and fight duels with a peg leg?" Barrett asked.
"My lord, I once had a patient who sought treatment for gonorrhea-"
"Why do you think I want to hear this?" Barrett asked.
"Please listen a moment. You see he was squeamish about removing his breeches. He had to come in three times before he finally went through with it. Only then did I learn he had a wooden leg. There was no sign beyond that, he walked perfectly," the healer explained.
"Where did he get it?" Barrett asked.
"That I'm afraid I do not know, but somewhere out there is a master artisan who can help you. With one of his limbs you'll be able to do everything you once did," the healer explained.
A look of hunger burned in Barrett's eyes, the same hunger he'd had at the thought of plundering Darfix. He had a new mission now and a new prize to win, not gold or jewels but the chance at getting his life back.
