Armed Robbery in the Workshop!

[Alphonse d'Avareau]

It could have been nothing more than a comical coincidence, when Alphonse met a man in the workshop who was almost exactly dressed like him, were it not for what was about to follow.

"Bonjour!" - Alphonse's jovial greeting was answered with a wordless nod and suspecting look.
He was about to playfully compliment the man's similar fashion, when the man reached for his sword.
"You sound like the guy who stole a sword from me."

Alphonse took a step back.
"Pardon me?"
With his sword unleashed, the man drew closer and held its point to Alphonse's throat.
"What is this madness," Alphonse yelped, dropping his cane and raising his hands up, "G-guards!"
The swordsman in black grinned through his equally black beard, kicking the cane away.
"Guards will not help you."
He was unfortunately right. Alphonse's call for help remained unanswered, with neither guards nor the other artisans coming to his aid.

"Robbery in the middle of town!? What has Galmair come to!?"
"Yeah, as you said, robbery. I give you one chance to pay or give the sword back, don't play games."
Alphonse's eyes desperately darted to the others in the workshop, who seemingly preferred to watch rather than get involved in the trouble.
"I'm a man of peace! I have no sword on me," assured Alphonse and pointedly looked down to his belt, which indeed was free of any weapons, safe for a dagger.

The swordsman's voice got deeper and angrier.
"Then you have to pay, if you lost it."
"I do not even know you! You must mistake me for someone else, Monsieur!"
"I do not."
"What is my name, then?"
"I don't care, I recognise your voice. Your height is the same and you talk exactly the same way as you did last time we met."
"Sacre bleu! We have never met before! Come to your senses, Monsieur! You hold a citizen of Galmair at sword-point and took my cane!"

The sword drew closer to Alphonse's throat, making a little cut in it.
"You want to play this game?"
"Aaah! I surrender, I surrender," Alphonse yelled in panic, lifting his hands even higher. "By the Gods, you want a ransom? The Don's Left Hand will pay it!"
"YOU will pay me."
"It's only robbery now, do not make it murder, I beg of you!"
"I will make it murder if I have to. I'm a patrician of this town, so don't talk to me like I'm a random guy when you just arrived, you little thief."
"Pardon me; as I said, I do not know you. How could I tell you are a patrician?"

Alphonse's question was answered with a swift punch to his stomach, making him stumble over the anvil behind him. Alphonse's plumed hat fell to the ground and he with it. Even before he could try to get up, the swordsman placed his foot on Alphonse's chest, pinning him to the ground.

"Fine, fine, I will pay you, just spare my life!" Alphonse pleaded and reached into his satchel with a shaking hand, throwing his assailant a purse of silver. "Take it, take it all, it's all I have!"

The robber took a glimpse into the coin purse.
"That's not enough."
"But I have no more," repeated Alphonse.
"Eight gold coins! Or for idiots like you, eight hundred silver coins," demanded the robber. "So, one hundred paid, seven hundred missing."
"I- I will get it! I hope..." Alphonse added meekly.
"You will give it to me NOW!" The robber shouted the last word with emphasis.
"Monsieur! I am no wizard! How can I produce silver out of thin air!?"
"I don't care, you stole swords, so you can make money."

It was more than evident to Alphonse that the robber could not be reasoned with. If he took him for a thief, submitting to the town's authorities could save his life. Even a prison cell and interrogation would be better than being at this violent thug's mercy, and his innocence would surely be proven.
"If you believe me to be a thief, bring me to the guards or to the Don."
"I take care of myself."
"I surrendered already and you took my purse. We live in a civilised town! Do you have no respect for the law!?"
A redundant question to pose to a man who robs you at sword-point.

"Then I will hand the Don your head and say: 'The head of a thief for you.' I have respect, I have no respect for little thieves like you."
Alphonse gasped in horror, wincing and crawling backwards on the ground.
"By the Gods, think what you do! Murder for some silver which I don't have?"
"I gave you the opportunity to hand me the sword or give me the money."
"P-please, I beg of you! I have no sword!"

The robber gave Alphonse a kick and stuffed his plumed hat into his bag, his victim yelling and lamenting helplessly:
"Aaah! Will no one help me, guards, guards, anyone!? Thief, murderer, monster! Has my end come so soon? Oh, what a mistake it was to come to Galmair!"
"For you it is a mistake to live."

The swordsman looked down at Alphonse squirming on the floor, as if enjoying the sight with sadistic glee.
"Take off all your clothes."
Alphonse fell silent at the robber's bizarre and embarrassing order. Certain that his life was forfeit anyway, Alphonse decided to end it with a quip:
"Monsieur, I appreciate you wishing to see me naked, but I prefer the gaze of women, not other men."
The robber, unamused and even angrier, shouted his order again:
"Take it off now or your head will be mine!"
In the face of death, Alphonse mustered his courage and dignity.
"Never! If I shall die, I rather die well-dressed!"

The bandit had enough. Wasting no more words, he took his sword and cut into Alphonse's right leg for him and anyone else to see. Screams of pain echoed through the worskhop and out to the streets.
"You punished me for believing you were a good guy who wanted to make a good deal, and I will punish you by making you run naked out of town. Or I kill you and then take your clothes. Your desicion."
Alphonse coughed and shivered in pain, stammering in disbelief:
"Y-you'd rip my bloodied clothes off my corpse!?"
The robber answered by pointing his sword at Alphonse's left leg.
"You want the other one too?"
Alphonse didn't get to answer before his assailant abused him with repeated kicks to his ribs, a sword cut to his left leg, and furious mockery.
"That's where you belong, little thief, on the ground, begging to live. I will sell these dirty clothes to the trader."

"Eh, don't go making too much of a mess of my workshop. Oi!" At last, someone raised their voice, the dwarven smith Thorgrem Silverbeard, even if only for concern of their own business.

Alphonse's tormentor stopped for a moment, enough for the crumpled and broken man before him to moan what he believed to be his last words:
"If my death has come thus... I... choose to die in dignity. E-end this shame... humiliation. G-guards... help..."

The robber cut Alphonse off by grabbing his neck, choking him mercilessly.
"Don't go killing him here," objected Thorgrem laconically.
"A thief gets what he deserves," declared the strangler, choking his victim even harder.
Alphonse struggled to no avail against the man's vice-like grip, croaking:
"Don't... kill... me... any... where! I'm... no... thief... Gods..."

Alphonse turned pale and blueish, and fell silent, evidently asphyxiated to unconsciousness, if not death.
"Huh, not sure this is such a good idea."
"I don't kill him, don't be scared, he will get a lecture."
"I mean if he's dead... what do me and Tony say, and Seleseth?"
"I will go to the Don and tell him what happend."
"What did he take?"
"He stole one of my best swords. Then handed me copper coins instead of gold coins, and as I wanted to stop him, he ran away."

Satisfied with his deed, the robber released his victim's throat and grabbed his sword again, cutting Alphonse's clothes open and tearing them off piece by piece, leaving his victim's limp body naked on the ground, his many bruises and bleeding wounds for everyone to see.

Even Thorgrem protested loudly at this point.
"Cover him up will you! You'll put off my customers."
As if any potential customers would not have long fled the scene when they witnessed a man get strangled nigh unto death.
"No! This is his lecture. Steal from good people of this town, this is what he gets."

As if the word "steal" was the robber's own cue, he turned his attention to Alphonse's leather satchel, while Thorgrem, furrowing his brow, threw a dirty old robe over the naked body before him. More silver and copper coins fell out of Alphonse's satchel, alongside other common utensils carried by travellers. Dissatisfied with his meagre loot, the robber shook his head and scraped the money together, stuffing the rest back into the satchel and making his way to the exit. Alphonse slowly caught his breath, regaining his conscience and wimpering the words "robbery" and "justice."

"Thorgrem, you have an eye on him? I will be back in a few moments."
The robber did as promised, returning with a role of white cloth.
"You sure he did what you say?"
"I am," assured the assailant as he wrapped the cloth tightly around Alphonse's bleeding leg wounds, "last time he also ran away, as he did this time when you confront him with something. Last time he stole, this time he pays for it. So, now we are even. I get my revenge and now I have to tell the Don. If he wakes up, maybe you should talk about stealing, next time I see that, I will kill him for that."
"Uh, I'm not dealing with it."
"Good, he will remember this. Time to talk to the Don. See you later, Thorgrem."

The man in black left the scene, leaving his battered victim at Thorgrem's feet with no further care. Alphonse struggled to his feet and wrapped Thorgrem's dirty rag around his loins. Hobbling slowly and leaning on a stick, the sorry sight a broken man made its way to the Don and the hospital, entrusting the case of his brutal assault to the first, and his battered body to the medico at the latter.

[Amelia Rotholz]

In good mood and with her usual gentle smile Amelia stepped out of the portal alongside Dylan, as they just returned from a longer journey together. The contacts she had made in Salkamar during her last medical lectures there had paid off, granting her an invitation to another, deeper one during the past weeks. It had been a perfect opportunity and so they had taken the chance to combine it with a vacation. But her smile died instantly, as Bree waved her over to tell her about an incident in a lowered voice. With a sigh she passed her bag to Dylan. “I’m sorry Love, please go ahead. Looks like I got a patient at the hospital.” With those words, she gave him an apologizing gaze and headed directly towards the hospital.

As she entered the room, she directed her steps to the bed, tossing her cloak to the desk. With a skilled gazed, she looked over the man, bending over him to address him in a soft, but firm voice, while checking for his pulse and temperature. “Mister d'Avareau? Can you hear me?“

[Alphonse d'Avareau]

Amelia's entry rose a faint smile from Alphonse, who for the last few days had kept to his bed, waiting for help to arrive. The blanket covered him from the neck down, leaving only his pallid face for visitors to see. His hair and beard, which he usually kept perfectly coiffed, were still wretchedly unkempt after the trouncing which had sent him to the hospital.
"Salvation at last," Alphonse exclaimed feebly as the medico came to the side of his bed, his pain still impeding his speech.
"Your absence made me fear the worst - a dangerous brigand is on the loose in Galmair! Fortunately, 'twas I who crossed his path in the workshop, not you."
Pulling back the blanket revealed that Amelia's patient was unclothed, save for an old rag wrapped around his hips and two bloodstained bandages around his thighs. His build was surprisingly fit for someone who seemingly enjoyed such a leisurely lifestyle, certainly not strong, but lean and agile.
"He stole my clothes. All of them. Even my undergarments," Alphonse explained tersely. "Ironic, since his attire looked strikingly similar. Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but to strip my very clothes off me goes too far."

As Alphonse was already undressed, Amelia could examine the full extent of his injuries at one glance:
His throat bore clear marks of strangulation, doubtlessly caused by unrelentingly strong hands, and an ever so slight cut caused by some sharp object. The back of his head, which had hit the ground when he fell backwards over the anvil, showed a swollen bump. Bruises covering his chest and abdomen and a couple of broken ribs stood testament to the thorough thrashing to which Alphonse had been subjected by his assailant. Lastly, there were two straight cuts, one on each thigh. Unravelling the old, blood-soaked bandages revealed that the wounds were fortunately neither deep nor infected. It seemed whoever caused the cuts intended to rather inflict pain than serious harm to their victim, and their first aid prevented worse.

"Robbery most foul!" Alphonse lamented and warned as Amelia tended to his injuries, "I was just passing through the workshop when he drew his sword on me and started rambling about a sword and thief, claiming to be a patrician of Galmair! A brutish brigand, his clothes and beard as black as his heart! At first I believed that he mistook me for a thief, and thus I offered him to surrender myself to the town guard. Surely the thief story was but a sorry excuse for his robbery, for he refused to bring me to the guards, and took all my possessions at sword-point: my money, my cane, my hat, and after kicking and choking me unconscious, even my clothes! To think that the other craftsmen in the workshop, witnessing it all, didn't even call for help! Oh, the lawlessness - first those gruesome murders and now this bandit! This merciless maniac must be caught, ere he strikes again!"
Having vented his frustration thusly, Alphonse calmed down again, and expressed his wish for a clean set of clothes and to leave the hospital for his home, explaining that he was bored of the hospital's confines and longed for the comfort of his own bed.