Welcome to Cove

Marcus sat in his library at home. Rose and Tristan were dreaming upstairs, he should be with Rose yet he was awake and down here starring at the medical journals and diagrams before him. He moved over each item inspecting them one by one granting his appraisal of its usefulness: Bandages, textbooks, potions and medicens, knives, saws, some tongs, indeed a standard field kit. He continued on until he was left staring with a sneer at a book of spells. In that tome lay many a spell. Some would mend the wounds of men, others would strip them of their very souls. He despised Wytchery in all its forms. He thought of his father then the horrible man that he was, and the mages guild on Magencia that had imprisoned him for so many years attempting to turn him into their tool. He had refused them and denied their every attempt. They had tortured him something vile, every day when he awoke to shower he was reminded of it, anytime he changed his clothes he was reminded, he could nay even lay down to bed with his own most dearest love and not be reminded of the scarred mess he was and all the hatred so deep within himself. He had shunned magic for so long only allowing his talent to come forth in moments of dire need or distress, but now. . .

He was going to open up that book and learn a new trick.

He was going to open that book, not because he wanted to, but because men get wounded everyday. There are times when a bandage will work, there are times stitches are needed, and there are times men must die. There also times that men did not have to die, and a simple spell to close their wounds would have saved their life. So out of necessity he would accept his curse, open that book, and Avatar be damned if it were a sin.