Someone was knocking on his door. Crovtiel sighed.

‘Always at the worst moment,’ he told his patient. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.’

‘Hnnngh!’ the woman grunted.

‘I know, right? Just straight up rude.’

He took off his protective apron, mask and gloves.

The knocking repeated. It felt more urgent.

‘Crovtiel, I know you are there!’ he heard a very familiar voice shout.

‘I’m coming!’ he shouted back.

Crovtiel left his treatment room and closed the door behind him. No need for his patient to get further disturbed by the unwanted visitor. He gave himself a quick once over in his mirror to ensure no trace of his work remained on him. There was no blood on his plain face - one that made it very easy for him to disappear in the crowd. The kind of appearance you would forget within a minute of seeing it. His short black hair also remained immaculate. If anything could be said about Crovtiel that made him stand out, it was his style of dress, very fashionable in Caiverhold but completely out of place in Ror-Bhyk: a stylish white shirt, a dark blue suit vest that matched the colour of his eyes, and black pants and leather shoes. Crovtiel wondered on more than one occasion whether he should dress more appropriately for the region, but no. His style was the one thing he would never compromise on.

Happy with his looks, Crovtiel walked up to the thick wooden door to his apartment, unlatched it and opened it, revealing a very bored-looking tall man with a blonde flattop and blue eyes waiting on the other side. There was no mistaking who that man was.

‘Halveck!’ he said warily. ‘What brings you here? I gather this is not an official visit?’

He pointed at the man’s plain jerkin and pants.

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‘It would be bad for business if a man like me was seen with you in an official capacity, Crovtiel. Both mine and yours. As to what brings me here… your handiwork has been noticed in the city, so I figured I might drop by. Catch up. Give you a job.’

‘A job?’ Crovtiel was both surprised and slightly insulted. ‘You should know that a man of my talents would never stoop to being a contractor.’

‘You should like this one.’ Halveck smiled and took out a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his pants.

Crovtiel opened it and saw it was a realistic picture, likely the product of the [Inscribe Memories] spell, of a green-eyed pale elven woman with a blue streak in her black hair.

Halveck was right. She’s perfect. Things I could do for her.

‘Who is she?’ he asked.

‘She said her name was Sindara,’ Halveck explained. ‘We met her in Zel-Vyme. She seems to be trouble.’

‘How come?’

‘She doesn't seem to respect our authority. To the point of telling one of my buddies that we don't have it here.’

‘I mean… she’s right. I know what happened in Dan-Hem.’

‘That’s on the Inquisitor. The problem is… once you start pointing out to people that they can freely disobey us… whatever power we have disappears. And given you are a beneficiary of said power…’

‘You mean… the rumours are true?’

‘Yes.’

‘Say no more. Where is she?’

‘Sindara left Zel-Vyne before us but had never made it here. Meaning she likely either went to Pik-Cas or Lin-Vyme.’

‘It was time I moved on anyway. I’ll take the job.’

Suddenly a loud Hnnnng came from the other room.

‘A patient?’ Halveck asked.

Crovtiel nodded.

‘I’ll leave you to it then. You might want to leave today if you want to catch up. As always…’

‘You were never here.’

‘Perfect.’

Halveck turned around and disappeared down the corridor.

Crovtiel closed the door and returned to his patient. It was such a beautiful sight. The brown-haired dwarven woman was tied naked to a chair. He had spent the past four hours turning her body into a canvas, carefully marking each spot he would be making an incision at, explaining in painstaking detail what each of them would be for. It was important for patients to provide informed consent to the procedure. And now all that work would be wasted.

No matter. I will make it up with Sindara. She will be my magnum opus.

Elves made for perfect patients.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting, darling,’ Crovtiel cooed, grinning widely.

The woman began struggling again.

‘I’m sorry, honey, but I think we are going to have to cut our session short today. But it doesn't mean we can't get some work done.’

‘Hnnnngh!’ the woman repeated, crying.

Crovtiel gripped his scalpel.

‘Now that's a proper enthusiasm. So where should we start our carvings? Your breasts or your face?’