July 29th, 1587 - Dijon, Kingdom of France One may look at the events of the past four months and call us arrogant, that we believed we could not be defeated; we fought a hopeless struggle against an enemy far greater than ourselves, time and time again being shown that we were woefully unprepared to do so. I do not agree. I believe that we were merely hopeful. Hopeful, and ignorant of the true power of the threat we faced. Until the very end, I felt as though we were one discovery, a single breakthrough away from ending our struggle for good. Look at where that has gotten us.

Thomas Sauer wandered through Saint Gotthard’s Chapel, which served as Dijon’s main medical practice, wondering where, exactly, he had lost control of his life. When he agreed to study the disease that was crippling the Kingdom of France and had started rumors of monsters, he was expecting to be challenged in his field. Instead, he was made to babysit the citizens of Dijon.

“T-T-Thomas!” Bernard Wagner stuttered from deeper within the chapel. “Could you help us in the i-i-infirmary, please?”

“Coming,” Sauer sighed.

He entered the infirmary and saw two of his coworkers tending to a crying girl. Wagner, a small, timid, and inexperienced though promising surgeon, sat next to her, smiling softly as he attempted to comfort her. Kirsa Gladisch, a stoic and talented alchemist, sorted through bottles of herbs, searching for medicine to help alleviate the girl’s pain.

The girl sat cradling her wrist, which was bent at an awkward angle. Her face and arms were muddy, twigs poking out from her matted hair. Sauer sighed again; a situation like this was typical. “Yes?”

Wagner turned to him. “I h-h-haven’t dealt with a patient as young as Eva here. I wanted to know if there was anything sp-sp-special I would have to keep in mind when attending to her?”

“Is that all you need from me?”

“Y-Y-Yes…” Wagner moved closer to him, lowering his voice so the girl could not hear. “I don’t want to cause unnecessary harm.”

“Well, what do you think you should do, exactly?”

Wagner bit his lip. “Uhhh… As far as I know, th-th-there isn’t anything unusual I would have to do. But I just wanted to make s-s-sure.”

“Tell me your plan.”

“Well… First we’d need to set the bone b-b-back in place…”

The girl made a noise that sounded somewhat like a startled cat.

“Should we talk about this… s-s-somewhere else?”

“No, here is fine.”

“B-B-But, Eva—”

“What, exactly, are you going to do after you set the bone?”

“Give her a splint, r-r-right? Then check on her every few days to make sure she’s healing pr-pr-properly?”

“I do not want you to ask me, I want you to tell me.”

“We would give her a splint, then check on her progress every few days to make sure she’s healing properly. R-R-Right?”

“You are correct. Children’s bones heal faster than adults…” Sauer bent down and inspected the girl’s wrist. Other than a small gasp, she stayed silent. “This break does not look bad; it should be fully healed within a month.”

“Th-Th-Thank you, Thomas.”

“Please, call me Sauer.”

Gladisch handed the girl a small glass. “For the pain. Wine and crushed willow bark.” The girl drank it, thanking Gladisch. “Adaline’s work would have been better. But this will do.”

Adaline Reist was the fourth and final doctor the Empire had stationed in Dijon, though they did not see much of her. She had been recruited for her medicinal ability but spent most of her time wandering Dijon’s marketplace buying food and interacting with the locals. Sometimes, however, she would concoct medicine for especially sick patients, leaving them for the other doctors to administer.

“That’s e-e-everything I wanted to a-a-ask,” Wagner said. “I think Kirsa and I can take it from here…”

Gladisch nodded. “Thank you, Thomas.”

Sauer hesitated before replying. “Just ask if you have any more questions.”

And so, Sauer returned to wandering through Saint Gotthard’s Chapel. Wagner and Gladisch did not require assistance again, and the girl was returned to her parents with a splint retaining her arm.

As the sun reached its peak, Sauer began to get hungry. He exited the chapel into the streets of Dijon, the farming village seeming to be no larger than a market in his home of Nuremberg, the capital of the Empire. The medical practice he inherited from his father saw more patients in a day than he had treated in his two months in Dijon.

He wondered when he would be able to return to Nuremberg. The Empire had not given him an expected end date for his service yet, and he was becoming tired of the monotony of village life.

He made his way to the western end of the village, where he had found the best food vendors. The main street was a straight line east to west, filled with people and horse drawn carriages.

As he walked, he noticed a familiar face at the side of the road. Adaline Reist was talking with a young man, his blonde hair tousled over his eyes, smiling and laughing with each other as they exchanged stories. There was a lull in their conversation where the young man moved the blonde hair out of his face, then leaned in—

Someone walked into Sauer, and he was pulled back to his senses.

“No! My lunch!” A young soldier yelled. He looked as though he were a child, short and scrawny, though he had to have been at least twenty to be a soldier in the company stationed in Dijon.

“Apologies,” Sauer said, towering over the young soldier sprawled on the road. An uneaten sandwich sat on the ground next to him. “I should have been paying more attention to where I was going. Would you like me to buy you more food?”

The soldier got up, brushing the dirt off himself. “No, I’m sorry, uh, sir. I should be the one apologizing. I was too busy thinking about my lunch to pay attention to where I was going.”

“Let us agree that we were both at fault, then. I was meaning to get something to eat anyways, so please, show me where, exactly, you got your food. As payment, I will buy you more.”

The soldier eyed Sauer, then led him to a small food stall off the main street. Along the way, they introduced themselves to each other. The soldier’s name was Barnabas Schmidt, and he was stationed with Caption Bösch’s company in Dijon to help keep order and protect the village. Sauer introduced himself, explaining that he was a doctor working for the Empire, and how he was supposed to be studying the disease that had been spreading throughout the Kingdom of France, although he had not done any research regarding the disease itself.

As they approached the food stall, an old French lady said “Bonjour encore, monsieur Schmidt. Food?”

Schmidt was nodding, about to motion with his hands, when Sauer replied “Oui, madame,” ordering their lunches in French.

As they left the stall with two fresh sandwiches, Schmidt asked “You know French?”

“Not much, but I have been living here for two months now. Honestly, I am embarrassed that I do not know more.”

“That’s great, the whole knowing French thing. I haven’t been able to pick up too much… I’ve been too busy with my soldier duties.”

“Ah, yes, of course. If you do not mind my asking, what, exactly, do you do? I do not intend to come off as rude, but very little has happened here that requires a company of soldiers to manage.”

“I mostly do simple tasks around town, you know, locals pay us to help move things, stuff like that. Soldier work only consists of monitoring the curfew and keeping order. Simple things like breaking up tavern fights.”

“How do you feel about everything that has been going on? The Empire’s response to this disease seems strange, to say the least. Why station soldiers and doctors in French towns, only to leave them milling about for months?”

“Oh yeah, I think we’re all going to die soon.”