[Forgive me about any inevitable linguistic oddity or mistake, English is not my first language]

Book I: Meeting Lord Nervanu

As the Imperial Physician serving at the behalf of the Count of Cheydinhall, Lord Ulov Nervanu has never know such a thing as boredom or dullness. He have always dreamed of meeting fair ladies, receiving rewards for curing knightly headaches or treating flus of the town's noblemen, but he found much more than that, that's to be sure.

He had came from the Imperial City, recommended as one of the Arcane University's most promising students, he was a gifted user of magicka and he could be anything, a Master-Wizard, an Academic, a Battlemage – the Imperial Battlemages were specially hopeful that he would join them –, but his concern for living people made him more naturally inclined to the Restorative Arts.

He could be a Healer, use his magicka to cure diseases, but he preferred to understand biology, to prevent people from getting diseased, to study bacterias, fungi, viruses and to observe their behavior. He could be much richer and much more respected by town-folks if he were there just exchanging coins for some magickal herbs, expensive potions or quick spells, but that wouldn't stop diseases from being caught by people. If he were a Healer at a small community, he would be treated better than a nobleman, acclaimed as a sort of a saint. The churches offered these services at towns, with their healing altars and cheap services, guaranteeing their gods a lot of followers, while the Mage's Guild alchemists treated those who preferred to stand away from moralist sermons and imaginative liturgies.

Instead, he chose for being scorned and hated by town-folks, telling them that their habits were unhealthy, what they should and what they shouldn't eat, what they should and what they shouldn't do with their excrements, where they should and where they shouldn't bathe themselves. So, even if he were awaited with excitement and expectations before he came, weeks after his arrival, people already knew his name and usually spat after hearing it (and it got worse after he told them that this wasn't a polite habit).

Being a Dunmer borne at the Imperial City just made things worse. With an Imperial father and a dunmeri mother, he was too much of an Imperial for a Dunmer and too much of a Dark Elf for a Imperial. He spoke like an Imperial, with a Morrowind accent – inherited from his mother. These characteristics, alongside with his work, in a city divided between Morrowind immigrants and Imperial settlers, made him an easy target for racist jokes from anyone.

So it shouldn't be a surprise to anyone if, after some years at Cheydinhall, Lord Nervanu became a grim and reclusive person, much more interested in the public health than in hone his social skills or in improve his social status. He has always been liked by the Count and respected by every mage at the town – except, of course, by the Healers and priests –, but, with time, his unpleasant personality made him a sort of a maverick magician. Even after the Count granted him the condition of a nobleman two years after his arrival – hence his 'Lord' epithet –, Nervanu's was still a fish out of the water both at the Court and at the town.

Our story begins with the appointment of my kid brother, Robeau Vall, as Nervanu's apprentice. By then, Lord Nervanu was living at the Castle of Cheydinhall for eleven years, he was thirty-five years old and though he had dealt with lots of different diseases and met with lots of different people, he hadn't really known anyone. He was sour, but his measures freed the town from a lot of suffering. The church didn't like this at first, but they got used to it and they adapted. At the end, liking him or not, everyone adapted to suit his demands.

The Count, however, worried about Nervanu's increasing distance from everyone else and my brother's appointment was his solution for what he judged to be a problem. An apprentice would oblige him to relate with someone, to make him feel more integrated to the society again and, perhaps, more comprehensive with other people's moral and personal flaws. He chose my brother for the lack of recommendations, for the challenge he would pose to the Empire's best Physicist.

He couldn't chose a person more suited to attend the matter at hand as my brother Robeau.

Book II: Robeau's First Case

My brother, Robeau, wasn't an Imperial Physician, wasn't a former student from the Arcane University and he certainly wasn't talented at anything but making friends. He was, as a matter of fact, the worse apprentice the Mage's Guild of Skingrad had back them, so, sending him to the brooding Lord Nervanu at the far away Cheydinhall sounded to him like a fierce punishment. Well, nobody could tell if it wasn't, but if it was, it surely wasn't undeserved.

So, when they first met, during a sunny day at the vibrant gardens of the Castle, that's how it went:
_Lord Nervanu? Lord Ulov Nervanu? - Robeau asked, with his Breton accent, sounding curious, still amazed by Cheydinhall's dazzling and exotic beauty.
The Imperial Physician was staring at a small red flower with deep interest, and, after some seconds, without taking his eyes from it – much to my brother's annoyance – he answered:
_I take it you have already asked about me to someone and were pointed to meet me here. So, based on someone's else loosely description and your impressive deductive skills, you rightly assumed who I were – he then took a look at Robeau's flushed face, with all his luggage around him and his preppy clothes and told him, slowly and harshly – The next time you ask me something you already know the answer, I'll ignore you.

Later that day, after having settled at his quarters, Robeau met again with Nervanu. They hadn't talked with each other since their morning exchange. My brother was very proud of himself and, after they talked, the elegant and impressive lord he saw looking at flowers became a subtle and ruthless sociopath at his eyes. After descending the Castle stairs and a long conversation with the Count – about his duties, about Cheydinhall and, of course, Lord Nervanu – Robeau found his master anolyzing a silver fork. Hearing his approach, Nervanu turned to my brother for a second and then to the fork again.
_I take your childish tantrum is over by now – he told and, just before my brother replied with his sharp tongue, Nervanu continued, with his usual low and deep-toned voice – Oh, and that's an affirmation, not a question. How are you, young Vall?
_I'm not decided about that yet – That was the last slow sentence this conversation had. After that, the pace of their speech became as quick as a mountain lion running after its prey.
_Oh, I see. Well, it surely seems you took your time to make yourself comfortable at your quarter, at least. I take the Count told you about your duties as my apprentice and I take you didn't noticed he brought you here so I could get what he calls “more contact with fair people”.
_Well, I...
_And I take it's important for you to know that I was against it – my brother opened his mouth to speak, but the Lord continued –And it's even more important that your weekly payment will only be done after I give our beloved Count my personal consent. If I consent, of course.
_Yes, sir, I am aware.
_Good. So, are you ready?
_For dinner? Isn't it too early?
_No and yes. But, no, it's not dinner you should be ready for, what would that have to do with your payment or my consent?
_I don't know, I was just...
_Are you ready?
_For wh... You know what? Yes, I am. Bring it on.
_Bring what on?
_I-I am ready, Lord Nervanu.

My brother didn't have any idea of what the Lord talked about and, by the end of this conversation, he was almost breathless. The noble Nervanu was the first person I ever known that was able to make my brother lose his punch-lines. An hour later this talk, my brother learned how to cure a mild stomach-ache in many ways – herbs, potions, scrolls, foods and a quick spell. And he just forgot about most of them after a day or two.

[Dramatic Pause]

Tol be continued later.
Please, post me your opinion on the story, grammar corrections and anything else you find appropriate.
Thank you, if you have read all of this - you're a kind person.

Book III: The Enigma of The White Pox

_Hum. Have you noticed how men and mer's bodies are all alike each other? I mean, apart for their gender and tone of skin, of course, they are pretty much the same – said Lord Nervanu on a particularly gray afternoon, when he and Robeau were walking close to the merchants' street.
_Well, that's certainly a question of perspective, master: there are those who are fat and those who are thin, those who are muscular and those who aren't, those who are tall and those who are small. I could go on and on with the particularity – answered my brother, in a dull tone. He were living at Cheydinhal by a couple of weeks by then and, although he respected the knowledge of his tutor, Robeau sometimes thought Lord Nervanu was a sort of a 'stupid genius'. It was the first time they walked together by the streets – usually, Nervanu just sent Robeau around to buy components, herbs and bottles for him.
_Oh, really? I never noticed it.
_You certainly noticed that children are much smaller than their parents...
_No, not really. I don't think I've seen many children around these parts, as a matter of fact – said the Lord with a very dull tone – The births are still a matter for witches, priests or healers around here.
_That's the problem with Cyrodiil, you know? People don't seem to give any attention, to care about their children and then, when they grew up, they are still the same impolite, useless and/or ignorants brats they were before. It's not really amazing how fast bandits seems to spawn themselves out of nowhere! Or how people has so little to say! The social conditions keeps...
_A lot of brilliant hypothesis from someone with sixteen years, lots of acnes and who seems to be unable to memorize anything but the easier ways of doing anything. Before you keep on going with your sociological formulation, I suggest you focus yourself at discovering how the white-pox affects Argonians, all right? We have plenty to do.
Robeau thought a little, raised a brow, breathed deep and took his chance:
_Master, I know Argonians can't get the white-pox.
_So you are able to learn something after all. Fascinating. I think I underestimated you, my student – despite the irony, that was the first compliment Lord Nervanu did to Robeau, a moment so rare that my brother could tell me, after some years, how many compliments he had been given by his Master. Less than thirty, if I'm not mistaken. By then, my brother didn't know that and he just silenced, angrily.

The Lord pointed to a door and walked after it with his apprentice, ignoring the disdainful looks on some Imperial faces who were passing by them – he was very skilled at ignoring this by now. Robeau wasn't too fond of his master, but he felt something strange when he finally noticed the reason for this, hours later. By then, however, he smiled at it, enjoying to think that he wasn't the only one that felt that way about the rude Dunmer. Nervanu opened the door and signed for his apprentice to enter. From inside, Robeau felt a putrid stench, a terrible smell of a decaying corpse and his rotting flesh.
_What the...
_Enter, Vall. Now. – ordered the Dunmer, severely.
They entered and Nervanu closed the door shut again. He walked to the source of that stench.
_Here. Come closer – he said, waiting for Robeau, who were trying to breath without vomiting or passing out – Do you see? Yes, he's an Argonian. And yes, these are pockmarks between his scales and skin. And yes, they are exuding white pus. What can you tell me about this?
_It... It's not... Oh... – my brother covered his mouth and luckily avoided puking on the dead Argonian lying down under him and his master – please, I-I can... I can't breath...
_Ok, let's get to the outside.
After closing the place's purple door again, Nervanu produced a parchment and a feather, while my brother tried to recompose himself, leaning against the house's white wall.
_By the Ni... What the f... What was that? How could that happen? You... You told me Argonians couldn't get regular diseases!
_And they usually can't – said the master, coldly.
_But he died of it! How... How someone could die of it? Die... of pox? He could... just walk to the other side of the street... and cure himself at the healing altar... or at the Mage's Guild!
_Yes, he could.
_Witless... I mean... white pox... It doesn't kill people this fast!
_It doesn't? Why not? It's a disease, a virus, and it can be lethal.
_But he would have to carry it for weeks, maybe months! Someone would take him to a healer! It doesn't make sense, I don't understand!
_ It does make sense and of course you don't understand. That's the reason you are the apprentice. Now go to the tower and fetch me some foxglove nectar, a tinder polypore cap and my pestle. I'll have to further investigate the house. Meanwhile, think on this little head of yours: how could an Argonian die of white-pox?

Logical problems were always a challenge for my brother and that wasn't so because of any lack of intelligence, but because he was too lazy to focus himself and tended to look for easy escape routes. So, when my brother was a street away from the house, after he gathered all the stuff that his Master ordered, he still hadn't a clue. But, despite of what I might have said before, Robeau was not stupid. He was a cheat, a lier, but not stupid or totally uneducated. So, it shouldn't be a surprise to anyone when, instead of meeting his Master right away, he stormed at the Mage's Guild, panting and sweating.
A Khajiit mage came to him quickly, with his blue robes swirling at the air, and, worried, asked him with his hoarse voice, while tapping his shoulder gently:
_Are you all right, boy?
My brother took some seconds, until answering. While recovering his breath, with one hand at his chest, he got surprised with his luck:
_Yes... It's just... I came running... Phew... Uh... Sir, have you ever caught a... a... a flu?
The Khajiit raised his brows and inclined his head to the left:
_It is sorry, what?
_Have you ever caught a flu?
_Me? Well, I haven't, I'm a Khajiit, it's hard for us to get sick, why?
_It's just that I have a... a friend, who's an Argonian and he is somewhat sick... Would you know how that could be possible?
_Hum, it usually isn't, but maybe he was the target of a curse or he had contact with a cursed tool. Who is your friend? Where is he? Maybe I could help...
_No, no, there's no need of it, thanks. I'll see to it – said my brother, reluctantly.
_Are you sure? You were in such a hurry, are your friend too bad?
_No, no, it's just a flu, please, don''t need to bother. You know, he's an Argonian, he's not used with being sick, so he's just being overly dramatic... Thank you, I'm on my way...
_Aren't you taking a potion of 'Cure Diseases'? – the Khajiit was clearly suspicious of my brother by then.
_Oh, right, sure. How much is it?
_You won't have to pay if you just take me there.
_You know what? I think we'll be just fine without it. Thank you!

My brother stormed out of the door as fast as he could and, when he finally got at the dead argonian's house, he found his master just exiting the place.
_Oh, there you are. Have you brought what I asked you?
_Yes, Master.
_Have you thought about the question I gave you?
_Sure – Lord Nervanu gave him a look – I mean, yes, master.
_So?
_Uh... Well, maybe he was cursed or he had contact with a cursed... thing – yes, dear reader, my brother forgot the term used by the Khajiit five minutes before.
_A curse? That's quite a theory – second compliment my brother received – What kind of curse?
_Oh, crap. A... curse... which causes people to get the white pox? Or something like that?
_Hum. Have you ever heard of such a curse?
_Ah... sure... in Skingrad, you know? Master Alaberc told me of this.
_I'm sure he did. Now, tell me, if this Argonian was the target of a curse or he used a cursed object, what does it means?
_That he died of sickness?
_That he was killed with it.
My brother, though witted, wasn't very brave and his face clearly showed his feelings.
_No need to be afraid, my young student. We'll figure out who did this.
_What do you mean by 'we'? That's something for the Town Watch, not for us!
_Yes, it is, but who do you think they called? By miracle they figured that this was a murder and not just a natural incident and they called me. Now, let's get in. Give me my instrument and the substances. I shall prepare us a potion.
The cheeks of my brother flushed.
_Ah, going inside? There's nothing else I could fetch you? Can't I help you from the outside?
_Don't be such a fool, my student. Besides, I'll have to test some spells and some potions on you. Get in.