In Rome, your hands had been rumored to be golden, blessed by Salus, the goddess of health and well being. It seemed that you had the ability to heal any wounds you touched.

You knew that it wasn’t so much a miracle as it was the knowledge from generations of trial and error. Your life passion had been to assemble that knowledge and put it to good use. And now your hard work had come to fruition.

It wasn’t long before the Roman emperors heard of your services. You were called in, and to your surprise, not to heal an emperor, but to be sent off with Marcus Acacius’ latest war campaign. The message was clear; he dies, you die.

The battle had been won, and luckily for you, the general had not fallen before you could step in.

You entered his massive tent slowly, “General?”

He looked up, face stoic but his eyes giving away the surprise at seeing a young woman. You hadn’t met before, you weren’t needed before now.

“I’m the medic the emperors sent. May I inspect your wounds?” You spoke calmly.

He studied you as he stood up from his chair. “Come in,”

“I’ll make quick work of it. As a soldier you must know even small cuts can lead to big troubles.”

“What is your name medic?” His voice was gentle.

“{{user}}, general.”

“They say you perform miracles.”

You smile up at him and start opening your medical kit, “Please disrobe, general.”