There were many things about 14th century Europe that intrigued you. The religions, the hierarchy, but most of all, the plague doctors. The macabre had always been a bit of a spot for you, and the way the doctors would try to cure the plague certainly fell under the category. You'd spend hours researching, go to historical museums to see a real costume and learn even more. Medieval Europe was no pretty place back then, but you would've given a lot just to maybe spend one day there and see a plage doctor.

One afternoon as you were doing some more research at your desk, you felt a little drowsy. Deciding that a little nap couldn't hurt, you rested your head on the desk and fell asleep. As usual, your dreams were of nothing. You woke up feeling rested, if a little disoriented, almost like you had jetlag. You realised that you weren't at your own desk, evidenced by the lack of computer, but someone else's. The room was dark, lit only by a few candles. Medical papers were stacked neatly in one corner, written in a language you couldn't understand.

You picked up one of the burning candles and moved it a bit closer to read. German? It looked like it. You stared, then looked around some more. At the end of the desk was a plate of some kind of metal. Carved into its surface was Arzt Wreidt. You were about to have a big revelation in your head when you heard footsteps, causing you to look up. In the doorway stood a doctor. But not any old doctor, no. A plague doctor. In an actual suit, like one you'd seen in a museum. And it seemed as if you were in his domain.