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Crustacean » Lair » Tremain
Level 25
Skydancer Male
Jun 03, 2014 (4 years)
Stats Growth
PrimaryCrimson Piebald
SecondaryBlood Paint
TertiaryDenim Basic
Eye TypeShadow Unusual
Energy: 46 / 50
Apparel & Skins
Head Doctor
+ Altruistic, Idealistic, Dedicated
- Insecure, Overzealous, Stubborn
"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die."



No one thought Tremain would survive. He had simply been born too late, too small, and too sickly. Every chill in the air brought fevers, the slightest exertion would leave him breathless, and he simply couldn't catch up with the other hatchlings. To add insult to injury, his wings never really grew along with the rest of him. Tremain would never be able to fly. For a Skydancer, that was practically a death sentence in itself.

And yet, despite the expectations of everyone around him, Tremain did not die. But he still spent many long days stuck in bed while the other hatchlings his age were playing outside, making friends, learning to fly, and generally enjoying their youth. Between that and the way the adults of the clan seemed a little surprised that he was still breathing, spite quickly became his reason for being. He'd show them. He'd change the world if that was what it took to prove that he was more than just a burden, that even someone like him was worth something. Tremain finished the contents of his clan's small library within a week and immediately started looking for more. Knowledge was power, wasn't it? The rest of the clan, whether out of kindness or pity, noticed his interest in reading and kept him well-supplied with books, which he happily devoured. Though he wasn't as weak as he had used to be, he still stayed inside while his peers were out making friends. It didn't take long for him to settle on a particular area of study: Tremain was going to become a doctor and help those like himself. His family cautiously encouraged his ambition, and he threw himself further still into his studies, reading everything he could on the subject and eagerly awaiting the day he would become old enough and well enough to travel.

As soon as he was able, he packed his things, said his goodbyes, and left home behind forever. He had no destination in mind, no experience, and had never set foot outside the Driftwood Drag before. Somehow, by the providence of the gods or by sheer dumb luck, he managed to survive. And not only that, but over time, he started to make a name for himself as a wandering healer in the Tangled Wood. Things were going remarkably well for Tremain, until one day, the inevitable happened and he ran out of Tangled Wood to wander. As he stood there on the edge of the Wandering Contagion, squinting in the hazy sunlight and looking out over the putrefacting waste, Tremain couldn't help feeling like he had finally found his way home.

Tremain formally founded the Hospital shortly after crossing over into Plague territory, starting out in his traveling tent and treating mostly wanderers like himself. Most longtime residents of the wasteland were disdainful of his efforts to say the least. In the end, though, the bandits and marauders turned out to be easier to fight off than the disease that permeated the land. Tremain spent many a miserable night delirious with fever, wondering why he had ever left home at all. He would wake up every morning after feeling more determined than ever. He made it as far as the Abiding Boneyard before he finally decided that he had proven enough, and that he had probably better settle down now before he really did hurt himself. Finding a good contractor so far out in the desert proved a challenge, but under Tremain's watchful (and often meddlesome) guidance, the Hospital expanded from a beaten-up old tent to an enormous white brick building visible for miles in the desert, a bright and shining beacon of the cure for those who would seek it.


While still not really accepted by most fervent followers of the Plaguebringer, Tremain has carved out his niche in gathering those seeking answers, treatments, and cures for their ills. What he lacks in just about everything else, he makes up for in sheer enthusiasm. Which is not to say that he's not a very good doctor- he is, and although he knows it and he's worked so hard to get where he is, he's quite humble about it. Tremain's problem is more that he's not very good at anything besides doctoring, and he knows that too. How could he not? As if being flightless wasn't enough, he's short, has no magical ability to speak of, and though he does his best to hide it, his immune system is still playing catch-up. To say that Tremain has dealt with some self-esteem issues in the past would be inaccurate, because he hasn't dealt with them at all. His only coping mechanism is and has always been to get extremely (and hilariously) defensive. The cruel irony of it all is that while there's nothing to be done for his other physical shortcomings, modern science has advanced enough to aid the flightless... but Tremain's inability to fly has left him with a serious phobia of heights. He goes to great lengths to ensure no one finds out about it, and if anyone did, he would probably die on the spot.

Regardless, he's certainly not all flaws. He is the head doctor for a reason, and it's not just natural charisma and enthusiasm. The man is considered (begrudgingly, by some) a genius, if a misguided one. Tremain, at least, seems to think he knows what's best for everyone when they're sick. The rest of the doctors have learned the hard way that you never cough or sneeze when Tremain is within earshot. Not if you don't want to spend the rest of the afternoon in quarantine, anyway. Despite all this, he's still always ready to learn something new, and he's always extremely considerate and courteous to his patients. Their well-being always comes first in his mind, and he only does the mad scientist stuff on his own time. For the most part.

When he's not working, Tremain still has a great love for reading and writing, mostly dry academic texts that would bore anyone else to tears. Something else he loves is the sound of his own voice. Even worse than his reputation for meddling with things he shouldn't is his reputation for blathering on and on for hours about things no one cares about, gods, Tremain, don't you ever just shut up? Tremain's conversations usually end before he stops talking, when whoever was listening to him gets tired of it and leaves. He's usually too engrossed in whatever he was saying to notice. He's so used to it that it hardly bothers him anymore.


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