the bard's last note

It wasn't quite as reassuring as it should have been, to find out he wasn't going to become a victim to thousands of tests in order to cure the blight from these lands. Being owned meant existing entirely at the mercy of another, and that could entail grisly experimentation if push came to shove. He'd seen it before. Desperate lords eager to cure ailments at the cost of their vassals, because those vassals were barely more than the soil they tilled. He kept his mouth shut. Lowered his gaze to watch the steady ebb and flow of the waves lapping at the shore. The ship that had dumped him here was already barely a spec upon the horizon, and no doubt those aboard it were laughing about his plight. The lessening of the weight upon his frail spine was a relief, and he found himself sucking in a deeper breath. The ache in his ribs was profound, and he worried about how many he'd broken. At least three. Perhaps mere fractures- it would require closer attention.

He didn't move. Couldn't. Perhaps if he simply laid down and died here on the beach.. But already his captor was making demands. Making a point of his detecting sickness, of his precious parcels of medicines. And then the fateful query. A name. He hesitated, the reality of his new existence brought to the forefront of his attention. Forsaken titles springing unbidden to his lips, only to become ash upon his tongue. "Pluto, sir." he said instead. That was all he was now, a childhood nickname that only his sisters called him. "I was.. training to be a doctor." the words were offered up haltingly, carefully. No more than he needed to betray, until he knew this place better. Knew this man for what he was in the light of day.

"speaking" -- "in another language"