With how large this structure was, some would dare say it was the home of the King and Queen. Perhaps it was their summer or winter home? Oh how wrong they were. This old monstrosity of a castle had stood the test of many ages with hardly a stone repaired or replaced, it housed no royalty to the public's knowledge. Within these old stone walls, rested the domain of The Imbued. A group of powerful beings that were sort of the ones to keep magic in line. Punish those who crossed the lines and threatened the lives of people as well as the kingdom. At times, prisoners that were caught in different areas were brought here if deemed dangerous enough with their magic. A blue banner rested at the top of a tower, the symbol of The Imbued. A glowing star upon this blue piece of fabric, meant to symbolize the purity of magic.
Course, no one knew just what went on in here. Maybe the King or Queen knew? Maybe they didn't. Plague didn't know, nor did he truly care. While he hadn't been brought here through the same means, the thinning man was sure that everything done in here was kept a big old secret from the royals; especially the common folk. In fact, he knew nothing of the interior of this place prior to coming. He grew up with many a story of how large and vast this place was, how old magics kept it's aging walls strong, and the moor around it ever deadly. Heck, he even heard tales of fierce wild cats that guarded the entrance. While that last part wasn't true, it was heavily guarded at the front. With all the magic here, he could understand the reason for the fortitude of all entry points.
Still, being here wasn't fun. As someone stuck with the old ways of magic, he tended to be...more unstable. The old magic required no crystal, it flowed in his blood and surged through his heart. Originally a man of medicine, he worked to create better elixirs and started to dabble his magic into it. Alchemy as he called it, making him a alchemist. Of course, he couldn't dare test things on people. These things were meant to help people and he wouldn't dare put a innocent through it. It just so happened that one said experimental elixir had gone....really wrong. To put it short, Plague fond himself with a big ol fat curse!
And that was why he ended up here. His cursed came with perks but many drawbacks. The main drawback being his other form, a monster that couldn't tell a innocent from a bad person, or a friend from a foe. Just a wild beast with abnormal power that made it harder to kill and resistant to the common pitchfork; a thick hide was to blame for that. So The Imbued came and managed to subdue him while in that form, when he turned back once morning came, well....they sure as hell weren't going to let him go. So here he was. The bastards didn't care about who he really was, they gave him a name to announce his prisoner status; at least to him that's how it felt.
Plague. A illness was serious what they were going to call him? Irritating...very irritating. Now part of him could see why they went that route, they cared not for the word Alchemist, they regarded him as a mere plague doctor. So giving him part of that seemed to be their way. Dressed in rags within the damp cell, Plague merely sat in the corner on the pits of straw. By month two of being here, he gave up on asking for new hay. They were kind enough to give him a tattered cloak as a blanket; he counted his blessings he got that.
Routine...oh how he missed his own routine. Back home, he'd go out for herbs and ingredients in the morning. By afternoon, he'd return home and work on a elixir or two with some breaks inbetween. By evening he'd probably written some notes down and proceed to just relax the rest of the time, maybe read and do research. Now? Now his routine was sitting locked in a cell with the rare venture out to the 'Chamber' in the attempt to remove his curse. Sometimes he was allowed to treat some injured Mage Hunters. A small piece of his old life, it gave him some sanity. Though usually when that happened he was strapped into that heavy black robe and forced to wear the wolf mask that always seemed to grip his face far too harshly. Whenever he wore that thing he felt....he felt like some part of him couldn't function, like his heart wanted to beat but something was holding it to the point it was a mere crawl. At least when he was in this cell, he didn't have to wear either of those things. Just dressed in his rags for pants and a shirt.
A thin brow was raised to the sound of the heavy iron doors groaning open, a sound that came with a few possibilities. Food, treating patients, or into the 'Chamber'. Taking a deep breathe, Plague tried to ready himself for the worst outcome. The thought of food was a nice one though he was certain it would be that porridge that hardly filled him up. Another thing with his darn curse, he was almost always hungry now an days. His abnormally thin state was due to his body operating under the curse's influence, only having porridge for three meals didn't exactly..help you maintain a normal weight it seems.