▸Trust me, I'm a medic

❞ Nice to meet you. I'm Ludovic, an underworld medic. Feeling sick?

+ Though his eccentricities and eerie countenance might speak otherwise, Hadrian is very quick to inform others that he is a medic. Having studied among the elites in the Garlean capital, the breadth of his scientific and medical knowledge is expansive. No matter the occasion, he is always ready to treat a patient, keeping various synthesized drugs and medicines on his person.No one will be refused treatment, no matter their creed or temperament. If you're obviously sick or wounded, and even if you're not, you'll be in good hands.

▸Ave Imperium

❞ They, the people, became cogs to a machine. And the machine was a bomb.

+ Hadrian has done his best to bury his past life beneath his patchwork face. But, bits and pieces of the old soldier tend to slip from between the stitches. The name 'Hadrian Ludens' carries a history steeped in the ash-hued solvent of death. No doubt, there are many from the Far East still seeking his head for crimes decades past; or Ala Mhigans who can recall a dour-faced scientist carting them to freedom during Zenos' occupation.On the other side of the coin, Hadrian has always kept himself informed and up-to-date on rumors from his homeland and its military. For no reason other than curiosity, of course.

▸Scalpels are just tiny swords

❞ I'd sooner cut off my hands than let death guide them again.

+ While he has presently sworn himself off from enacting violence, warfare and fighting come naturally to Hadrian. Though memories and individual moments from his years on the battlefield have faded with time and illness, it's as if his soul remembers with acute clarity. He carries within him martial arts and fighting styles that could have only been passed down from generation to generation, stolen from their original practitioners along with their lives.The mere thought of holding a sword is enough to make him physically sick. But, that isn't to say that he is unwilling to part with some of his knowledge under the right conditions...

▸better blind to an ugly truth

❞ i see you staring. stop it.

+ Those gifted with the ability to perceive aether by sight might regret looking directly at the medic without preparation.His aether is oddly textured, covered in holes like a moth-eaten sheet left to molder in the dark; corrupted orange at their frayed borders. While stable and otherwise healthy, it drips and dribbles like a black pond reflecting a gray and purple rainstorm overhead. it's aggressive, it's passive: it's both at once. it can't tell what it wants to be, and when the light shines on it, it glistens with an agonizingly messy kaleidoscopic pattern of too much fit into a single, cracking petri dish.