Hello. Not sure if this is working right...

[He knits his brow as he examines his phone.]

Anyway, my name is John Watson. I don't know exactly what's going on here, but if this place is as dangerous as we're led to believe, I wanted people to know that I'm a doctor. An army doctor, but a doctor all the same.

Please call on me if you need to.

[ Arthur Pendragon is not from a world where long-distance communication is instantaneous. He is more used to the length of time a message takes — whether it’s sending a servant running three floors in order to tell the Court Physician that actually, his shoulder was starting to give him a bit of trouble, if he could make up some salve? Or all the way down to the lower town, to tell the blacksmith to get started on twenty new dragon-crested shields for the knights errant that had sworn to the service of Camelot after the latest tourney. Or a rider across the kingdom, out to the lords and their holdings, perhaps even over the border to treat with another kingdom all together. He had even once sent a message to the Roman Empire, mustering across the ocean, though the seasons turned three times before he received a response to his query. ]

[ So it is with some bemusement that he watches the small device go through its tutorial once more, trying to grasp just how effective the ability to “record” and “transmit” his voice would be when it came to combat strategy. Scouts could film an enemy encampment rather than risk the long trek back! Messages could be passed between leaders on the field and off as developments shifted the course of the battles. Treaties could be negotiated from separate locations, without the risk of ambush or treachery. ]

Er, is this — working?

[ Amateur film-making is always a little awkward to look at. Arthur is a blur of blond hair and armour in the feed, as he tries to get the camera fixed on his face, zoomed in to the right position — the buttons make his fingers feel huge and clumsy.] ]

[ Eventually he settles for a little more than half of his face on the screen, frowning through to the other end, his eyes blue and pensive and far too old for his boyish face. ]

I need the use of a crossbow or spear. I’d be willing to trade for the rabbit I kill, or whatever other game is around, and water, of which I currently have at least two week’s supply. Or gold, if you want it.

[ He pauses, wondering what else to add. How to convince people he can’t see that he’s the best damn hunter in the city right now, and they should band behind him? Words have always come to Arthur when speaking to a crowd of men, noble and inspiring words, that made men hold up their swords and shout the name of he and his kingdom. But right now it’s just him and the unforgiving screen of the device, and no words come. He swallows, throat clicking. ]

If you want to work together, I’m your best chance at survival. Contact me privately to trade locations and negotiate the terms of our alliance.