You hated pulling teeth.

If there was one procedure you could go the rest of your life without doing, it was tooth extractions.

Damn things never liked to come out easy and it always took far too long, with far too much effort, just to get far too little of a result. Then, when the bugger finally did come out, the site always bled an aggravating amount, as if the tooth had its own infinite supply of blood.

And then there was the issue of suturing a flap of gum across to help with healing and prevent infection of the socket. Which was a tedious task in and of itself.

So when a scout arrived at your infirmary one afternoon with the complaint of a toothache and a swollen cheek, you wondered what sin you had committed to deserve such a penance.

'When did you break your tooth? ' you asked as you peered into his mouth, finding one of his upper molars split down the middle, an abscess having already begun to form beside it.