Physician's Ills
Eighteenth of Olweje-hamba (Olweje Descendent), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)
"Let them go, let them go, but heal the winged one, we need to find out where they come from..."
In the long hours of the night to come you would regret those words. While Zaia's salves and potions prove more than enough to heal the two skins whose flesh and sinews knit of their own accord, Zaia himself is not so fortunate. He grows first feverish, hands trembling as he does his work, then pale and shivering under the shin light of the moon.
"First it takes the body," Ainar says amid the snarling of the winged one, struggling against the ropes Hengo's men had brought out for the horses. You had thought them cruel and foolish then, you still think the former of them now. "Then it takes the mind, not all at once, but in great bloody bites, piece by piece, by piece, all that you are. Then it takes the soul, all that you hold precious, all that is not of the beast, it makes madmen of the most meek of men, the old no less than the young."
"Silence!" you snap. There is a part of you that wants to challenge the man here and now about what evil he had brought to your door by his own thievery from what Swift Pebble had heard, but he surely knows more of this scourge than you. "He is not past aid now and will not be so if there is aught in my power to help."
As you look at the drawn face of the old man , his beard no longer carefully combed but bristling and wild you very much fear it may not be in your power. Inge is praying over him as he takes the potion, but the sea is far away, the wind blows from the planes and through the forests where the wolves howl.
"Ah," Zaia coughs, a wet tearing sound that lifts up his chest and sends his right arm flailing. "Seems like I could not even get myself properly poisoned... a curse of madness and rage. Foolishness, all of it foolishness...."
"I'm sor..." you start to apologize for bringing the battle to him, but the old man shakes his head.
"Not yours, mine. I was too close to the fight and far too untroubled standing my ground. Wounds I can heal now that would have been the death of a strong warrior back in Alexandria for certain. I was acting like a young warrior new blooded rather than a man of my years and this reminded that not all can be seen off with a cordial eh?"
"Off we shall see it still," you say with more conviction than you feel. Neither his potions nor Inge's spells had been enough to fight the curse.
What am I meant to do try to cut the thing down with my sword?
"If..." another cough, another spasm, as though something were trying to tear itself out of his chest. "If we cannot find a cure and my mind starts to go make an end of me. I would rather die a man than live as a beast."
"Remember the boar men?" you ask rather than make a vow in haste. "They too were of the same kindred, born of two skins, not made, but they were sound in mind and body no different from us. Better to make use our heads before our harm moves us to rashness."
"You are wise, sir knight," A pained smile passes over the old man's face.
"I am humble before the vastness of my own ignorance," you snort. "Now let's see what we can find out of this ailment and how to mend it."
"Wolf's bane might help to ward it off," Zaia explains, motioning weakly towards one of his books. "There's a drawing of it about a third of the way in. It's written in Greek though so...."You listen closely to the description and find the drawing eventually, in the chapter on poisons ominously, but you will have to trust that Zaia knows what he is doing.
He would have a better chance at healing back in the city... The thought is interrupted by Tom coming with news of your prisoner. Apparently it wants to talk, but only to the chieftain, that is you or near enough.
How do you approach the wolf?
[] Try to intimidate it into explaining more about the curse
[] Get their side of the story in the conflict with Yayar
[] Write in
OOC: Fort saves rolled a one... and then re-rolled the same thing. I almost do not believe it myself.