Hands tied behind him. Feet tied together. Half his guild ready to grab him and pin him by main force. Katana out of his gear and winking tantalizingly on Kunimittz’s bedroll, halfway across the safe zone clearing, well out of reach. And those were the good points of the evening. “Didn’t know you were into shibari, Issin,” Klein panted, sweat rolling down his face.
“Funny,” the shaman muttered behind him, slathering herbal paste on Klein’s bitten wrist. “Keep talking. Keep fighting it. Harry?”
“Added some Bluegum to take down the toxicity a little.” Their dashing would-be pirate and herbalist gently shook bits of blue, green, and lurid yellow together in a potion vial. “I don’t like this, Leader. This isn’t tame stuff like Shaman’s Fingerprints, or even Kanzeon’s Looking-glass. We’re going to poison you, and hope it kills the infection before it kills you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Klein grumped. “Cancer patients do it all the time.” Though damn, he wished they could use some of the nicer stuff. But one, Moonswords were still damn rare, despite Argo spreading the news around about how anybody with Sorcery could start picking up the build. Asuna was a good one, but she mostly handled KoB problems. Two, they’d been hit with the sheer bad luck of a random encounter with mini-chimeras just as they’d reached the climactic final battle of the <<Rogue Weretiger of Tinctoria>> quest. Mini-dragon breaths of lightning, fire, and choking chlorine. Screaming were-cats and villagers everywhere. He’d barely noticed the bite in the sheer mess of not getting his people chewed to bits, set on fire, or electrocuted. And three….
Argo’s latest shout had been dead on the mark. The higher the level, the worse lycanthropy got.
If I’d come up here as a first-level, I’d have been toast as fast as that NPC on Opening Day.
None of which made Klein feel any better about what he was going to do. Wolfsbane was a poison. Finite. End of discussion.
But if you were lucky, if you were very very lucky, and just taking the dose didn’t kill you… then you might slip out from under the curse. Maybe.
Please let me be lucky, Klein prayed. Not for me; though damn it, I don’t want to die. But for them.