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The smell hits them first.
Before they hear anything, before they see anything, there’s the smell.
First just smoke, which isn’t too unusual; even here in these god-forsaken caves smoke isn’t uncommon. The torches they’ve seen at random intervals throughout the space leave the smell of smoke as they go, the smell of burning fabric and tallow common. Familiar.
Then the smell of cooked meat and burnt skin fades in the longer they walk, getting stronger and stronger until it’s a blanket over everything.
They move through a small archway that opens into a larger cavern, and Fjord gags as the smell becomes overwhelming. Scattered on the ground before them are...he wants to say bodies, but he’s not sure whether that applies anymore; there’s not much of them left, the remains only vaguely recognizable as humanoid. There’s scraps of singed fabric and oily smears, the occasional glint of metal where it lies slagged on the stone floor among the piles of ash that used to be people. Standing at the epicenter of the destruction are two figures, one laying unmoving on the floor, with the second standing over it, almost completely still.
Fjord’s only just realized who it is when Nott gives a shrill cry of ‘Caleb!’, but thankfully Yasha reaches out and snags Nott before she can dash forward; something isn’t right, though it’s hard at first to figure out what.
They pick their way forward, getting closer, still being wary, and as they approach Fjord starts to get an inkling of just how wrong things are.
The figure on the ground is Beauregard, her vestments bloodied, though unburned. There’s blood streaked over her face, coming from up under her hairline, and while that’s a problem, the main focus of Fjord’s concern at the moment is Caleb, who’s standing over her protectively. Caleb’s eyes are wide and glassy, impossibly bright in the dim light, and while Fjord has seen Caleb in the moments where he’s lost himself to memory- they all have- this isn’t quite the same. Caleb’s whole body seems to be made of tense, jagged lines, coiled like a viper preparing to strike. There’s a high flush on Caleb’s cheeks, standing out in stark contrast to how pale he looks otherwise. A large swath of crimson is visible under the edge of his coat, distressing against the relative white of his shirt. It’s blatantly clear that the bodies on the floor are Caleb’s doing. His hands- poised partially curled in an offensive ready position at his sides- are still smoking gently, and while Fjord half expects Caleb’s hands to be shaking, they’re not. They’re still as the steaming piles of ashes scattered around the cavern floor.
Nott stops struggling in Yasha’s grasp, realizing something’s up, and for a second the group just watches him. It’s difficult to tell if Caleb realizes they’re there or not. He’s on high-alert, body tensed and ready to fight, but he also hasn’t directly acknowledged their presence.
“Let me try.” Nott wriggles until Yasha sets her down, and Nott takes a few small steps forward. “Hey...hey Caleb? Can you hear me?”
They can tell the second she catches his eye because she has to dart out of the way of a firebolt. Fjord whistles low and quiet, unable to help himself. He hadn’t even seen Caleb move . Everyone stills again, looking at each other, unsure what to do, when Caduceus’s calm rumble sounds.
“I might have an idea.”
He moves forward slowly, less a step than a glide. Everyone waits with baited breath, but Caleb only twitches slightly.
Caduceus calls out to Caleb, his voice pitched to carry.
“I think maybe we should all take a moment and relax, Mr. Caleb. You did a great job protecting Miss Beau, and we won’t come closer until you say it’s alright, but she looks like she could use some help.”
A wave of calm flows out of Caduceus, following in the wake of his voice, and Caleb staggers, blinking rapidly as it hits him, but he doesn’t fall, and doesn’t appear to snap out of whatever fugue he’s in.
Caduceus cocks his head, hums in consideration.
“He’s fighting it. Give him a moment.”
A few seconds pass and then Caleb shudders, a ragged breath dragged out of him as he sags, rigid muscles going loose all at once. Fjord and Yasha dash forward as he collapses, narrowly missing landing on Beau. Yasha goes to Beau, her hands already glowing with the meager healing she’s capable of, which leaves Caleb for Fjord. When he reaches the wizard, Caleb’s laying in an awkward sprawl on his back, eyes wide and vacant as he stares up at the ceiling. Fjord pats at Caleb’s cheek, trying to rouse him, and curses at the heat he finds pouring off the other man.
When it becomes clear that Caleb won’t easily be coming back from this, Fjord moves on to the next biggest concern, and with no small amount of trepidation, flips Caleb’s coat open and lifts his shirt to see what they’re dealing with.
The shirt sticks, wet and drying blood alike adhering it to Caleb’s skin, but Fjord is determined and Caleb doesn’t seem to feel it. Fjord has to take a moment to close his eyes and center himself when he sees the injury- it looks as if something very big with claws had gouged Caleb’s side, leaving deep and bloody furroughs behind. If that weren’t bad enough, the edges have gone a fierce red and stark white, the red spreading in streaks outward from the wound to crawl across Caleb’s torso like spiderweb.
It’s bad. It’s really bad.
Fjord curses again, then turns over his shoulder. “Jes or Cad, I need one of you over here now.”
A few hours later has them back at the inn, only slightly better off than they were in the caves. Beau is conscious, though she’s still not at her best, Yasha sitting with her to convince her to keep resting in their room.
Caleb-
Well, Caleb is a problem.
The clerics had done their best, Fjord knows they did, but neither had anything prepared for poison or venom that day. Nott and Jester are out now scouring the small town, trying to find anyone selling anything that might help, but in the meantime, there’s not much to be done. They’ve got Caleb resting comfortably as possible, but Caduceus was wary of healing the wounds with the toxin still inside; he’d healed Caleb just enough to keep him from bleeding out, but no more than that.
“It’s best to leave it for now.”
Fjord tries to have faith that Cad knows what he’s doing, that it’ll be okay, but it’s hard to keep it in mind when Caleb is lying so pale on the bed, face flushed but dry. Every so often he stirs fitfully, muttering to himself or moaning, shifting in place before Caduceus can settle him again. They’ve been trying to cool Caleb off, Nott giving the go-ahead to strip him to his small clothes in an effort to get the heat to dissipate, but so far their efforts aren’t doing much.
Fjord watches as Caduceus wipes Caleb’s brow with a damp cloth for what has to be the hundredth time, and can’t help but feel frustration at the uselessness of it all.
“Not to second guess you, Cad, but I don’t know how much this is working.”
Cad hums in response, his slow steady movements continuing. He switches out the cloth on Caleb’s forehead for a new one, putting the used cloth back into the bowl of water he’s been using, and it’s another moment before he answers.
“I think you might be right, but I’ll admit I’m not sure what more to do for now. If Jester and Nott don’t find anything, we can either wait til morning when Jester or I can help more, or if things are looking dire, maybe send someone to the next town to look for something.”
Caleb’s breath hitches, catching both their attention, and Fjord feels the knife twist of guilt in his gut jab deeper as he sees tears gather in Caleb’s lashes as he stirs again, trying to bat weakly at Caduceus as he uses another cloth to wipe over Caleb’s throat and collarbones. Caleb whimpers at the movement, his hand falling back limply to the bed, though his fingers still twitch at his side.
Fjord watches all this, and considers. They need to get Caleb’s fever down, or at least keep it from rising higher. Getting something to help with the poison won’t help if Caleb doesn’t live long enough to make use of it.
“I think I might have a way to cool him off.”
It’s only the work of a few moments for them to shift around so Fjord’s sitting up against the headboard, Caleb cradled in his arms in front of him and leaning back against his chest. Fjord can feel the heat coming off him even through his armor, and it’s a bit terrifying.
Even as the power he’s drawing on comes from Uk’atoa, it’s the Wildmother he prays to, hoping this will be enough, that it will help, that he can try to do something good with these powers, for once.
He makes sure Caleb is settled as securely as he can get him, and then casts Armor of Agathys on himself.
The armor forms around him, the ice glistening in the room’s dim light, and the effect on Caleb is immediate; he sucks in a choked breath and thrashes, struggling against Fjord’s hold. It’s everything Fjord can do not to let go at the pained whimpers coming from Caleb, even as his struggles grow weaker with each passing moment. Eventually Caleb’s writhing stops, though the pained whimpers continue. Caleb lays back against him, shivering, too weak to fight back, though he’s managing words now, and each utterance of ‘bitte’, ‘please stop’, ‘why?’ score into Fjord’s conscience like a blade, but they have to get Caleb’s fever down, so he holds on.
It works, after a fashion.
Caleb’s fever doesn’t climb higher, and appears to drop ever-so-slightly, but it’s just a matter of time. The spell will only last so long, and he can only cast it once more before he’ll need to rest. He wonders, as he holds Caleb’s limp and shivering form in his arms, if this will be enough. What will happen if it isn’t? What if he casts again, and by the end of the second hour there’s still no solution?
It turns out to be a moot point as Jester and Nott return with a precious vial from the apothecary. It’s unfortunately a topical application.
“They said to hold him down,” Jester says in small voice. “They said it will hurt, especially in an open wound, but should neutralize the poison.”
They look at each other, and Fjord and Yasha give each other a nod. Beau ushers Nott and Jester from the room; while Jester would make a better choice to try to hold Caleb down, and Nott wants to be near, there’s an unspoken agreement that they don’t need to see this.
Fjord doesn’t think he needs to see it either, but he made a promise to Caleb, that they would make this work, that they’d help each other, and that’s going to be real hard to do if one of them is dead.
Fjord moves out from under Caleb and they lie him down on the floor, figuring it will be easier for all parties if they’re not working around the constraints of the bedframe. Caleb whines as he’s laid on the hard wood, and Caduceus murmurs quiet apologies as Yasha gets into place at Caleb’s ankles and Fjord positions himself over Caleb’s shoulders, bringing Caleb’s wrists up to press them down into the floor by Caleb’s head.
Fjord checks that Yasha has a firm grip on Caleb’s ankles before he glances up at Caduceus, who’s kneeling at Caleb’s side, vial in-hand. He flexes his hands on Caleb’s wrists, making sure he has a good hold, and reminds himself this is for Caleb’s own good.
“Alright, Deuces, let’s get this over with.”
Caduceus nods, and picks up the strip of leather Caleb normally uses to cast mage armor. He gently works Caleb’s mouth open, fitting the hardened leather between Caleb’s teeth, and takes a deep breath as he uncorks the vial.
“Hold him steady, please.”
That’s all the warning they get before Cad places a steadying hand on Caleb’s torso, and uses the other to start drizzling the elixir onto the wound in Caleb’s side.
It starts with a muffled whine, which quickly escalates into a choked scream. Fjord’s never considered Caleb to be a man of any notable physical strength, but he’s having to work to keep Caleb held down, to keep Caleb from twisting his wrists loose. Yasha seems to be faring a little better, but he can see the sweat starting to appear at her hairline as she uses her body weight to hold Caleb’s legs in place.
“Just another moment-” Caduceus’s voice is calm, but there’s the slightest waver that suggests he’s not feeling as calm as he looks. “One last bit. Hold on a bit tighter.” Caduceus uses his fingers to pull apart the edges of the deepest gouges and pours the last of the liquid from the vial in. Caleb’s whole body locks up, back arching in a cruel parody of ecstasy as a howl rips out of him that the leather between his teeth can’t contain. It sounds like he’s being tortured, and Fjord guesses from Caleb’s point of view, it probably feels that way as well.
Caduceus sets the vial aside, and rubs his hands together, green energy beginning to crackle between his palms. “Alright now,” he says, his voice low and rumbling. “Let’s get the rest of this seen to, shall we?” He places his hands over the wounds on Caleb’s side and the green energy sparks, jumping from Caduceus’s hands to Caleb’s skin in an ever-growing torrent. Under their hands, Caleb whines, body writhing and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Finally Caduceus finishes, pulling his hands away to reveal fresh pink scarring where the wounds had been. Caleb’s no longer struggling, instead lying limp and boneless on the floor, his eyes barely slitted open, still panting for breath. At a nod from Caduceus, Fjord unwraps his fingers from around Caleb’s wrists and lets go. There are finger-shaped marks, livid against the pale skin of Caleb’s wrists, and again, Fjord feels ill. He tells himself for the umpteenth time that it was necessary, that he was helping, and he wonders if that will be enough to let him sleep tonight.
“Fjord-”
He glances down to see Caleb looking up at him, eyes unfocused but still clearly looking at him. It hurts to hear Caleb’s voice, rough and shredded from screaming as it is. Caleb’s holding the strip of hardened leather in one shaking hand, and it’s easy to see the tooth marks he’s bitten into it.
“Yeah, Cay?”
Caleb doesn’t quite answer, only managing a quiet hum in response before his eyes are sliding shut again.
“Let’s get the linens changed, then get him back into bed. He should be doing better now.” Caduceus gestures toward the bed with his chin as he works with Yasha to gather Caleb up into his arms. Fjord quickly strips the bed down, putting on a fresh set of linens from the small cupboard in the washstand. The scent of lavender fills the room, and for a moment he’s struck by sense memory, sees a fanged smile and whirl of purple and maroon in his mind’s eye before he shakes himself loose from the memory. As he finishes remaking the bed, Fjord wonders how many more times he’ll be a few minutes too late, or not there at all to help his friends when they need him.
They get Caleb tucked back into bed, and it’s a comfort to see him resting much more peacefully, his color a lot more even. Fjord places a hand on Caleb’s forehead, and sighs in relief to feel cool skin instead of the fever-baked warmth from earlier.
There’s a hand on Fjord’s shoulder, and when he turns to look Caduceus is smiling gently at him. “He’ll be fine now, Mr. Fjord. The work you did to help cool him off helped. You did good.”
Fjord laughs, though it’s not terribly mirthful, and runs a hand through his hair. “Good. Yeah, I suppose so.”
Caduceus’s smile turns knowing, and Fjord struggles not to quail under his appraisal.
“You did what you could when it mattered, Fjord. There’s not much more you can ask of a person than that.”
“I guess. I’m just- gonna-”
With that, Fjord flees the room, heading down and out to the street, putting on someone else’s face as he passes through the doorway out of the inn. He just needs some fresh air, some distance.
That’s all.