Hirem had been through a lot in the past two seasons.
He has nearly starved to death three times, and perishing by dehydration had never stopped being a threat throughout the early days of last spring. An attack by a desert tsana would have been the end of him, had a lucky caravan not stumbled upon him at the last chime. Even in Riverfall, one of the safest of cities, he had not managed to get himself any rest; he worked as a bouncer at one of the rowdiest taverns in the city, for gods' sake! Every night, he retired to his room at the Kulkukan with new bruises, new sores, new aching pains that kept him up deep into the night and refused to ebb. His workouts were not safe either: he had a tendency to overexert himself in his exercises, stretching out new muscles daily. A senseless drive to compete with the powerful Akalak in the city was proving to be just a bit too much for him. Endless training, sparring, fighting, brawling, bouncing... all of it conspired to reduce his body to nothingness.
Staring into the mirror his tavern room provided him was disheartening, to say the least. His fitness had not improved greatly since he had last examined himself in spring, noting that he was at least stepping away from the awful shape that the desert had brought him to. I no longer look famished... once more, people look at me and think only of my strength. That is a useful advantage to have. But the signs of wear and tear were evident to anybody with a trained eye for those sort of things. His eyes, bright with Benshira brown but weary from a lifetime of staring into Syna's wrath, had thick black bags underneath them, a result of his constant nightmares. The wound on his arm was no longer gaping open, but still throbbed painfully when pressure was applied to it. Likewise for the several scars that littered his face, cheeks, and neck. Every part of him felt sore and tired and terribly, terribly weak. His hair was wild and askew, his beard wiry and unkempt, every part of him was dishevelled. He looked to be a man that regularly endured hell and every sin that accompanied it, and, truth be told, he was.
So Hirem was very surprised when a simple rash managed to bring him down, when a dozen injuries before it had not.
Well, not so surprised when one considered where the rash had taken root.
He first noticed it when disrobing for the evening. He didn't usually stare at himself when he prepared for bed, but earlier this afternoon, a drunkard at the Rat Hole had tried to knock him over with a bar stool. The drunkard had been swiftly dealt with, but the pain had persisted throughout the day and well into the night. Checking the hit to see if it welted seemed like the most obvious course of action after that. Thankfully, looking at his bare chest, Hirem didn't manage to see any obvious bruise forming, meaning that he wouldn't have to deal with the welt the following morning. He was just about to slip into bed when he finally spotted it: raw, red, and angry, tracing up the length of his calf. Confused, the Benshira wanted to dismiss this as some trick of the mirror... but found that when he looked at his own left leg, he could see the same rash.
And he could follow that rash. It didn't end on his calf, but instead kept going, tracing up his leg and crawling across the length of his inner thigh like a spidery hand. Actually, that was incorrect; the more Hirem stared at the rash, the more he realized that it was actually blossoming down his leg, becoming thinner the farther it descended. Meaning... checking his other leg, Hirem realized that the rash was mirrored on his other inner thigh. Then, taking a slow, deep breath, the Benshira grit his teeth, bent over, and inspected himself below, searching for the possible origin of this rash -
OH GODS.
After that, the pain had started. White hot, searing pain, that flashed up either of his legs and made his whole body quiver with agony. Every step he took, every swivel of his waist, sent ripples of torment washing down every limb of his body. Hirem almost let himself collapse, senseless, into the bed, but instead held his ground and dressed himself, preparing to make an urgent trip to the Gilia Medical Center. Hik, why did I choose to move to the Kulkukan? When I was living at Atri's Place, at least the Gilia was only a street away! How am I going to make the climb to the upper tier like this? Clenching his fists tightly, trying to relieve some of the pain he felt by focusing his strength on something, Hirem turned and stared up at the ceiling intently. Yahal, all I have done for you will be for naught if you turn back on me now, he threatened, shaking his head slowly.
Half a bell later, the limping Benshira had finally hobbled his way into the Gilia Medical Center, his legs on fire and every part of his body aching in protest. The night was very late and the city seemed quiet all around - because of that, Hirem was hoping to get treated quickly and efficiently. But one look into the crowded lobby dissuaded him from these high hopes. A great many fevers had overtaken the city in the worsening heat wave, leading to a large crowd of wilting men, women, and children standing between Hirem and possible medical help. There was nothing for it but to wait, as the Benshira had no desire to push his case ahead of other poor Rivarians that might very well pass out at any second from the stifling heat. Finding an empty seat on the far wall, Hirem sat and squirmed for what seemed like many bells, his eyes fixed on the constantly busy front desk.
Finally, an opportunity! Throwing himself to his feet, Hirem advanced towards the desk. "I have a rash - " he began.
The secretary cut him off. "To your immediate left, third room on the right. Thank you." She intoned with a precise look to her eyes.
There was no sense in complaining about her demeanour. Hirem nodded graciously, breathed thanks to her, and limped down the left hallway. In his mind's eye, he recalled a similar night at the Gilia, when he had first come in after breaking the stitching on his wounded arm. That was the night I was lucky enough to meet Natalia. I wonder, is she working again tonight? Might I see her? The odds of that seemed low; he had come into the Gilia countless times afterwards, and had never caught another glimpse of the Ethaefal woman. Shrugging his shoulders, the Benshira eased himself into his room, closed the door, dragged himself over to the bed, and threw his whole weight atop it. The wood groaned underneath his heavy body, but taking the pressure off his legs eased their burden considerably. He laid his head back and stared at the ceiling, wondering how one man could become so unlucky. If these are all trials that Yahal has concocted to test me, then this is perhaps the strangest of them all, and I fear for my god's sanity.
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