When Caelum placed the final concoction before Hirem, the Benshira frankly didn't know what to say.
What could he possibly say, he wondered, when he had little knowledge of the philterer's art? What comment could he make that would not be colored by the foolishness of inexperience? It smells too strongly, it looks too disgusting, and I don't know what's inside of it... what can I do, but trust that Caelum is as good at his craft as he believes he is? And he did trust Caelum - the horselord exuded so much confidence that it was impossible not to place faith in him. But Hirem also had little tolerance for that which he did not understand, and that strange drink the healer produced was something that he couldn't even begin to comprehend. Half of the ingredients the Drykas used were completely foreign to him, and the rest only triggered a fleeting sense of recognition. He had spent more than his fair share of time among healers, but not enough to begin to understand the intricacies of the craft. He knew, deep down in his bones, that drinking from Caelum's draught would be the cure that he was so desperately searching for... but at the same time, he feared taking that most important gamble.
So Hirem just ended up staring quietly at the drink, gritting his teeth and working up his courage. By all the gods, of both hope and despair, it is just one petching sip from some swill. How bad could it truly be? But no matter how much he wanted to simply reach out, take the damned drink, and get it into his system, something deep and basic within him was preventing him from action. Not just fear of what might happen to him if he took the drink, but fear of what might happen next. What might occur after he was cured. It was a bizarre reason to feel dread, but Hirem was filled with it nonetheless. He was only dimly aware of the healer speaking in the background, referring directly to the Benshira and addressing his particular ailment. "Night terrors, paranoia, often uncontrollable emotions, debilitating headaches, and more are all symptoms of extreme stress. The state of the mind takes a toll on the body, Hirem." Taking a deep breath, Hirem flicked his bright eyes up to meet the healer's, a deep frustration buried in his gaze. So it is not even a problem with my physical form that I can lay the blame upon... only my own weak mind. If I were stronger, sterner, tougher... these worries that wouldn't befall a normal man would be nothing to me.
The next piece of information disturbed Hirem even more. Talking about the drink, Caelum said, "It will help for awhile, and we'll come up with a way to cure you." Upon hearing that the Drykas could only offer him a temporary solution, the man cast his eyes down and stared deeply into that dark, bitter beverage. He stared and stared, until his mind was entranced entirely by the utter darkness of the stinking draught. The words, It will help for awhile, kept racing through his mind. Awhile. Not permanently. Not forever. Awhile. You will be sane for awhile. The Benshira felt sickened, pursing his lips and trying to outlast the sudden headache that came upon him. This is it. This is what the rest of my life has become. Night terrors and head pains, paranoia and extreme emotion. I came to one of the best healers in Riverfall, this city blessed by the gods, and he doesn't even know how to properly fix me... he has to find a way. For a few moments, Hirem felt the same rising sense of despair that had plagued him after he had returned to Yahebah from Hai, that had eventually given him cause to leave the city and plunge himself fatally back into the desert. It would so easy to relent, he remarked to himself. Just close my eyes and let the madness overcome me yet again. But he didn't give in quite yet, for Caelum was still serving as a powerful reassuring force. "I promise." The Drykas swore, and the Benshira finally gazed back into the horselord's dark stare. The look in his own eyes said it all: he would hold Caelum to that oath.
He was just about to start his own drink, when Lyn'nice's bubbly attitude once again managed to distract him. The glass, clutched tightly in his hand, was set back on the table as his bemused look moved to settle on the pregnant Konti. Talvas? He wondered, his mind searching for where he had first heard that term. Nakivak? These are surely Tukant phrases, but what could they be in reference to? Hirem, faintly, remembered hearing about the Akalak breeding program, that took fertile women and paid them for the service of bearing children, but... he had always dismissed that as a mean-spirited jab at their culture, more than anything. That cannot actually be an aspect of their culture - it is too far-fetched. And yet, it made a surprising amount of sense when one considered the fact that Akalak females were nowhere to be seen. Deciding not to investigate too deeply into the matter, he instead focused on her introduction, of sorts: "I forgot to shake your hand, sir. I'm a Konti, one of the white seers of Mura... Ecept I'm not much good with seeing... I'm better with plants and healing, although I can read tea leaves." Frankly, Lyn'nice did not need to add the disclaimer that she failed to live up to Konti legend, for Hirem was nevertheless awed by the truth of her presence. A Konti? An actual Konti of the White Isle? He bowed his head respectfully. "I am honored, Lyn'nice, to meet you. It is a blessing to be in the presence of one touched by Mura."
Then, seeing that Lyn had already downed the drink that Caelum had prepared for her, Hirem realized that there was nothing for it. If the pregnant woman could trust the healer's work, then he had no reason not to. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, the Benshira reached out, snapped up the glass in his hand, brought it to his open mouth and poured the entire beverage in before he could allow himself a moment to rethink his plan. At first, he thought he could tolerate the foul taste of the draught, swallowing it down without much trouble. It was bitter and sour and suitably disgusting, but it wasn't anything Hirem hadn't put up with before. It was only when his stomach started to convulse in terrible pain - and he remembered the copious amounts of food he had shoveled down his throat just a few chimes ago - that the Benshira realized that he had made a terrible mistake. "Hik!" he choked, pushing himself to his feet... at least, he tried to. His balance, at the moment, decided to take a quick and unhelpful nap, leaving him swaying dangerously in the air. In the end, the momentum sent him careening forward onto his knees, letting his whole body crash onto the floor.
At that point, he was lost. Hirem opened his mouth and retched, long and painfully, onto the floor, and then retched again. His shoulders shook with agony, his face crumpled up into a tortured expression. His fingers scrabbled at the floorboards, his legs kicking in vain against the nearby table legs. "I'm good!" he finally breathed after many chimes of disgusting vomiting, wiping the last of the foul bile from his dried lips. "I- am good!" The energy drained out of him, the Benshira laid limp on the floor of the Alements kitchen, staring quietly at the ceiling and feeling every bone in his body resonate, tremors wracking his weakened limbs. So this is the road to a cure? I would rather take the nightmares.