☢
He’d known the moment he’d been hit by a curse. A strange cloud had seemed to fog his mind, though he’d kept swinging, determined to take down the latest band of Darkspawn that they’d run into. One last whirling arc severed the head of his foe even as his companion decimated the remaining two uglies. Dropping his sword, he bent forward to brace his hands on his knees as he forced himself to breath, his brain growing fuzzier by the moment.
Dimly he heard Sten say something, but it was so far away…and maker what was that smell? He straightened slowly, his eyes glassy as he lifted his nose, breathing deeply. Turning more toward Sten, he breathed again and stepped closer. “Maker that smell…” Blindly he reached for his companion and hauled him forward, turning his head to snif the big qunari before he actually began to nibble on the man’s ear as if it held the secret to the intoxicating scent.
The fist to his face was a blessed relief and for several moments Carver didn’t move from where he’d landed flat on his back a few feet away. “Thanks for that.” He wheezed as the curse began to dissipate. “Do we have any soap?” He asked a few minutes later, not sure even that would be enough to get rid of the taste of Sten out of his mouth. “And I thought hexes were bad.” He muttered.
