This is exactly how Duroxas wanted to spend his night - curled up shivering on a bed in a rented room with a chills from a horrible fever, body aching from the disgusting infection that plagued his system while he waited for the medicine to brew. His left foot was tightly bandaged, but blood still stained the wrappings even hours later - it was not mending well. All in all, another lovely circumstance to pile on top of the rest of the stress the last few weeks had dumped upon him.
Rhiandri had made a concentrated attempt to render his wife comatose, keeping the deed out of his sight for as long as she could. It was an attempt he'd only barely managed to thwart.
Vindliah insisted Duroxas had betrayed her, swearing to take the warlock's life as vengeance. Had it not been for Alphaeus's help the rogue's blades would have ravaged him. The closest thing he'd done to 'betraying' her was giving Vyen an unwilling tongue piercing. Duro hadn't even gotten close to attempting to take Vyen's life!
Belarion was next. He flew into a rage, initiating an ambush without warning that Duroxas was forced to call for help to deal with once again. He was loathe to admit what a blow that was - He felt responsible for the hunter. Endebted in more ways than one, and for a while had assumed that was what 'friendship' was supposed to be.
Wraventris he knew had never liked him. Duro gave Wraven little reason to bother liking him. But when the knight tried to strangle him in chains a few days prior, it was still entirely unwanted. Not only that, but unexpected in it's improbability. Three, now. Three former 'friends' turning on him brutally.
Having made ties with others was going to get him killed.
But the ties he had with others were the reason he was still alive. Alphaeus swooping in to help him out of a difficult spot was becoming an unpleasantly common occurrence, and the warlock's fists tightened in frustration at the mere thought of how dependent he seemed to be becoming on the others.
"I would have never even bothered to affiliate with them" He grumbled to himself in his head.
One friend turned enemy was unfortunate. Two friends turned enemies was suspicious, but possibly coincidental. Three, and something was probably going on. Alphaeus confirmed it - he found the mental tampering while the warlock was taking shelter in the city (the ambushes had reached a point by then where just leaving the crowded streets and buildings was inviting Vindliah or Belarion to stab him through with something poisonous). Svet insisted that the individual who first came to mind as a possible culprit was dead, however, so it was back to square one.
Duroxas rolled onto his other side, curling up a little tighter as a cramp hit his stomach. On top of the attempts at his life that had already stacked so high, Telan'diel and Eri'zak had roped him into helping a forsaken with a sort of 'eating disorder' (a light way to put it). And what did he get in return? His left foot clawed through and bitten into, and a bad infection from the filth and decay on it's teeth.
This is what I get for helping people?
He grimaced sharply, taking a shuddering breath.
This is what I get for making 'friends'? For trying to be 'better'?
The medicine would not be ready for hours yet.
