Prompt: May 22, 2012 - Write about whatever comes to mind for your character of choice. Anything.. . . . . Every time she swallowed, she could still taste the vile ichor sliding down her throat. It made eating extremely difficult, and there'd been times when the druid had been so afraid for her health that he forced her to eat. Oh, he'd figured out quickly enough that holding her down to force her to eat was an even worse trigger for the panic than swallowing, so he'd find something she found near impossible to resist and lace it with a potion he brewed that made her ravenously hungry. It was devious and evil.
. . . . . It also worked.
. . . . . Xeremuriis managed to choke down a beef broth as she sat with her back to their campfire on the sandy shore of Azuremyst Isle. The cupcake had been her downfall; she missed baked goods something fierce. Ekanos hadn't seen, but she stole away his pocket knife earlier in the day. The whispers in her head were back, and despite how the potion forced her to eat, she couldn't get the black taste of the saronite out of her mouth.
. . . . . Careful to not let the fire leave him nightblind, Ekanos watched his charge from a few feet away. Once she'd finished the broth he'd made, she set the bowl down in the sand and dug her fingers in deep. She kept shaking her head from side to side; wet clicking noises and glimpses of her face told him she was sticking her tongue out over and over again, like a cat with some foul substance on its tongue. He bent his head for a moment to make a clinical note in the paper he was writing about saronite poisoning when a faint metallic click warned him.
. . . . . The draenei girl pulled her fingers out of the sand with his pocket knife clenched in her sky blue hand. The fingers of her other hand grasped her tongue, pulling it as far from her mouth as it would stretch. Viney roots torn from a hastily tossed and enhanced seed shot out of the sand and wrapped around the girl's knife hand. Ekanos stood up and crossed the several steps to where Xeremuriis shook and sputtered.
. . . . . "Get it out! Getitout getitout!" she whimpered, straining towards the knife in her hand even as Ekanos plucked it from her grasp.
. . . . . "Not like that, you aren't. Stealing is wrong. You remember this."
. . . . . "I...remember..." She sagged as the weapon was taken. "I hate forgetting me," she whispered.
. . . . . "Here." Ekanos unrolled a leather wrap full of small vials and tossed one into her lap. "Have a sniff. Feel better."
. . . . . Sighing as the roots released her, Xeremuriis scooped up the precious oil vial in her lap - Mana Thistle, this one - and uncorked it, using the scent of her aunt's long ago coming-of-age gift to keep her memory of self intact against the insidious whispers of the Old Gods in her head.