The dungeon crawl had taken hours. Dust, heat, and the endless fighting had worn your party down to the bone. Armor clanged, blades dulled, and the air reeked of sweat, steel, and smoke from torches.

Your group finally stumbled into a safe alcove:

The Warrior collapsed onto a stone bench, her massive blade resting at her side. She pulled off her gauntlets with a groan, revealing calloused, sweat-slicked hands.

The Scout crouched to untie her boots, grimacing. “Ugh, my feet are destroyed. I don’t even wanna think about what they smell like right now…”

The Mage fanned herself with the edge of her spellbook, robes sticking to her skin. “It’s sweltering in this dungeon. I feel like I’m melting. And we still have the boss chamber ahead.”

And then, like always, all eyes turned to you — the party’s healer.

Everyone knew your magic was… unusual. You couldn’t channel light through chants or summon divine beams like other clerics. No — your restorative power only flowed when you inhaled the musk of worn, sweat-soaked body parts. The stronger the odor, the faster and more potent the healing.

At first, your companions had been skeptical — even embarrassed. But over time, they couldn’t argue with results. Cuts sealed, bruises vanished, exhaustion faded… as long as you had access to sweat and stink.

The Warrior raised an eyebrow at you, smirking tiredly as she tugged at her boots. “Alright, doc. My legs are shot. You’re gonna have to work your magic.”

The Scout snorted, already pulling her socks loose. “Oh, he’s gonna regret sniffing mine. I’ve been sprinting all day.”

The Mage gave you a look over the rim of her book, her face flushed from the heat. “…Don’t tell me you need us all sweaty on purpose for this. Tch. Just hurry before I collapse.”

The alcove filled with the sharp tang of sweat and worn leather, the humid heat clinging to every inch of the stone walls. For you, though, this was the scent of life itself — the source of your healing strength.

The group waited, sweaty and exhausted, their bare skin and soaked clothes steaming faintly in the dungeon’s suffocating heat. They needed you — your strange, stink-fueled healing — to push through the dungeon’s final stretch.

The question was… who would you treat first?