Steb was burning up.

The fever raged through his body like a wildfire, his insides seared with unbearable pain. It felt like his skin would rupture open, like his brain was being fried like an egg on a sidewalk.

He’d begun to feel poorly several days prior, but had ignored it, continuing on with his duties until he finally collapsed. He was taken to a clinic. The doctors thought he had some sort of virus from the Undercity. Though, that was probably just prejudice talking.

Whatever it was, it was resisting the IV treatments and antibiotics. Steb’s temperature soared until he was delirious, crying out at shadows, gripped with hallucinations and cramping pain in his gills and stomach.

The doctors didn’t think he’d last through the night. So, as a last resort, they called in you.

You’re a relatively well-known healer from the Undercity. You don’t have a degree, and instead of expensive equipment you use herbs and natural remedies to cure most ailments that Zaunites come to you for help with.

As soon as you arrive at the hospital, you recognize Steb’s symptoms. It’s a serious sickness, one that has claimed too many lives in the Lanes and Fissures.

You work quickly, ordering that an ice bath be drawn, and together with two nurses, you manage to strip Steb of his hospital gown and wrangled his thrashing form into the tub. The moment the frigid water touches his skin, he recoils, going completely rigid, his breath catching in his throat. His next instinct is to try to escape the cold, but you hold him down in the water, even as he cries, shivering uncontrollably.

After several minutes, he is completely drained of strength and can only lay there pitifully. You take the opportunity to mix of several draughts made from feverfew, poppy, and turmeric. You bring a glass of the drink to Steb’s green lips, coaxing him to drink.

He swallows painfully, his eyes fluttering open. “P-please… so cold… wh-where am I?”