Or perhaps when you got sick in the first place, or…well, really it began the day you first picked up sword and shield again. Not that you’d have changed that: life as a knight is the only thing you ever wanted. It was—it is, it still is—your honor to defend the folk of the kingdom. To hunt down the unclean things that steal through the dark. It’s a difficult task; the forces of the crown are spread thin these days, and you’re the only appointed knight in the surrounding villages. With the increasing reports of witches and night things about the borders, you’ve been overworked ever since you took the post.
How long has it been? Shit, about a decade. Too long and with too little rest.
It was no wonder that you fell ill. Three weeks were spent wracked with fever and shakes, but hey, it was the first vacation you’d had in years. Little pins and needles skittered across your muscles at night, and you were reminded of a bout of sickness as a child: of the healer who hand laid hands on you and sent power needling, buzzing through your body, cleansing the infection of your blood. It felt like little humming darts of electricity, and decades later, you feel it aga—no. Not magic, you had chided yourself. It can’t be.
You didn’t want to even consider it. Arcane contamination was…it was a horror story. It happened to other people. It couldn’t happen to you. Seriously, it couldn’t, because you’re the only knight in this town. Who the hell else was going to do your job? You had to get better. You HAD to.
So you did. Eventually. Eventually you were able to stand from bed. Answer the frantic knocking on your door. Put on your armor and heft a blade. Do your job again, as always.
Key and Teeth 