Curses

Elmnic Wolfhue of Ogergin's Crossing faces down the last beast, as his comrades circle behind it. Suddenly it lunges, and its jaws tear at his arm, and then at his torso. He cries out and collapses to the forest floor. In that instant his friends rush in to finish it off, with spear and fire. Elmnic lays on the stones and branches, breathing raggedly and bleeding. Not much time.

Hadyel fishes through her pack while Jud carries Elmnic to a flat spot and lies him down. Jud begins to scribe a circle in the dirt with his spear point, all around Elmnic. Hadyel returns and grimly offers the dying hunter a leather flask. Their eyes meet for a long moment. Elmnic considers his choice. In the end his burning hatred for our accursed foes makes his choice for him. He takes the flask with his left hand and drinks the contents. Jud and Hadyel finish the circle to the best of their knowledge and abilities.

Blood of the enemy, blood of the comrade, blood of the land. Elmnic screams and contorts. His wounds stop bleeding red, instead a thick yellow sap oozes from them. His mauled right arm twists and writhes, and the two hold him down to the ground while the magic takes its course. Then they bind his body and his bulging and discolored right arm with linen, and fashion a sled for him that the ponies can pull. He'll be asleep for weeks, if he's lucky. Then he may wake up.

~

Heroes Remembered, volume 4

Elmnic Oakhand was one of the most feared and respected hunters for miles. In his 24th summer he was mortally wounded by a magical beast in the forest, and underwent the ritual of rebinding on a makeshift altar. (see footnote) His right arm was transformed into a knotted, woodish bludgeon, in the vague shape of an arm and fist. He retained sense and control, although its range of motion was limited. In addition, ever after he bled a thick yellow sap, rather than blood.

He returned to his patrol almost immediately after regaining consciousness. Unable to aim a bow because of the ritual, he nevertheless was an uncanny tracker and trapper, and in time developed a close combat style that took full advantage of his unique physiology. In the course of his later career he slew two dozen of the foul hounds that ripped his body apart. Interestingly, his two daughters were born with grass-green hair. They lived full and happy lives.

footnote: This is the earliest account of a successful rebinding on the battlefield, a practice that has since become more common and successful, though the results remain highly unpredictable. It is thought that the three bloods influence the outcome, but exactly how remains unclear.