A familiar itch drew his attention to his right wrist. He had meant to put some salve on it the other day but had gotten distracted. Now that he thought about it, he had several aches and pains he could do without before the next fight. He rolled up his chainmail and looked down at his wrist as he reached for another bottle of the salve. Odd, when did he get a rash? Briefly, a thought occurred to him that the rash did not appear by ordinary means, and he wondered if it was entirely wise to indulge in this particular vice any further. He quashed the idea as nonsense. The urge to feel the soothing substance on his flesh compelled him to ignore it. Hell, if anything it should be able to get rid of the rash for him. After all, healing was what it did, wasn’t it?