I am convinced that the reason no herbs, potions, spells, talismans, or metals -- except silver -- are effective against lycanthropes is because of the phenomenal metabolism of shape changers. Silver's famous magical immunity not only deals damage to the demon within its host, but at the same time prevents it from flushing the metal from the body -- it behaves as a poison.
Orihalcon may have a similar effect, but at the time of this writing it is still held far too dear to be made into arrowheads.
"These aren't bad ideas," Oleth mused, reading over Sulos' notes in the back of his ledger. " -- But this one's been done, and this one, and this has been disproven," he pointed out as Diran kept watch.
"... Good. That just narrows it down," Sulos concluded.
"I have copies of some of the more recent studies on zoanthropy, if you need to see them -- "
"No no no no. Not now -- sorry," Sulos added, beginning to pace again. "It's the moon. I can't concentrate. Better just to take all the books out, for a day or two -- you know what's going to happen," he explained.
"Oh, of course," Oleth smiled, piling his books inside the cage. "I've been looking forward to it. Only two complete transformations have ever been observed in their entirety, and those were three -- and four hundred years ago... Er, you don't mind being watched, do you?"
"No, no," Sulos sighed, waving it off as he paced. "Changing back, now that's a little embarassing. But we're all men here. Damn it, how do you people breathe in this pit? Is there any water?"
After locking the cage once more, Diran left immediately to fetch water, and Oleth rearranged his texts on the table.
"Are you normally this agitated just before a full moon?" he asked, wetting his nib in the ink.
"Usually -- usually I just get a bit ... anxious. Paranoid," Sulos explained, pacing, twitching, rubbing his arms. "But here ... there's no place I can run; I'm stuck, I don't know what's going to happen -- It doesn't have to be night, you know -- what time is it, afternoon?"
"Yes." Oleth was giving his full attention.
"Ne, see, all we need is a full moon. One during the day, very unusual -- " he paused suddenly and looked around his cell. "Ceipheed, did that even make sense? I wish I could pinpoint the exact moment -- but it scrambles with my head..." he trailed off as Diran returned with a glass of water.
"How, exactly?"
"Can't concentrate," Sulos repeated after hastily draining the glass. "Everything's too ... too ... big. Too immediate. Places are too small; you have to be outside and run. You can't control anything; it's all lost until moonset." He caught himself about to lean on the cage wall, and recoiled two steps.
"Do you ... retain anything, from your time as a wolf?"
"How do you mean?"
"I mean, are you ever able to recollect events or other things you experienced as a wolf? Have you ever seen evidence that your conscious mind has some influence on the demon?" Oleth clarified. Sulos sat down in the center of the cage, legs folded, and shook his head.
"Not a true wolf," he began.
"I'm sorry -- "
"No. No evidence of anything, except that I wake up with most of my things. If someone shoots me, I remember that," the werewolf answered. "It's all like a dream." He fluttered his hand like a vanishing nightmare. "Then you wake up with a mouthful of blood, and you've got to keep running."
There was a pause as Oleth wrote. Sulos could not help but wonder how much the healer-priest was learning from his diary, how much he was using of the research notes in the back of the book. His stomach twisted into a cold knot and dread washed up the back of his neck, the base of his skull.
"Not long now," he muttered, and suddenly he resented being watched. If only one thing was different, if the cage wasn't silver, he could have torn it apart like wicker and unburied himself. Sulos huddled in on himself and rode out the fleeing violent impulses. It wouldn't be this bad, he realized, It wouldn't be this bad if I hadn't been underground for a month.
It was only about half an hour before sunset when he felt the moon creeping over the horizon. He sat forward, wide-eyed with panic, and slapped his palm down on the floor.
"It's coming," he said, and put his other hand down with the first for balance. The room grew smaller, darker, hotter, and the cage became unbearably claustrophobic. He backed away from the front wall, to the center of the silver cage, and tried to force himself to remain silent as the demon dragged him down like an undertow, into his own body, and all was darkness and desperation.
He came awake slowly, a gentle resurfacing, to find himself lying facedown on a carpet of black fur. He felt, as was always the case after a full moon, phenomenally drained. Sulos lay still and breathed, trying to relax, to salvage a modicum of energy while he was comforted with the knowledge that his next transformation was a month away. The vault was slightly chill -- night had fallen a number of hours ago -- and when the shed fur underneath him and in his shirt began to itch, he stirred his leaden limbs and dragged himself up on his knees and elbows with a grunt of effort.
"Welcome back," he heard Oleth say, too exhausted to bother looking up.
"Where are my pants?" he rasped.
"I believe they're in the far corner... Diran, if you would, please -- "
Sulos heard Diran unlock and enter the cage, and emitted a whimper of chagrin.
"... Really not necessary," he insisted, going from his elbows to his hands and knees. He felt the aide pass him, then Diran's shoulders under his arm as he lifted Sulos to his feet. It was dizzying.
"How do you feel, now?" Oleth asked as Diran deftly bundled Sulos into the trousers, which unfortunately had not been tailored with lycanthropy in mind.
"Like a freshly beaten rug," he answered slowly and carefully, while Diran kicked the pillows back into a bed-shape, and lowered him into them. "I feel ... I'd say it feels like a hangover without the headache, but I've never been that badly hungover. I hope -- I hope I wasn't too beastly -- "
"No, not at all," Oleth smiled from just outside the cage. His assistant quietly began to sweep up the fur. "You've been more helpful than I ever dreamed, already -- behaviors never before documented -- did you know the demon speaks?"
"It what?" Sulos recoiled, jerking his head up in alarm.
"It, it talks!" Oleth grinned like a schoolboy. "It acts nearly sentient!"
"Oh gods," the werewolf groaned, pulling a pillow over his face. "What'd it say?"
"Not a lot; mostly it howled to be let out. It's still a staggering discovery." Diran exited, locked the cage door behind him, and resumed his usual patterns of cleaning and maintenance. Oleth chuckled to himself. "Sounded just like a pet..."
Sulos groaned again.
A werewolf can always tell another werewolf. It's easy to find the other person in the crowd who can sense things they can't, and reacts the same as you do. Then eyes meet, and wry, toothy grins are exchanged... I don't know what happens when and if werewolves meet during a full moon, or how a werewolf in lupine form would react to one in human form, and of female werewolves I've only seen one or two.
We feel no particular attraction or revulsion toward each other, but there are reasons werewolves remain solitary.
"I've got an idea," Oleth told him from the other side of the silver grid. "It just came to me while I was going over some lunar charts, that everyone who's ever tried to exorcise a werewolf has done it during a full moon -- when the demon's at it's peak strength -- "
Sulos' jaw dropped, and he approached the cage wall. "So why not try to exorcise when it's weakest -- "
" -- Tonight, during the new moon!" the priest finished, grinning. Sulos, dizzy with hope, could only grab his head in disbelief.
"Why didn't I think of that?!?"