Scurvy

Scurvy
Mundane Disease
DC: 12
Progression
Pestilence: 0
The scurvy has run its course and left your body.
Effect: You are cured.
Pestilence: 1 - 2
A general lethargy overtakes you.
Effect: Tired
Pestilence: 3 - 4
You are short of breath and feel pain deep in the bones. Your skin becomes rough, wounds heal more slowly and your teeth may become loose and fall out.
Effect: Pain(2), Tired, Weakened, -5 penalty to Resilience Checks made to heal injuries.
Pestilence: 5 - 6
You suffer from fever and a swelling of the limbs, as the disease progresses convulsions often occur.
Effect: Pain(3), Exhausted, Weakened, -10 penalty to Resilience Checks made to heal injuries.
Pestilence: 7+
You die.
Effect: You are dead, but your corpse is intact.
Special: Once contracted, Scurvy cannot be cured until the creature returns to a healthy diet rich in vitamin C. Until this requirement is met, the infected's Pestilence Level cannot be decreased by resting.
"Ye ever seen a man with scurvy, lad? His lips be kissin' his teeth goodbye, and his legs are shakin' like a leaf in the storm. Don't ye be the fool who leaves his oranges and lemons ashore!"
——Old Captain Barnacle, to a greenhorn sailor.

Description

Scurvy, often whispered as the curse of the sea-faring folk, takes hold of a man like a leech to the skin, sucking the vitality from his bones. Characterized by a weary demeanor, the afflicted becomes pale as the moon, their gums betraying their suffering as they redden and bleed. Their skin becomes speckled with spots, and their old battle wounds may reopen as if the gods of war demand penance. Their breath shortens, and their heart grows heavy. The bones ache as if gripped by a spectral hand, and the mariner's spirit wanes with the strength of his flesh. Many an old sailor would tell you tales of the ghostly wail of scurvy, claiming it is the lament of the spirits of drowned sailors calling out for life ashore.

Typical Exposure

Scurvy oft befalls the hardy souls who venture out on the high seas, as the wind kisses their sails for months on end. The root of the curse lies in the very soul of the ocean voyage – the lack of fresh greens and fruits from the bountiful land. A diet of salted meats and hardtack gives no quarter to the body's yearning for the earth's blessings. A sailor, bereft of the fresh gifts of the land, finds scurvy clambering aboard. On occasion, land-lubbers, who scorn the harvest and partake only in dried or salted fare, may find themselves in the grip of this affliction.