CONDITIONS - VARIOUS
HUNGRY
James felt weak.
Rummaging in his rucksack for a packet of rations, he frowned as it was apparent he'd already eaten through his supply. "If I don't get something to eat soon I'm going to drop."
Gorath's stomach rumbled.
Checking his bag for a packet of rations, he was dismayed as he learned he wasn't the only one that had run low on supplies. "We need to get food as soon as possible. We can't get anywhere if we're too weak to walk."
SLEEPY
James yawned.
"We need rest," he said, looking for a good place to camp. "If we go much further without sleep, we might not be able to handle any unexpected surprises on the road."
Something moved.
"On second thought, let's not sleep here," Owyn whispered, gathering up his pack. "I get the uneasy feeling someone may be watching us. Pick up your things as quietly as possible and let's move out."
SICK
Gorath’s stomach hurt.
He tipped back his head and gritted his teeth, trying to fight back the nausea that he felt welling up inside him. All color drained from his face, he drank in the air in big gulps, only to expel it again in short bursts through his pursed lips.
POISONED
Owyn was on fire.
His insides burned like hot coals in a farrier's pot, this in sharp contrast to the numbness he felt in his mouth and lips. The poison that had spread through his system was slowly sapping his strength, draining him of everything but his will to survive. Seeing the looks in his companion's eyes, he could tell that he had not suffered the poisoning effects alone.
Patrus was on fire.
His insides burned like hot coals in a farrier's pot, this in sharp contrast to the numbness he felt in his mouth and lips. The poison that had spread through his system was slowly sapping his strength, draining him of everything but his will to survive.
PLAGUED
No one wished to speak about it.
Seeing the glazed looks in each other's eyes and sickly pallor each had begun to exhibit, it was more than obvious they had fallen prey to a virulent plague.
Silently, James hoped they would reach a temple soon before they all died of it.
NEAR-DEATH
Owyn's head swam.
"I don't feel well," he gasped, clasping a hand over his blood drenched side. "My wounds may be mortal." Turning, he saw that Locklear was in a likewise circumstance, his face as pale as corpse. "Perhaps you should leave us. We're only slowing everything down."
Gorath shook his head. "We will find a healer or a temple or something. This won't be the end of the road."
Owyn's head swam.
"I don't feel well," he gasped, clasping a hand over his blood drenched side. "My wounds may be mortal. I'll need attention from a temple soon."
A gasp escaped Owyn's lips as he levered himself into an upright position and looked over his wounds.
"I think I'll amend the plan," Owyn said. "My wounds are mortal. You go on without me."
"No one gets left behind," James shot back angrily. "No one! Get your things and we move. We'll find a healer for you along the way who can help."
DEATH
James fell to his knees.
Overwhelmed by his condition, he was unable to rise from the ground, helpless to aid as someone else fell near him. A friend? Enemy? Could he tell by the sound?
"We should..," James whispered, breathing in dust as his vision beginning to dim. "We should have been... more..."
Death came quietly.
Blood welled through Locklear's lips.
"Bested," he spit, clawing the ground uselessly as his life drained away. "Beaten by a bunch...of stupid...things. So stupid...so ...damn...stupid..."
It would be days before their bodies were found.
Owyn gasped.
Pain sapping his strength, he was unable to rise from the ground, but dimly he perceived his attacker moving closer, perhaps to finish him off, perhaps for some other less savory purpose.
"Bastard..," Owyn whispered, his vision beginning to dim. "Lims-Kragma curse you..."
Death came swiftly.