Rations...

The illness that holds Ooma in its grip, has reached out and nabbed the group with many succumbing to its symptoms. Drowsiness being the unifying factor as each group is forced to build a fire with the materials at hand and hope they can remain vigilant to allow this disease to pass.

They wonder, “Was it possibly the rations?”

The sound of a whistle kettle after the liquid has cooled to wafting through the bellows; a hiss, seems to ricochet off the hard surfaced walls. Ooma, Morgan, Racelette, Adrie and Fequr fight to remain awake, failing miserably. Morgan, who has slurped down a fair bit of mead, has a little more protection than those who’ve not imbibed. However, his eyes are heavy.

Ichabod and Wik are faring the best of all as Icahbod produces vials of pink and blue liquid. She drinks the blue and hands the pink to Wik, who, suspiciously sniffs, then drinks the cherry-flavoured liquid. Minutes later he is asleep. “I’ll take first watch,” Ichabod yawns, facing the direction she can hear noises that evoke a vision of a waterfall rushing over a cliff.

Jhalo, Tessalia, Amaril and Benji are at the bottom of the slide when they are overcome suddenly. Their groans cause Benji to whine, as he snuggles close to Jhalo. The group huddles close, as the sleepiness overcomes them and they rest their weary eyes. They are oblivious to any noises, except the scratching of some moles digging...

The party has taken ill, we shall return next week...

o0o

did NOT eat the rations...

Fledgling DM,

khrys...

o0o