[h3][color=bedded][b][center]Thomas Richard Harrison[/center][/b][/color][/h3]
[center][indent][color=bedded][i]Location:[/i][/color] Road North of Salarn. By the wagon, supported by Satilla
[color=bedded][i]Interacting with:[/i][/color] Satilla, Ntaj, some leaves. [/indent][/center]

Not sure what all that excitement was about. But fortunately the problem seemed to resolve it self just as quickly as it came. An addition of a bear-sized mass usually makes things right, sometimes. But at least now it was all over, and they could enjoy lunch. Burning up with a fever that would last till the day after, fortunately the leaves helped a bit. So too did Satilla as she helped him up. Her voice demanded of him not to do anything rash, almost like a mother scolding a child. Not that Thomas saw Satilla as a mother, no heavens no, she was far too young for that. Or at least he thought so. [color=bedded]"Alright, thank you. You too Ntaj." [/color]

Walking wasn't so bad. Not as much nausea as an annoyance. Each step forward massaging his temples with his thumb and index finger. The burden of course was not as much in walking as it was the heat. Like walking upon hot sand, it was not the effort to walk, but to set your foot down for longer than need be. Still it was not his fight nor his place to say. Some tea would be nice though, something, anything to keep his head cool. Burning up as his pores cried beneath his robes, sweltering heat that made Thomas want to drop his face into a pool of springwater. How nice would that have been, but instead now it seemed there was a game afoot.

[color=bedded]"So tell me, um, what's this groups story?"[/color] Time for a backstory, every group had one. And a menagerie of a bird-bear-druid, several half-orcs, and a bunch of badass fantasy women sounds like the beginnings of a bawdy tavern punchline.