[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=b8860b]Reginald Keystone[/color][/b][/i][/h1]
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[hr][center][color=b8860b][b]Location:[/b][/color] Qasr El Nil Barracks [/center][hr][hr]
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	The Lord Major too stock of the paperwork he had been handed. While the main reason he wanted to get the inventory reports in the first place was to look over foodstuffs and travel supplies, he did give an order to a full accounting. This was partial at best. Of course, he knew that such things took time to accomplish; one could not just wave one's hands and magically have a complete, up to date supply report. He did like to keep the soldiery on their toes, though. You let a garrison get too relaxed and mistakes get made. 

	As he looked through the papers, Reginald began to break into a sweat. Not an uncommon thing in Egypt, perspiration, but this one coincided with a sense of cold pressure in his abdomen, quickly turning into streaks of discomfort. It was not a life threatening malady, at least not in his experience. The discomfort was with him for a bit of time now, since the first interview with the young starlet Josaphene. It was a trifle at first. Recent minutes saw it grow in intensity until the pain became noteworthy. At first, Reginald questioned the nature of his ailment. It seemed too light to be considered one of the trials that other members of his Fellowship had endured, and yet it continued to intensify. Perhaps this was just the beginning of some sort of branding or internal struggle against powers long dormant under ancient sands. 

	Reginald's pretense at looking over the partial report ceased as the feeling reached a roaring crescendo, prompting him to drop the papers and grip the edge of her desk with both hands. A sickening, gnawing feeling lanced through himand he began to double over in agony. Suddenly, a thought hit him through the haze of pain. He quickly leaned to one side tightened the muscles in his stomach. And then it happened:

	A fleshy sputtering sound issued from behind the Lord Major's desk, quiet at first but, like his discomfort, quickly breaking into waves of intensity, given sound approximating a "pffffftWHOOOOOOMP!"

	And then it was over. Just like that, the curse of his mysterious torture came to a close, quest unnecessary. Reginald wondered at life's little handouts like that, and vowed to stave off future repeats of this curse by taking a bran muffin in the mornings with greater regularity. A satisfied sigh later, he picked up his reports and again began to review them for excesses to commandeer. [color=b8860b]"Well then,"[/color] he said aloud, fanning the air about him, [color=b8860b]"I'm certainly happy that it waited until I had the room to myself..."[/color]