[center][b][u][h1][color=00a651]Oliver Thurston[/color][/h1][/u][/b][/center]

[center] AA may be needed in the future[/center]

Oliver stared at the ground as his friends had found him. He stared out at the world as he was dragged back to the camp that evening. He lounged around in his armor, as his wagon was loaded, and the troupe continued outside the city heading out towards their destination. The scholars and party that accompanied him were just staying mostly awake, but Oliver was asleep. He was for hours, passed out half laying on his armor, as the top half was slowly stripped from him. His face looked incredibly stupid at that moment, mouth agape and face covered in hair that was stuck to his face in patches of sweat-induced matting. 

A groan came from the man at some odd hour of the day, they had been travelling for some time, and he knew the letter he received was sending him to. He hated that he was having to go somewhere, but loved it as well. He was a homebody, but he wanted to see the world as a man, not as some form of drunken armored piece. He looked outside the curtain of the wagon he rode in, and saw landscapes similar to what he was used to. He grew bored quickly and just went back in to not look like he was awake, and lay back into his armor before wrapping himself in a linen blanket for some form of comfort, and cooling warmth, something not too hot or cold. 

"I hope that angel finds me once again, I know there was beauty within her voice and whatever she does." he mumbled in his groggy state, "she looked as if the moon had struck the stars and was chisled into an artisanal masterpiece." 

His stomach grumbled and he leaned forward and his head broke through the wall's cloth patch and overhand to throw up whatever liquid concoction his stomach had made over the night, most likely some form of alcoholic brew from hell. Mixed with cheese, bread, and whatever else he could have found himself eating the night prior, he didn't remember; he was too drunk. He saw various bits in the trail the cart was leaving, but none made sense. 

His head retreated into the interior of the cloth, and he went to a waterskin to drink, then coughed up more spit and puke, before he would continue to try drinking. He stared at it, and then placed the leather pouch once filled with water to his side, heading back to slowly scavange through the different things placed around him to find something worthwhile to eat, or at least settle his stomach. Of which he found small strips of meat, he would try biting, and find that it was just leather strips. 

He spit out the leather immediately before Oliver would search for his spectacles, or at least some way to gather himself, and his sight. While it was somewhat bad, he didn't feel like sending his magics to himself as it was just a waste, he didn't need to see that well to do anything, but he would like to see just a bit. Maybe he should, no, he shouldn't, but then again.... No, he just continued to use his hands, and what sight he did have to search for something to eat. He would find crackers, hard as stone, several blocks of cheese, a sausage of some form of meat, and then to top it off, a bottle of wine. 

While no one would disturb him, he would find himself eating throughout the day, and near some hour of the day, he heard through the different voices of the troupe that they were approaching their destination of wherever he had the caravan's captain heading.