Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-17114085-20161126014740/@comment-27922119-20161128193903

The Khajiit crusader walked up to his King. “Majjir does not think you are well, sir. Our last scrap with the bandits proved that. It was more of an ordeal than a breeze, if Majjir can be permitted to speak frankly.” Reman rubbed his eyes and yawned, paying no heed to Majjir’s remarks, “Got any of that sugar left?”

“Majjir has something that he suspects will make you feel better,” he purred, presenting to Reman a purple bottle. “Hand-that-stabs calls it sleeping tree sap, and Majjir thinks that it is a fitting name, and you will soon learn why if you take a drink.”

Reman rubbed his bloodshot eyes again and grasped the bottle. “I suppose I’ll…give it a try,” he said timorously.

“Majjir approves,” said Majjir approvingly. “Head back to the camp when you feel better; Noggos has graciously decided to take the watch again.”

“The bastard doesn’t sleep, eh?”

“Seems not, Lord.” And with that, Majjir turned back to the camp.

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At the behest of Fethat, Burb had travelled ahead and located the camp in which Reman and his crusaders would be found. He counted one taking watch, and the rest, along with Reman, lying haphazardly around the dying fire, twelve in all. Fethat quickly joined him, keeping himself low at the slope of the hill, just peering out to look at the camp. “That one’s a vampire,” noted Fethat, “but he seems to be in abundance of blood.”

Burb didn’t respond, but instinctively pressed himself lower to the ground, turning his head slightly to watch Fethat take a rusty coin from his pocket. He flipped it, and looked at the result in a sigh.

“Well, I suppose pragmatism is out of the window. You’ll enjoy this, Burb.”