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Rogal did not see what tripped him, the fog was all-enveloping and drained the energy from his limbs and seeped through his thin robes, chilling him to the bone. His staff clattered to the ground a few feet in front of him, and Rogal groped uselessly for a few moments before giving up and curling into a small ball on the ground. His powers were drained - and he needed to rest. A half-lucid sleepd came to him, and as he drifted away he only hoped that the fog would have lifted when he awoke.
(OOC: Roagal is a Conjurer in his mid-30's. For most of his life he lived in the ourtskirts of Athkalata, in a small village with his wife. The villagers were not happy with his presence however, and burned his abode, killed his wife and made him an outcast. He has been wandering for the four years that have follwed this, scarred by his experiences and only searching for a place to call his home.)
[ 02-23-2002: Message edited by: Jerome ]
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