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Mormegil
Morm woke up, and looked around. He was lying on his back, and felt as though he had a hangover. He could feel the beads of sweat trickling down his forehead to tickle his ears.
He sat up.
That was the wrong thing to do. Instantly, he was aware of the need to vomit and as he looked about, he saw no place to do so discreetly, before it was too late. He let if fall to the floor beside him. It drained him of his energy. He gagged for a long time, blood mixed in with the bile. Finally, he was able to get a grip on it and lay back down...where he closed his eyes and wished he had died. What the hell was with those needles?
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