Paranoia

"Ahhh, my head hurts. This is worse than a hangover."

Alwina was the last to wake up, immediately crawling closer to the bonfire. Her wounds were covered with black-colored bandages etched with bluish writings, an ancient script that appeared neither Sethian nor Hierapetran.

"Get over it. We've lost enough time," the Syndic said.

"Damn you, Sosicles," she snapped. "I hope you die in a ditch somewhere, you accursed son of a whore. What was the point of abandoning us there alone? I knew what it was by the first night. We could've just awaited Leagan's awakening in the outskirts."

Sosicles shrugged listlessly. "I couldn't be bothered to camp with you for two whole days. Plus, it taught you a few lessons about reckless interactions with the miasma of Eidolons."

"May the gods smite you and your wretched temper."