HP:Wounded MV:Fresh - a snarling trolloc: Wounded>
The Great Blight
The sweet and humid air makes you gag, and struggle not to retch. Sweat
trickles down your clothes, and creates an overwhelming desire to scratch and
rub your limbs. You feel unclean, as if the contamination of the Blight is
spreading to you, and you check yourself for a rash or some outbreak of
disease.
[ Exits: e w ]
You see fresh tracks of Khan leaving west.
You see fresh tracks of Khan leaving east.
a black warhorse is standing here, being ridden by you.
You flee head over heels.
HP:Wounded MV:Fresh >
`
They don't seem to be here.
HP:Wounded MV:Fresh >
`
The sun slowly disappears in the west.
They don't seem to be here.
HP:Hurt MV:Fresh >
They don't seem to be here.
HP:Hurt MV:Fresh >
w
`
It is pitch black...
HP:Hurt MV:Fresh >
They don't seem to be here.
HP:Hurt MV:Fresh >
`
Suddenly Someone stabs you in the back, R.I.P....
You wish that your wounds would stop BLEEDING so much!
Your fame has been diminished.
You are dead! Sorry...