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For someone who couldn’t swim, who rarely bathed, and would never intentionally drink it, Draeth spent entirely too much time around water. Normally, this would not seem too much an oddity, being a bully boy for Capers the Gnome down on the wharfs. But this time Draeth was hugging his bowels, hoping against hope that they wouldn’t split asunder and wash the heaving decks with his innards. Yet compared to the deafening endless ringing in his ears and the sharp, dagger-like pins jabbing relentlessly behind his eyes, the pain in his belly was something he could almost tolerate. No, he’d take the belly ache with a smile in exchange for relief from this damned nightmare of a head ache. But alas, no, he was cursed with both -cursed as surely as if the Hand of Kos had touched him.
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