Wounded || Open
The young mage braced himself against the trunk of a nearby tree. His breathing was shallow and uneasy. A feeling of nausea flooded his body, and he had to resist the urge to vomit. Tormod's entire body began to shiver; he felt so cold despite the the many layers of his robes and the sun that shined brightly above the trees overhead. He was already breaking out into a cold sweat which didn't help his situation in the slightest. Did he have a fever?
His legs grew too tired to support his weight. Tormod slid to the floor, his back against the tree. He lifted a trembling hand to brush the sweat soaked hair that clung to his face away from his eyes; his headband only did so much at this point.
He closed his eyes to subdue the pain in his head before slowly looking down to check on the bandages on his leg. The vulnerary he applied earlier to it had rubbed off on the cloth which had been bound too loose and pulled apart by his constant movement through the forest. He pulled off what was left of his bandages—not that they were of much left anyway—and found that the gash on his leg had became discolored and infected.Without any vulneraries and no healers in sight, there wasn't much he could do. He was at his limit.
