Boot Camp Day 9
Apr. 18th, 2011 02:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nyykiDay 9: Male Hobbit, Sleepy, Dutch Oven
Brandenberk leaned against his bedroll and stared at the fire. In it his dutch oven sat, buried in coals. He could just start to smell the wonderful dish cooking in it, a crusty meat pie with lots of vegetables and spices. Now, if it would only finish before he lost consciousness.
He packed his pipe with pipeweed again, a special blend that was good for stimulating the mind and body. How long would that accursed spell last?
As he grabbed the hook and checked the pie's progress he thought about the day's events. It seemed so easy to sneak into the wizard's tower and snatch the bag that the elf wanted from the workbench. After all, the wizard was off adventuring. But when he felt the little glass globe on the floor crack, he knew he'd made a mistake. One whif told him it was a standard sleeping potion, though very concentrated. He grabbed the sack and ran, fear fighting the sleep. After all, he'd always been fairly immune to magical sleep.
Now he smoked his pipe and tried to fight off the sleepiness.
He looked at the dutch oven again, and said, as he scratched a hairy foot, "Please, finish cooking before I can't stay awake anymore."
Brandenberk leaned against his bedroll and stared at the fire. In it his dutch oven sat, buried in coals. He could just start to smell the wonderful dish cooking in it, a crusty meat pie with lots of vegetables and spices. Now, if it would only finish before he lost consciousness.
He packed his pipe with pipeweed again, a special blend that was good for stimulating the mind and body. How long would that accursed spell last?
As he grabbed the hook and checked the pie's progress he thought about the day's events. It seemed so easy to sneak into the wizard's tower and snatch the bag that the elf wanted from the workbench. After all, the wizard was off adventuring. But when he felt the little glass globe on the floor crack, he knew he'd made a mistake. One whif told him it was a standard sleeping potion, though very concentrated. He grabbed the sack and ran, fear fighting the sleep. After all, he'd always been fairly immune to magical sleep.
Now he smoked his pipe and tried to fight off the sleepiness.
He looked at the dutch oven again, and said, as he scratched a hairy foot, "Please, finish cooking before I can't stay awake anymore."
