The noise... it only got worse. And as it did, the ranger wished he were dead. The pain was beyond anything he had an interest in bearing. He couldn't move, or go anywhere to escape it, so he simply lay there. As the pain continued, he began to fill nauseated, the bile in his stomach rising. When the great ogre of a man, whom he'd always respected before, shouted his name, the ranger wished for his bow. The churning of his stomach intensified and he tried to roll over onto his side, fearful that he would vomit on himself, but managed to keep control.<br/><br/>Slumping back on his pillow, pale and clammy, he tried to just breathe. He became aware that someone was beside him, and looked over as he felt an addition of weight on the bed beside him, slight as it was. There was a child there. A child, for crying out loud, looking at him with the benevolent eyes of a monk. Irritable and ill, he wished he could smack the look off his face, until he realized the boy was talking.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">...a traveling healer. Lord Farwulf was killed last night and I've been helping to keep things under control in your absence. Last night, you were given sleeping drugs and we found you in your cabin still sleeping just a while ago. I've woken you up, but I'm afraid you'll have a lingering pain for a while. Tell me, do you remember anyone in your house last night? Anything unusual?"</span><br/><br/>Immediately, he sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide with fear. With a massive amount of effort, he forced himself to take a breath, and swallowed down the rising nausea. This was serious, and he was needed. Duty lent him strength like nothing else could, and he looked back at the boy.<br/><br/>"Tell me what you have learned so far. How was he killed?"<br/><br/>He ignored the question regarding his own attacker, focusing only on the death of his leader.