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Fordim shambled about the edges of the party, trying not to take it too personally that everyone was avoiding him. He found it difficult to blame them, for the noxious smell of his own putresence was disturbing even to him. He hoped that nobody noticed his left hand. It had fallen off soon after his arrival and he had stuck it back on with sharp stick.
He was getting a bit better, though. With the Downs once more open and welcoming he could feel some of the rot being reversed, and new vitality flowing through his veins. The wine helped...well, the wine that made it into his stomach that was, for much of it dribbled out of his mouth as he tried to drink: decayed lips and tongue made swallowing difficult.
He took another deep breath of the invigorating air and felt a little better still. He plunged once more back into Books and Mirth...soon, he would be his old self again, and then, those people in the CbC had best watch out....
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