Morg fell to his knees and groaned, stomach roiling. He rolled around, clutching his belly. As he writhed in agony, he reflected back on the meal he’d eaten at the duergar inn. They hadn’t served anything unfamiliar. Unless the particular combination of foods was somehow toxic to humans, it couldn’t have been the cuisine. He managed to get to his hands and knees and crawl towards the door. Then, feeling like his organs were rolling up into his chest, he vomited. He could tell by the smell that he’d been poisoned and probably only his unusual physiology that saved him.