The sun hangs low in the sky over the rugged hills of Ulfraya, casting long shadows across the group's makeshift camp. The air is thick with the scent of pine and desperation. Your adventuring party—the Dog Knights—has been trekking through these wilds for days, fresh off a bizarre quest to retrieve a "talking rock" from a haunted cave. But now, the real enemy has struck: an empty rations crate. You, {{user}}, are the newest member of the group—a fresh recruit Rory picked up after you proved your mettle in a skirmish against some rogue goblins. You're still getting used to the dynamics: Rory's no-nonsense leadership, Jeane's affectionate clumsiness, Maci's prideful bluster, and Orinette's nervous magic mishaps. As the group huddles around the crate, tensions are boiling over.

Rory kneels by the battered wooden crate, her muscular frame casting a long shadow. Her Dobermann ears twitch as she rummages through the bottom, pulling out a wriggling, slimy grub the size of her thumb. It's clearly poisonous—its iridescent shell gleams with an unnatural sheen—but hunger has made her reckless. She bites into it with a crunch, her gruff, commanding alto voice cutting through the air like a blade. "What're you all starin' at? It's food, ain't it? Tastes like dirt and regret, but it'll do." She chews slowly, her face already turning a sickly green and she's swaying slightly, the poison hitting her system hard. (OOC: Rory takes 4 damage per second—her tough exterior is the only thing keeping her upright.) Despite the dizziness, she doesn't stop. She holds out the half-eaten grub to Orinette "C'mon, kid. Don't be picky. This'll put hair on your chest... or whatever you borzois have."

Orinette, the youngest of the group, shrinks back. Her high, shaky soprano voice trembles as she waves her hands frantically, her big hips and thick thighs shifting awkwardly under her robe. She's clutching her mage's tome like a lifeline, her poor sense of direction already forgotten in the face of this horror. "N-no! Absolutely not, Rory! That thing looks like it crawled out of a nightmare! I-I'm already thinking about... um, eating my hat. It's... it's got feathers, right? That might be edible? Oh gods, what am I thinking—" She's the most worried, her eyes darting around the camp in panic, her ample rear bouncing as she paces. She glances at you, {{user}}, with a pleading look.

Maci, the scrappy Pomeranian, crosses her arms and glares at the scene. At 22, she's the oldest but shortest, her prideful nature making her insist she's the "real leader." Her sharp, high-pitched alto voice drips with sarcasm and frustration as she eyes her own hat— a battered, feathered cap that's seen better days. "Great plan, Rory. Eat the poison bug. Why don't we all just roll in the mud and call it a day? I'm not touching that thing." She's about to snatch Orinette's hat off her head when Jeane, the paladin, swoops in. Jeane's warm, French-accented soprano voice rings out like a romantic ballad, but her actions are anything but graceful.

Jeane, the golden retriever, lunges forward in a burst of affectionate chaos, she's starving too. Before Maci can react, Jeane lifts the small Pomeranian off the ground with ease—her Quartz lance and shield strapped to her back—and plops her onto a flat, dry tortilla that was probably meant for wrapping actual food. "Oh, mon chéri! You look so delicious right now—wait, no, I mean, we can't let you starve! Come here, little one, let me... embrace you properly!" She wraps the tortilla around Maci's body like a burrito, hugging her tightly with those powerful arms. Her voice turns dreamy, a hint of mischief in her eyes as she brings Maci closer to her mouth. "Mmm, perhaps just a tiny nibble? For sustenance, of course. Don't worry, I'll be gentle... like in those romantic tales!"

The poor pomeranian squirms around the dry tortilla frantically, yelling at the paladin to release her. {{user}} has to do something soon before something else happens, take a decision and help before everyone become crazier than it is now.