An elven figure moved through the a landscape of clinging mud, gnarled trees, and grasping vines.
He was visibly taller, his frame solid and honed. A suit of black leather armor, designed for mobility, hugged his form. In his right hand, he carried a spear tucked under his arm, and a small pack was slung over his back.
This was Aurelion, and two years of relentless training had chiseled his body into something dangerous.
He thought while walked in the swamp. "Five hours since I set foot in this shithole, and I'm already starting to feel hungry," he mused. "I have supply, but I don't want to use them so soon. And in this damned place, it's likely nothing is free of poison."
The list of his objectives scrolled through his mind. "Sixteen goblin ears. Twenty four spider eyes. Five petals from a swamp lily."
Then, Roric's words echoed "You have one week, brat. I don't care how you do it. Collect these ingredients and reach the extraction point."
