A young man trudged through a swampy forest. It was wet and dark, and the trees were thick around him. His pale skin glistened with sweat and caused the circles under his brown eyes to appear more intense than thought possible. His blond hair, cut short near his head, was caked with mud to match the grey cloak that hung over his right shoulder. He grumbled at his poor state, having woken up a week prior with his head spinning after the... “[i]accident[/i]”. The situation was far less than desirable to him. His mouth was dry with thirst and his stomach growled with hunger, but he hadn’t found more sustenance other than a few puddles of water and an occasion berry bush. In his entire time wandering the swamp, he never found a single sign of civilization. Still, food was the least of his concerns. He needed to find out where he was and return home as soon as possible. At least he still had his equipment, undamaged despite what happened. His foot suddenly caught on a root, and he found his face being dunked into a puddle of mud. With an angry groan he rose, spitting a foul taste from his mouth and wiping his eyes as clean as was possible with equally dirty gloves. Then something grabbed his attention, a distant and almost melodious sound—singing? At first he thought it to be his imagination, but after a moment’s listening he confirmed it to be singing. He did not hesitate to follow the music, and when he drew closer, it became clearer; a small group of men, laughing and shouting the words of some sort of local tune. And soon, the flickering of a campfire could be seen through the trees. The man quickened his pace and stumbled toward the light. When he at last reached his destination, he was met with the sight of four men around the fire, each with a bottle in their hands. It was obvious that whatever they were drinking has taken an effect on their ability to think clearly. “Excuse me, friends,” he called out with weary voice, “could you direct me to the nearest town, or in the very least tell me where a road is?” His words had a light accent to them. “Eh!” One of them exclaimed as they turned to him. “Ain’t no clown here! But there’s bound to be toads everywhere in this... whaddaya call it... [i]swamp[/i].” The cloaked one frowned. “Right... thank you for your help.” Before he walked away, he felt a clumsy hand on his shoulder. “Goin’ so soon? Wait! We didn’t hear your name.” “I am called Errol,” he responded at length. “Errol, celebrate with us and have a drink!” Errol followed the man closer to the fire reluctantly. “And what might you be celebrating?” “Ah! A successful robbing! And soon, a lotta money!” At his announcement, the other three men clashed their bottles together and cheered. Errol paused and looked at them through the corner of his eye, grabbing a rag sitting on one of the crates to wipe his hands clean of the mud. “Is that so? How exciting.” His tone was light and friendly, but he felt his heart begin to pound in his chest; his muscles tensed; anger stirred within him as a memory flashed through his mind. Once his hands were cleaned of most of the mud, Errol threw the rag aside. “Too bad you won’t be able to enjoy your victory much longer.” The men’s laughter was quickly silenced, and they stared at him in confusion. “What you sayin’, Eric?” One of them asked. “It’s [i]Errol[/i]. And I’m saying that your days are over.” Errol didn’t give them time to respond. He raised his fists, revealing discs attached to the backs of his gloves which began to glow an eerie red. The pouches on his belt burst open. A buzzing like that of a swarm of bees filled the air, when suddenly hundreds of tiny crimson beads poured out of the pouches down his legs and spread out over the ground. Errol lowered one hand and lifted the other higher. The robbers watched, frozen in stupor as the beads gathered together into the shape of a large fist. Errol then punched forward, and the beads copied his movement. They crashed into the men, knocking them senseless on the ground. They struggled to rise to their feet, but their efforts were in vain as the beads broke apart again to roll across the ground towards them, engulfing them in a deadly embrace. In seconds they were swallowed completely and blocked from the air. Errol watched them slowly suffocate, his face emotionless as their muffled cries reached his ears. When at last he drew back his hand, the beads retreated to crawl up to his belt and leave the men lying lifeless on the damp ground. The beads settled, and all was quiet again. Even the fire had been snuffed out, a cold darkness taking the place of its light. Errol sighed at the unfortunate way of life the men and turned to move on. He was satisfied, for now, and he didn’t walk long before he discovered that the camp was set up near a narrow path that was illuminated in the moonlight. Without any more thought, he followed the path, hoping it would lead him somewhere that would allow him to find his way home... and perhaps even find a certain person. [spoiler]Bringing in this character and potential villain just to see how he does here (and to try to better my abilities as a DM). He may not appear again for a little while. You/your character can interact with him on the road and have a conversation. A [i]confrontation[/i] is possible depending on how you approach him.[/spoiler]