As the sun beat down uncaringly and the sweat trickled down Teodron’s back, the half-dwarf sent up a fervent prayer to Metisa that he’d find the reagent he needed for class soon. He’d been instructed by his professor to go out onto the savannah and find this specific rare flower for use in a potion; supposedly, it was to teach him the value of gathering his own supplies and of being self-sufficient. While Elbion offered plentiful markets to both buy and sell the goods any successful mage might need, apparently there were times when he’d be out in the field and would need to improvise.
Now, the student understood this logic. He agreed with it, even: he shouldn’t get too reliant on his comfortable life in the city. But he intended to be a scholar, not a battle mage, and in this relentless heat, among the seemingly endless grass, he found it hard to accept that this was truly necessary. Still, he trod onward—thought he was always careful to make sure he could keep Elbion in the distance, lest he get lost—through the waving green and tan grasses, looking for an elusive splash of color.
His height didn’t help: sometimes, the plants were taller than him at times. And being closer to the ground wasn’t much of an asset either, since all he could see was endless savannah. He wasn't trained in fieldcraft, after all. But he refused to go back empty-handed (well his staff with its runes was in his hands, but metaphorically speaking). Even if his pack felt heavier by the moment, even if his feet made their complaints known loudly and often, even if the sun continued to beat down relentlessly. He was a stellar student, and he would remain that way. Even if it took him days to find this thrice-cursed flower.
Now, the student understood this logic. He agreed with it, even: he shouldn’t get too reliant on his comfortable life in the city. But he intended to be a scholar, not a battle mage, and in this relentless heat, among the seemingly endless grass, he found it hard to accept that this was truly necessary. Still, he trod onward—thought he was always careful to make sure he could keep Elbion in the distance, lest he get lost—through the waving green and tan grasses, looking for an elusive splash of color.
His height didn’t help: sometimes, the plants were taller than him at times. And being closer to the ground wasn’t much of an asset either, since all he could see was endless savannah. He wasn't trained in fieldcraft, after all. But he refused to go back empty-handed (well his staff with its runes was in his hands, but metaphorically speaking). Even if his pack felt heavier by the moment, even if his feet made their complaints known loudly and often, even if the sun continued to beat down relentlessly. He was a stellar student, and he would remain that way. Even if it took him days to find this thrice-cursed flower.