THE ROGUE'S
STORY

The ancient map had promised treasure beyond the Darkwood Swamp, but it failed to mention the treacherous mud pits that lurked beneath the rotting leaves. The Rogue, cloaked in crimson and shadow, had been tracking the legendary Crystal of Whispers for three days straight. Their golden eyes, usually sharp and calculating, had been fixed on the distant ruins when disaster struck.

One misplaced step, and the ground gave way. Thick, viscous mud swallowed their boots, then their legs, pulling them down with an almost sentient hunger. The Rogue cursed under their breath, their pristine leather armor now caked in brown sludge. They clawed at nearby roots, finally managing to haul themselves onto solid ground, panting and thoroughly filthy.

But there was no time to waste. The merchant in the village had warned them: deliver the Crystal by moonrise, or the contract was void. The Rogue stumbled toward a nearby stream, their once-intimidating silhouette now comically marred by layers of muck. They scrubbed frantically at their armor, watching the murky water carry away their dignity along with the mud.

Twenty minutes later, somewhat cleaner but still smelling of swamp water, the Rogue resumed their quest. Their red hood was askew, their confidence slightly dented, but their determination burned brighter than ever. The Crystal awaited, and no amount of mud would stop them from claiming their prize. Though they made a mental note: next time, bring a spare set of clothes.