The Path of the Adventurer

Chapter 17

 Erion gradually opened his eyes. All he could see were dark trees looming over his body, muffled by haunting fog. The sky was not even visible due to the fog, but it was dark enough to know it was evening. "Where... Am... I?" He mumbled, barely able to let his words come out. Sleepily sitting up, more of this strange, forlorn place was visible. Inches ahead of him was a muddy pond, with the tips of grease-covered stones peeking out. Looking behind him, he realized he had been resting at the foot of a dead yew. Surrounding the area was a tall bank that circled from the end of the pond to behind the tree, trapping Erion inside like a prison. The fog on the surface above was heavily condensed, making it impossible to see what was up above.

Erion slowly picked himself up off the ground, looked over his body - his hands, legs, and bottom were covered in muck. To his dismay, he had landed right in the middle of a dismal swamp. "Crap..." Cursed Erion. "That was totally uncalled for!" He brushed the muck off his hands and clothes, only managing to rid himself of only some of the dirt. Fortunately, there was no mud in his hair, for his head had been resting on a set of mushrooms while he was unconscious.

"MAGON!" He called vehemently. He waited, and waited, yet there was no reply. He tried calling for Huffey, Tikana, and Norder, but there were still no replies at all, only the sound of the wind. "They might not even be here to begin with..." Groaned Erion. The bewildered elf stared silently into the bubbling mud in the pond in front of him. "Diablon..." Erion groaned angrily. "He's gonna pay for this." Staring at the foggy banks, Erion stepped forward. I'm not going to get anywhere if I just sit here and scream at the air. It's hard to see around here, but that's no reason to just give up and die. He thought. I have to keep going.

He reached his leg onto the first stone, which was wide enough to support two feet. He set his other foot on it, only for it to slip and splash into the cold, uncomfortable muck. "Damn!!" Erion cursed. Ahead, the rest of the rocks were a lot smaller, barely enough to support a single foot. In number, there were only eight. "Great. Just great!" Ranted Erion, angrily. He continued to stare at the stone, wondering if this attempt could set him free. Sighing, Erion muttered, "Here goes nothing..."

He crossed the mucky ground, moving at a pace fast enough so he would not slip or fall. He aimed to step on the tiny stones in the pool, but despite his strong efforts, mud smeared his boots all over. When he neared the opposite side of the pool, he landed his foot on a stone that was slippery enough to make him trip over, crashing face first into the ground. Mud splashed into the air, flying into the banks ahead. Erion reeled in pain; not only was he soaking from head to toe, but two stones had struck his midsection and his right thigh. "I'm already beginning to hate this place..." He grunted. Shrugging off the pain and standing up straight, Erion shook his head rapidly, shaking the mud out of his messy blonde hair. Stepping out of the water, he finally reached the end of the pond. Ruthlessly, he dug his fingers into the soil of the banks and set his foot on a circular stone that was barely sticking outwards. Next, he moved his hand further upwards to reach the bank's edge, successfully grabbing hold onto a twig sticking out. Exerting himself, Erion pushed himself up, managing to reach his arm onto the bank's grassy, yet slimy edge. At the same time, he inadvertently broke off the twig that was supporting himself, causing him to quickly grab hold onto the edge. Exerting himself even further, he strongly overcame the steep bank, lying tiredly on the ground right after he set foot onto the surface. Ahead of him was a foggy path, and the only thing visible was the ground. Erion stood up and followed the sticky, muddy path in front of him.

As Erion traversed through the sticky, foggy swamp, none of his allies were able to be seen. Most of the ground was nothing deep mud and craggy rocks, and the fog revealed little of what was up ahead. Not to mention that the rocks he could use for getting still only peeked out of the mud a little bit. Although he had experiences with marshes during his expeditions back home, this place made Erion exhausted. To make matters worse, the food in the swamp was terrible. When he was hungry, he picked a strange, blue, moon-shaped fruit off a tree to refresh himself. But he forced the bite down and threw the fruit into the muck, for the fruit in the swamp was sour - nothing like the fresh apples of Casthor he was familiar with. Oh, how Erion despised this place. He could not run, not only because of the thick muck slowing down his speed, but he did not want to spend an unknown number of days in the swamp in cold, soggy boots. To him, this was even more frustrating than Mount Scaleburn. Despite his misfortune, he still focused solely on finding his friends, and kept a close guard in case enemies were nearby.