Heaving breaths and the slight crackle of torchwood were the only sounds that echoed inside the now mostly empty room in the abandoned catacombs of the dungeon. Laurion stood over his defeated enemy with sweat dripping down his brow and the remnants of a mimic’s shattered frame the only evidence of his perils. He was part of a group that had gone in on the promises of wealth, glory, and adventure and of course having been split up due to a trap landed him to explore part of the dungeon on his own. Laurion was a bard, a jack of all trades, but certainly not a weak link in the group. However his greed and arrogance had led him astray from what should have been an obvious trap, a treasure chest with jewels and gold spilling out the mouth had given him glitter eyes at being able to hoard such wealth to himself rather than share it with his comrades. They’d never know he encountered a treasure chest on his own, why would they?

But like all things too good to be true in the horrid backwards nation of Gronnfjall it was a lie, Laurion had ventured to this country with his comrades on the promises of an endless summer paradise and easy mercenary jobs but instead it was a frigid winter wonderland… At least the money wasn’t a lie. A lack of mercenaries and available manpower meant they were able to charge an absurd fee for their troubles. “This damn job is really getting to be not worth it..”

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