“Of all things, why did it have to be frogs?”
Tybus wrinkled his nose as he slogged through the murky swamp water. The cold stuff came up to his knees, soaking into his pants as mud squelched into his boots. Large insects buzzed about his ears; he slapped one of the annoying things away from his face for the umpteenth time and yanked his wooden staff from where it had sunk into the mud. His small dragon companion twitched her tail in agitation where she sat perched on his shoulder.
“I bloody hate this bog,” the half-elf grunted. Normally he avoided this area like the plague. It reeked of rotting leaves and wet earth and was full of a variety biting insects. It was an incredibly unpleasant place to be. Circumstances had forced him, however, to abandon the good sense that usually kept him on solid ground. He’d been hired to concoct a particularly complicated potion. The ingredients were, by and large, rare and difficult to find. Over the course of the last w