For his draconic appearance, he's persecuted, but for his strength, he's feared. This is the story of Alidorim Ulkith, a Dragonborn warrior. Shunning most of civilization Ulkith braves the dangers of the Sword Coast as he seeks out a fortune to rebu...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Part 1: The Journey
Swamps... Alidorim hated swamps. He hated everything about swamps; the heat and humidity that made it feel like he was inhaling soup; the sucking mud that caused every meter to feel like a mile; the putrid water that seeped beneath his armor; and the swarms of insects that bit and stung at any exposed portion of his scaly hide. Yet here he was, deep in the Evermoores, searching for black mushrooms of all things.
As he struggled to yank his clawed foot out of the quagmire for the umpteenth time, he couldn't help but wonder if the payout was really worth the effort. At the time one-hundred silver for a quick fetch and carry job seemed like child's play. The job lost some of its novelty when the client mentioned that the mushrooms only grew on the northern faces of rocks and trees near caves. According to the client, the closest cave formations were a half days journey west of the city.
Half a candle-mark after receiving the cave's location he was trudging through the wilderness. The task had gotten less and less enjoyable with each step. It got to the point he was operating on pure stubborn determination. Alidorim had already committed so much time and energy to the job he might as well see it through to the end. The client had even offered to amend the purse with an additional fifty silver pieces for every extra kilogram of mushrooms he obtained on top of the two already agreed upon.
Alidorim Ulkith; proud Dragonborn Adventurer reduced to slogging through swamps filled with mold laced air in order to pick mushrooms for chump change.
"All so he can cook a goulash," the Dragonborn growled in frustration. "It had better be a damn fine goulash." As part of the payment, Alidorim would receive a portion of the prized meal. His stomach rumbled at the thought. A proper meal would do wonders for his morale.
He had to admit the smell of the bog hadn't been nearly so bad inside the city, but outside...? It was a challenge just to keep from gagging at the scent of stagnant water, rotting undergrowth, and the ever-present dank moldy undertone of every breeze.
The balmy swamps of the Evermoore were littered with rancid bogs, mudflats, and algae choked lakes. The lakes were dotted with Islands teeming with turfs of fungi and spores, and guarded lairs of dangerous local wildlife.
Worst of all was the humidity. His linens were soaked within minutes of stepping outside the city, and the moisture was starting to seep into the padded lining of his armor. He was grateful for the well-tanned leather shed most of the liquid, but that fact did little to comfort him as he struggled to breathe. Each breath was a strain on his lungs. The thick damp air was bad enough but coupled with the exertion of just walking it sounded like he was in a constant state of near asphyxiation.
Now he was wading through water and mud that ranged from passable to nearly waist-deep. It wasn't long before every piece of his armor and the crimson scales beneath were soaked. A horse would've reduced his fatigue, but it turned out the everglades outside Everlund were so dense as to make use of any steed impractical. He was as likely to drown the beast as himself.
