First Impressions

This was all I had to offer you, young scribe. But your journey is not yet at the end. Go to your trainer and and inform them of your success here. <Kronah grabs an odd-looking jar.> I don't suppose you'd like to take some pickled crocolisk eggs with you for the road, would you? <As she unlocks the lid, the foulest odor you've ever smelled permeates the air and you reel back in disgust.> Fine, be that way. It's an acquired taste anyway. Takes thousands of years to train the palate.