Matheson exited the stink-rat marsh dungeon. He was quite exhausted, and going from the dank humid environment of the marsh to the cold dry environment of the bare winter forest was an unwelcome change. He spent all night in the dungeon, and the sun was just beginning to come up – that’s when he saw a glint on the ground. Crouching down, he found that it was one of the town guard’s scouts’ various badges.

“Huh, one of the scouts must’ve dropped it. I’ll give it to a guard on the way back, maybe I’ll get a reward.”

Matheson no longer looked like a noble, being covered in filth and stinking like a sewer – though through sheer bitterness and tenacity, he kept fighting through the dungeon, no longer caring about how he looked or smelt. In his own mind, a noble who couldn’t support themselves was simply a finely dressed beggar, and this change in his thoughts was what drove him. His pride wouldn’t allow him to stay the same.