The Madman’s Mountains were no place to be during the autumn Storms, especial at the start of the season, but that is just precisely where our new character Glen found himself today as he plied across the northern reaches of the range. No specific laws prevented folk from jumpin’ ‘round the rocks in these parts, but then it had to be said that no specific laws existed at all in the Assol Outlands. Common sense ruled the ethics out here, sense that hardly seemed available in the head of lil’ Glen these days.

“Hurgh!” groaned Glen as he heaved his body over the rugged path. No such path where he was lookin’. If Blom knew what he was doin’ out here in the rains he’d be gettin’ another tellin off.

The horizon was just a gray thing out there past the peaks. It didn’t really factor into Glen’s task so it didn’t hold his attention much. He’d be editing this paragraph out if he ever revisits this scene later on.

“Hurghh!” he groaned again. The rain kept him from making any significant progress as he hustled along the ridge. Where were those JIBBERJABS?! Needed to get his hands on one of those things. It had been awhile but he knew he could recognize one if he saw it.

“Maybe I could find some fleepin’ COVER for a docket,” muttered Glen in what was more a hysterical scream than a mutter. Some trees over there on his right - rippling like flags in this wind - seemed to offer some brief cover.

“C‘mon over, Glen!” the trees would be saying at this point if indeed they were capable of language, “we gotcha!!! Gotcha over here, laddie lad! Come check out our safe little glen!”

“Aye,” Glen sighed. Mayhap venturin’ forth into the Madman’s Mountains in this madman’s weather was a MADMAN’S ERRAND after all. He would set up some shelter, take stock of his provisions, and resume when today’s storm finished blowin’ its blowin’.