“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.”
