Panting. Heavy panting. The elf wrestler, Wrasslin Famire found himself covered knee deep in blood and dirt. Before him, a pack of wild boars. One readied its hooves, kicking off the ground sending dirt back before it charged toward Wrasslin. The burly elf took a crouching position, ready to grab the boar. Bam! A slap echoed through the forest clearing as Wrasslin grappled the boar by the face. He gripped hard, then swung the boar, throwing him back at the others. Wrasslin took position again, ready for anything. The boars left him alone.

The elf sighed and looked off in the distance. The City of Nele was not far off, not that he knew exactly where it was. His master had told him to travel there and seek a group of fool hardy adventurers to travel with. Wrasslin could not object. Anything to keep him away from his home.

About a day or so later, perhaps more and maybe less- Wrasslin's sense of time had been thrown off, Wrasslin arrived at the city. He looked around, taking in the sights and sounds. There was some kind of festival going on. He looked bewildered, curious as to what was happening or what exactly the city folk were celebrating. He crossed his arms and nodded.