Throg shook himself awake. It was morning and a thin grey mist lay over the land. The campfire had burned out and he felt a chill creeping into his bones. He looked around for the others. They were not there. He was alone.
A raven flew down, holding a scrap of parchment in its beak. Throg took the parchment and gave the raven a piece of mackerel in exchange. The raven did not wait but flew off, croaking "so long, and thanks for all the fish" as it departed.
Throg looked at the parchment. It seemed important. He shrugged, and put it into his belt pouch. One day, he thought, he would find someone who could read and they would tell him what it meant. For now, he would run swiftly south-east towards the rising sun. This was always a good thing to do, for it was pleasant to have the warmth of the sun on one's face.
Far above in the heavens, a god smote the table and raged. "You were supposed to read the note and get the next clue to the boss quest!" thundered the god. "I spent hours on this next encounter and I had all the tactics worked out for the mountain trolls!"
But Throg did not hear the angry god and went his way.
Meanwhile ...