The thick, gelatinous muck became glued to Mark's armor. The swamp was notorious for death, but it had become known recently for great treasure. Last month, a hapless denizen of the area found an opal blade, a relic of the past. Now, for extra cash to feed his starving family, Mark risked his life just for the slight chance to find a relic.
Suddenly, something bit Mark's leg. He instinctively looked down at his leg, plunging his head into completely darkness. He struggled to release his head, but the muck held fast. Soon, his lungs burned with poisonous carbon dioxide. Finally, with a great excursion of strength, he lifted his head free and exhaled hard. He swallowed mouthfuls of air before he remembered the danger he was in. Mark decided to run away and try to heal his wounds. However, the second he moved, his foot snagged a swamp plant and he fell face first into the muck. The swamp water filled his nose and mouth, but instead of dying, his lungs filled with pristine air, his heart beat more efficiently, his fatigue drained. His leg healed instantly. Without struggling, Mark slowly returned to his feet. He quickly bottled some of the muck and returned to his home.
The vastness of Dimnina always amazed Mark, but now the simple bottle of swamp muck was so much more amazing now. It contained greater healing power than even the strongest of mages or the wisest doctor. With quick steps, Mark entered an alley and gently tapped a brick with a nearby stick. The wall disappeared and Mark tenderly put the stick exactly back where he found it and entered the new area. The wall reappeared right after him. Mark made his way down a series of steps and entered a smoky pub. A bartender wiped a mug in a circular fashion as two men at the bar talked about the state of the town's economy while smoking cigarettes. One man gave a cough and the other spit in a cloth as Mark approached them. He scratched his head slowly, then quickly and the two men both put out their cigarettes.
"What have you found?" The man asked who had coughed.
"Just some muck Jackson," Mark placed the bottle on the counter.
"You are worthless kid! You brought back some crappy muck? There are billions of gallons of this stuff in the swamp! The best you can do is bottle some?" The man who spit punched Mark in the face, breaking his nose. Blood trickled slowly down his lip. Mark uncorked the bottle of muck and took a drink of it. Suddenly, the bone reformed, healed completely. Both men gasped, Jackson dropping his beer mug. The glass shattered and shards fell all over the floor.
"Kid, what happened?" Jackson asked, fumbling for another cigarette.
"The muck has healing powers! How much can you pay me for this?" Mark suddenly got excited. My family will finally eat well tonight! Mark thought.
"Six bronze coins," Replied Jackson, taking a quick puff of his new cigarette. Mark's jaw dropped.
"Six... coins? I can't even buy a loaf of bread with that!" Mark exclaimed.
"Yeah, so?" the man who spit asked. Mark unsheathed his sword and held it ready to strike. Something red flashed in the eyes of Jackson and Mark's sword melted. The molten iron washed over his hand and stripped it of flesh. Wincing with pain, Mark looked at the two men with eyes of anger and starving for answers.
"The grunts never get paid well, you should learn that now." The man who spit eyes flashed with blue and Mark fell out of his seat, unconscious.
"By the time he wakes up, we'll be long gone." Jackson broke out into laughter followed by his associate. They kicked Mark off to the side and left the pub.