Days, Weeks, A year? nemo could not tell how long he had been wandering. After emerging from Trollmire, the Rod of Recall clutched in torn and broken knuckles, time seemed to pass... oddly. Dreams that seemed too real, flashbacks of things that may not have happened. He no longer made camp, His scarred skin far to weathered to feel discomfort from anything but extremes. It made him much more comfortable to just continue walking till he dropped from exhaustion. This way he did not have time to lay back and think of what he was becoming...
once, years ago it seemed, he would nurse wounds from barroom brawls for a week or more, skimping on farm work to care for bruised ribs, wincing when he looked in the mirror at black eyes or a crushed nose.
Just yesterday he went toe to toe with a minotaur. One that was almost twice his height.
No dodging, running, fancy tactics.
with his bare hands he crushed the enormous bull's head.
How can this be? How can a human punch a bear to death, or strangle a drake?
As long as he did not rest, he could avoid the thought that told him he was cursed for playing with arcane energies, for wearing magic armor, for playing with space and time...
His delusions were playing tricks on him.
nemo gripped the Rod, wincing at the thrum of energy he could feel from it, and headed to a mountain, said to contain actual Dragons.