Journey of the Sorceror [Open, 2 slots for now]

[Halide]

The badlands - a torrid, unrelenting land that left little sanctuary for life or luxury. Deep scars in the very earth belched heat from unfathomable chasms, frozen glaciers held centuries upon centuries of water, and tundra held firm below, the ground frozen solid wherever it had not been cleft in twain. A land where few made home, few made trek and journey, and very few sought opportunity. There was little here to aid the wayward traveller, and less still to guide anyone foolish enough to forget to bring the proper equipment.

But, that said, since there was little in the way of life to be found, it made for many opportunities for the bold or brave to see that which might not have been seen by living eyes for hundreds of years. For Mirthbane, that was exactly what he was looking for. The coal-coated pony was wrapped tight in greys and browns, a blemish of forestry colours upon the pale, icy blues and whites of the great icy expanses, magic bursts of light occasionally bursting hither and yon as he went. Strapped upon his back, a rattling collection of vials and tools, of lenses and scrolls, and more importantly of drink and shelter. He was no idiot - he might have been a bit sore of back and burdened with just a touch of excess, but he was prepared for both survival and for study. Still, he was but one pony, and the badlands from high above simply dwarfed him into little more than a mottle upon the immense, open landscape.

Far from home, far from cities or townships or universities, he'd marched his own way through the frost and the snow in search of those precious, barely-touched spots of life. Herbology and potion-brewery were his trades, and with the Everfree less of an option than usual, he'd made the trek far beyond the gnashing of terrible teeth and the roaring of terrible roars. Here, he had the opportunities for discovery and solitude that oft honed his talents. Not that anyone else might have known that at the very time, but such was the case for the little-known wildspony.

Of all the days to be so far from Princess and country, though, this was not one of the worse days so deep into the badlands. There were no stone-rending winds tearing havoc between peaks, no blinding blizzards hurling a billion tiny icy daggers at harrowing speeds, there was no hoarfrost fog looking to freeze solid anything unlucky enough to be caught without torch or campfire. No, it was a mild sort of day, where the chill was bearable, the wind was a muttering rather than a howl, and where the sun shone down from between innocuous clouds.

And so the day had begun. A solitary unicorn marching across the vast crest of lava-hewn rockface, head low and steadfast, approaching one of the greater hotspots amidst the badlands, searching out new life to study and examine. Perhaps today, he might find something new - or at very least, something that few would have expected.