Here is a cleric, climbing a hill with the help of a walking stick.

He's nearly to the lizardfolk village that's his current destination, carrying books and trade goods; if all goes well, he'll leave with enough rare dyes and potion reagents to convince the traders that it's worth adding it to their routes, despite the difficulty of the terrain - the village is at the edge of the Ponocola Bog, on the bank of Lake Torringlita, and only accessible to wagons by going the long way around, as he's doing now.

At least the view is nice, though of course he always thinks that.

The day wears on toward evening, and he begins to stray from the path, such as it is, to look for a suitable campsite.