Emberflame Ridge You'll be a scab, not a martyr

@Sage

Due to his lankiness and overall wan body, Asbjørn had never been good at fighting. He'd been named by his mother in hopes of him one day living up to her image of him as a fearless diety of a bear, but lacked both the confidence and build to fufill that wish. Instead, he preferred to play a more academic role, and found the study of poisonous plants fascinating. Rather than using tooth and claw, Asbjørn thought it was smart to use the effects of various inedible plants for battling. He much preferred to use his brain over his (lack of) brawn.

Interested in learning more about the world around him and the deadly plants that inhabitated it, Asbjørn had trotted his way through the looming forest of the Sunspire Mountains. The skinny boy was now staring down at a three-leafed plant, its smell and appearance bringing back foggy memories of his puphood. Carefully he sniffed at it, shutting his navy blue eyes in an attempt to recall what his mother had called the foliage. He was mentally grasping at straws here for the name of it, but images of his days as a naughty pup flashed in his mind as he continued to examine the plant.

Poison...something or another. Asbjørn grumbled to himself under his breath, now narrowing his eyes in confusion. The name was at the tip of his tongue! The lobo circled the leafy green plant (very careful not to touch the thing) and thought about the times where he'd suffered from rashes and blisters after rolling around in bushes of the plant as an adventurous tyke. Ivy? Poison ivy? Yes, that was it! Asbjørn yipped in excitement at him remembering the name of the mystery poison plant, beaming as he looked for a way to unearth it. Poison ivy!