Must Hate Dwarves

[Broken]

Syrupy little dark maroon drops made his trail as Damien Rashard Haze slowly limped up the path and out of the field where his deeds lay. The dismembered corpses of a few ruffians that had been intent on teaching him a lesson (Though he seemed to be the only one qualified for teaching) lay face down amongst the tall reedy golden grass. Was it for spilling a drink? Or just some simple misunderstanding? He couldn't remember, the fatigue was a hungry beast that sat on the edge of his conciousness and gobbled up almost any thought that neared it. The torn and bloody coat slowly slid off from his pale back and slumped to the ground lifelessly, and he followed suyit a few weary steps later, sinking to his knees and finally to the ground that felt far more comfortable than any bed in Ettermire. 'Just a little sleep...the gods grant me a rest.'

The plea fell short of the heavens though. The shadowjin cussed silently as he heard soft foot steps approach him, guessing that he'd missed on, but when the spidery hand lay gently on his bruised shoulder, he felt no malice. Groaning, Damien opened his strange eyes and looked up, greeted by quite the charming smile, the sort you couldn't help but trust. Even kneeling here, the spidery man was very tall, far taller than any warrior he'd seen in the halls of the citadel. "I believe I may have a proposition for you," the man said, holding out a little glass tube filled with an odd pale green liquid, stoppered by a cork.

_____

The finished stone of the expertly crafted archway felt surprisingly nice against his still sore back. Here was where the well walked land of Alerar and Erebus stopped and the fields stretched for miles in silence. Not many feet had seen this soil, save for a dwarves own flat ones, but it was an unknown the shadowjin was perpared to dare take. The tall and disturbingly thin man's name had been Clement Whitestorm, an agent of The Grander's Order, one of Althanas' many clans. He'd come bearing unrelenting hospitality. It had begun with the potion in the little glass tube that he now clutched in his even fingered grip, and continued once they'd reached the city. Clement had paid for his brief stay at one of the inns, where the shadowjin had eased his aching body in hot waters laced with soothing herbs. Then, to the tailor, to repair his torn and ample rags he'd once called clothes, though a onceover deemed them unfit to even be curtains in a half way house.

So at this gateway to the unknown, Damien stood a new man, in clothes Clement had deemed "Sure to bring success". Pressed black slacks, a black white pin-striped vest over a smart white button up shirt with a blacvk tie at the neck. The tailor and Clement had laughed when the tie had been placed around his neck, and he tugged at it, scowling, remarking that it "felt like a noose". However, after some time, one quickly got used to it.

Emerging from the shop, the tall man finally offered his proposition, and after such a show of kindness, who was he to decline? He and Clement parted ways once he'd received a briefing of the mission, walking out into the rising sun, carrying his sheathed swords in hand. Glancing out towards the wide fields, barely different from the one where his bloody handiwork lay, the shadowjin had but to wait for the others to gather.

((I had planned that you'd have been approached by an agent oof TGO, not necessarily Clement, after a show of one of any of your skills. That agent would then, of copurse, give you a rundown of the mission, and where to meet Damien. Happy to be writing with you. Closed to Initates who have volunteered.))

[Reiko]

“Mom we have to help her!” Kit pleaded with puppy dog eyes as she looked to her mother’s face looking away to the scene.

A whimpering catgirl with emerald hair was held shivering, she had begged to be let go but it only made the grip tighter and the blade at her throat to take a sip of her blood. Kit guessed the poor thing was a whore who ran into some trouble but seeing the tears leak out of eyes closed in fear made the ronin sympathetic and Inari wanted to play hero.

The large man holding the little catgirl wasn’t alone and there were two thugs moving about while waving about blades and making threats that the kitty girl’s gonna get it if anyone tries anything funny.

“Ok sweetie. But you have to listen to me, we have to be quick.” Kit spoke in her native speech, which the lowbred criminals wouldn’t understand but her child would. “Slowly grab your bow and make sure no one notices and make sure you know where your target is, you’ll only have a second to aim. I’ll do my best to get you as much time as you need.”

Inari nodded and she looked to the muscular man with the girl in hand, the cat girl was pretty small was most nekos tended to be and so she had a pretty large target. Inari made sure she knew where to point the bow before drawing it, but if she drew it the man would surely kill the neko, hopefully mom had an answer.

Kit stood up and walked towards the hostage taker with a smile on her face, the confident smile of a vixen and she used her tails to accentuate the movement of her hips.

“Girl you better stop! You’ll only…” one of the sword wavers started but didn’t finish as he notice the arcane patterns the tails were making, a magic spell and the hostage taker was taken in by the magic as well, the fox in front of them must have been the most beautiful woman they ever laid eyes on and the third member was staring as well.

Inari swallowed nervously as she went for the bow and quickly notched an arrow. Her mother’s spell seemed to break as the six eyes snapped to her. The younger fox girl tried not to whimper as she aligned and released the arrow before thinking, all was left was to pray but there wasn’t even time for that since the Catgirl found herself free as the knife fell away.

“You Bitch!” The two swordsmen yelled as if they were twins and they probably were with the similar sharp features, they charged Inari ready to kill the girl before she could score another hit. The young vixen backed away, wincing and whimpering as she tripped over a chair. The next moment felt like an eternity as she waited for the men to strike but all she heard was the men groan in pain and death.

“Are you alright? I meant to get to them sooner.” Kit asked and when Inari opened her eyes she saw her mother wiping the blood off her sword with a tablecloth. The silent Tavern exploded with cheers of the rogues demise while Kit hugged her child. “You did good, lets get out of here.” The two vixens left the tavern finding it was too noisy.

Once away from people they found the cat girl again, she smiled and curtsied. “Thank you, I thought I was going to die back there.” Once she was gone there came a man in a black suit, the small man looked rather average in everything except his dress.

“I am glad I found such skilled young ladies.” Kit felt that this was a set up, a rather expensive one since it coasted three lives. “I will welcome you into my clan if you can do this job for me.”

The job was to take a mine from the dwarves by any way possible whether Guile or strength of arms and the agent sad he was happy to find that Kit and Inari had both, a pleasant surprise. The job didn’t seem too terrible to Kadenzaa and it would mean some steady work for once and there wouldn’t be anymore hungry nights. She gladly accepted.

=^.^=

The meeting place seemed rather odd, simply an open field with nothing much of interest. It seemed that the fox girls were early as there was only one man there, dressed in black and he made Inari’s tail puff up slightly. Kit smiled and bowed her usual greeting. “Pleasure to meet you, I guess we’re here for the same reason. I’m Doji Kadenzaa and this is my daughter, Inari.” The younger fox girl bowed as well when she heard her mother speak her name.

[Makira]

Makira scowled as she saw the man jump up from behind the table. “And what would you know about the arts of the Shadows, you conniving thief!?” The man was bulky, strong, and arrogant beyond belief. One would think that with the icy blue hair sporting his immense head he would be quite cool tempered. Makira had corrected him on one thing about working with the Shadows, namely that torturing them with Light was an easy way to lose one’s life, and he took it the wrong way, immediately ready to start a confrontation right there and then.

Of course, the man was almost unaware of the people he had been bragging to up till that point, and Makira couldn’t care much less about them either. If they were stupid enough to get scammed into taking lessons from this lodestone-headed idiot, then they deserved to have their money stolen from them in good due. But when someone insulted the Shadowed Arts in such a way as the fool in front of her, she was more than happy to step on some toes in order to make the point that the Shadows were not something to be crossed lightly. It was decided that she had not made that point, and the huge thug in front of her was ready just to beat her up to make a point.

The man balled his fist together and made a trial swing at Makira, to see how she would react to his attack. Of course, Makira did the expected thing at first, dodging directly backwards, acting as if to avoid the blow, but then she reached down and grabbed her daggers from the sheaths on her back. As she continued to back off, she brought the daggers forward, slicing open the fist that had just then reached the spot Makira had been standing.

The man howled in rage and pain as he gazed at the face of the woman who had added injury to insult. Makira just smiled and said, “You’re the one who wanted to fight, so don’t go blaming me. However, I’m not going to apologize for telling you the truth about the Shadowed Arts. Here… Let me show you why they are not to be insulted by being threatened or insulted with Light!” Makira charged a single ball of her Shadow Matrix attack into her hand, throwing it at the man, the two rings spinning, hitting him square in the chest, making a burn no larger that a balled fist.

Makira smiled grimly for a moment before the man came at her again. This time, Makira threw her daggers to the ground, grabbing instead the whip on the front of her belt. It was unwrapped and ready to be used before the man had closed half the distance between himself and Makira. She flipped the whip out and it wrapped around his neck, garroting him, choking the last of his pathetic life out of him. As he struggled, Makira walked forward to him, rolling the whip around her arm to keep it taut, and said, “I told you I would not take an insult against Darkness. Now you know…” As the man slipped into unconsciousness, Makira stepped to his side to let him fall over and unwrapped her whip from around his neck and her arm.

“Honestly…” She said breezily. “I don’t know why these fools keep thinking they have the Darkness figured out. Just because they know the Light, they think they know the Dark. Pathetic…” She watched as a man, a man with effeminate features, walked up to her. He was dressed in an easy black business suit. It confused Makira as to what his type would be doing in a bar such as this, but she did not question it as he had a proposition for her.

“You handle yourself well in both social and battle situations, remaining calm, relentless, and cruel through the entire fight. It would be an honor if you would accept to help with some business we have in Alerar. Interested?” Makira thought for a moment. Like Maera before her, she had the interest in seeing everything in the world she could see before she would consider which area would be her oyster. It would be interesting to get out of the pathetic bar before her and actually do some real work again, so she readily accepted.


_____Some time later_____

Makira looked up as she continued the stop-go flight she had been making to Alerar. There was a grove of trees just ready to be landed in, so she could walk the last part of the trek that would take her where she needed to go. A bird’s-eye view is just perfect for when trying to get to a certain area of the continent, so you can always get your bearings straight. Makira exited the forest, her wings folded neatly behind her. Her new crimson tunic shined red in the sun, and Makira couldn’t feel better about the day. She had a whole new set of clothing to make her look respectable, as well as a new, black leather cloak. She was surprised at the man’s hospitality before she left on the job he had given her. She supposed she wasn’t one to complain, especially now that her clothing was now better than what she could have stolen, even from the richest man in the town she had been prowling for the week before the man had approached her.

As she continued, she spied a trio of people not too far away, and began jogging easily toward them. When she made it, she heard one of them, the fox-woman, whom introduced herself as Doji, and her daughter as Inari. Makira walked the last bit up to them and decided to introduce herself. “I suppose you are the people I will be working with.” When the black phoenix on her shoulder made the mental connection, she amended, “…That we will be working with. Sorry, Lira. I am Makira, and this is my black phoenix, Lira. A pleasure to meet the three of you.” Makira bowed respectably, righting herself before Lira would complain too much. She smiled serenely as she awaited the time the three of them would move out.

[MadGoblin]

The boat swayed to and fro within the beating waves, rocking the unwilling passengers in the dank hull of the vessel. The large, cavernous belly of the ship cried for more light than what could squeeze through the iron grating on the top latch, far out of the reach of the naives below. The thugs and low lives were restless in the moldy interior, shifting their positions as they found their seats to be beneath dripping planks. None wore concern about their faces, even in the face of being taken to a strange, new land. It was not their choice, after all. They were being deported. Corone had taken its fill of the scum and decreed that they be sent to somewhere else. This act was not sanctioned by any government, but the merciful captain of the boat felt it a better solution than execution. None of the criminals were too dangerous, to his knowledge, just repeat offenders. A new life could be just want some of them needed. If not, he prayed he could save them from the law in time again before the inevitable. Several stops had already been made on the trip, not wanting to unload too much of the secret cargo at once, and the last stop was being neared, Etheria Port.

It was this destination that one of the passengers endured the hostile voyage for. In his eyes, the opportunity that awaited here would be worth his life of hardship and ordeal. He had proven himself deserving of a great honor offered to an elite few. Until his mettle could be tried against those others of the same, lofty caliber he was proven to be, he pitted his superior skills of cunning against those washed up brigands he was forced to make the journey with. Crushing their feeble efforts with his overbearing talent made his flawless smile grow wider, win by win, coin by coin. He sat perched atop a barrel before a wide board that served as a table lined with a deck of cards given to the smuggled felons to pass their time. The winnings were all on his side. Passing his esteemed katana from hand to hand, its point turned down, he hid his joy as the next set of cards he drew were more promising than the last. His solid, golden eyes beamed at his opponent, not that they could tell, as he whipped around his long, white locks in a cocky display. The pristine strands fell gingerly upon his black leather overcoat as the winning hand was cast down upon the table, busting his opponent's meager funds. Beating his bare chest, thin yet fit, and the foreign markings inked into it, in a chauvinistic manner, he swiped what remained of his current victim's coin while reminding him never again to cross the path of-

"The most glorious, fabulous mercenary on this plane or any other that has been or will be, Tarrel Axferd, the last of the lost Elven breed of Maksukaj who carries the blood of celestial dragons within his most worthy veins, cursed with the most wicked plight of a daemonic strain of vampiric lycanthropy-" This was how Tarrel addressed himself, every time. "-has bested yet another adversary. Is there anyone, dare I say, that can stand up to my infallible skills?" As the petty thug removed himself from the seat, too afraid to brawl for his squandered money, a mocking gag echoed through the emptied hull. "Who are you, lowly mortal, to disgrace my presence with your foul noises?"

"Sorry, de'e, guy," falsely apologized a shrill, grating voice, "but de'e's so much bull crap in da air dat 'tis makin' me ill." A withered, pathetic being limped out from the shadows. Its gnarled, knotted frame never brightened as it approached the light, as was expected, for the dull gray seen was its true hue. Ripped and frayed rags, burnt and bloody, clung to what little of this monstrosity of a life form there was. "I tell ya what, boy, if ya want ta really test yerself, why not take on-" Pausing for dramatic affect, the Ghobling moved to remove the goggles from his eyes only to have them remain in place. Still unaccustomed to missing his right hand, he repeated the act with his existing left hand. "Why not take on... me." The most high and praised mercenary was not certain if he should laugh or vomit horribly at the sight that stood three feet from the floor before him.

"Puny fool," mocked the infused being, "you think a thieving rat tossed down into this hole could dream of standing up to me?" In truth, Bimblesnaff was not rescued from capital punishment, but a rather unruly mob was growing across the island that demanded his blood. He called them fans. "I accept your challenge." Shuffling the deck thoroughly, Tarrel used the time to study his new opponent well. "So, what's your game."

"Yer choice," hissed the lunatic with a sinister edge. He prayed the added element would deter Axferd from becoming aware of the fact that the fiend had never learned how to play any game of cards. It should have meant immediate failure for the former green skin, but his lack of sense wound up bewildering the great Tarrel. His complex and strategizing mind could not second guess the thoughts that were not there to start, and the random actions taken only threw off his game further. Panic soon overtook the unwavering nerves, and the mighty titan was down to his item of value.

"You play a mean game," the sweating Elf mixture admitted, "but do you have guts? Do you have the courage to risk it all to gain it all?" From out of is boot, crafted from none other than black leather, he pulled out an immaculate piece of parchment. "This certificate was awarded to me because of my most undeniable abilities. It was given to me by a recruiter for The Grander's Order. You know as to whom they are, little man?"

"Whadda ya t'ink?" Interpretation was a tricky mistress off the Ghobling's lips. He had assumed it some petty faction of wanna-bes and self-righteous dreamers. His words were not taken as this understanding.

"I am to present this document to an official of the Order upon our docking," the descendant from greatness furthered his tale, "where I will be given the chance to join their prestigious ranks. This bliss can be yours if you relinquish everything for the mere chance to win this."

"So... 'tis a job?" The freak cracked a yellowed smile. "Sounds like one hell o' a job. Ya got it, bub." Sliding aside all of the winnings, the final hand was dealt.



A deeply shrouded individual, finely dressed yet attempting to be hidden, waited patiently as the recently docked ship unloaded its cargo. A line of grizzled brutes and street trash filed out. Each was skimmed over by the hunting eyes until the magnificent sight came into them. The mere vision of such a great being seemed to bring new vigor to the scout of the Order. Straightening himself properly and removing his hat, he became overwhelmed with awe as the great Axferd drew near. His perfect lips opened and rang out with a message voiced in a heavenly tone.

"I believe... there is someone you are looking for." With a heavy heart and heavier sigh, Tarrel lifted an arm to point to the ramp. "He is there." Both of the men were bitterly crushed as Bimblesnaff emerged, chugging his ale skin of near toxic fluid.

"A'ight, now, whe'e's da bloke lookin' fer me?" screamed out Bogg in the most unsecretive fashion, waving around wildly through the air his certificate, sullied and stained in the short while it lied within his possession.

"You? You are Tarrel?" the astonished man gasped in shock and for air, choking on the fiend's rank odor.

"Yeah, poppy, how's it goin'?" the lunatic feignly greeted. "Folks call me Bogg, tho'. I'm gonna be gettin' a job, right?"

"You... do not seem dressed... appropriately," slowly addressed the elderly man. He looked over the fiend once more. "Or, for that matter, much at all."

"Yeah? I'm also not bathed. Ya wanna go through more, or should we lea'e it de'e?" countered the maniac. "Besides, not like clothin' mattahs much fer dese t'in's, am I right?" A sharp elbow was nudged into the man's thigh.

"I... suppose," grudgingly accepted the man. "Very well, then. Allow me to take you to your group."

"Whoa, a group? Sounds fantastic!" astaticly lauded the goblin. "Ya guys go all out, huh?"

"Well, of course there will be others," agreed the man, slightly thrown by the comment. "Before you are given a place within the Order, you must prove you can work your colleagues." The gray skin's pace behind the man quickly fell short as he found himself lost in the spoken words.

"Work? I thought I was gettin' a job?" It took some time after that point, but eventually he came to realize that it was not the type of "job" he thought it was.



With several key points cleared up, Bimblesnaff was set in the right direction, spatially, to meet up with the rest of his group. The many questions and half known answers should have been received as odd, but the Order official read everything as such from this most peculiar of strangers. While the fiend was not found of working, he figured he could use the salary to purchase what he thought he was going to be getting when he came out on this farce to start with. The task involved a simple take over of some Dwarvern mining space. His impressive display of heartless, cold, calculated tactics, or rather his former's, had earned him this opportunity. Sticking as true to the path laid out as he could remember, he navigated what he saw as bland, unmemorable surface land for sometime. Eventually, his path crossed that of three others. There was a fourth individual, but the youth was considered food more than person in his eyes. He did not know what the strangers were doing standing in the middle of a field and could not care any less. As he drew nearer to the cluster of ugly surface worlders, the burning stench of feline hominid plagued him, only hastening his pace to pass it. His eyes were thrown off by the beaming sun, making him less aware of where the two species he loathed so deeply were in proximity to him along with other visual misinterpretations.

"Outta m' way, bitches," snapped Bogg, marching straight through their ranks without heed. "I gots ta meet some losahs fer some work." His nose revealed the fact that his eyes had lied about, and he threw himself around in shock. "By Ghob, dat was a dude? Crap, man, I pray da lot I'm lookin' fer is bettah dan dat lot o' sissies," the maniac blurted out to himself. His thoughts would have stayed in his possession, too, if he were not mere armspans away from the gathering. "Bunch of dames an' a bloke who won't touch 'em ain't who I want stuck wit' on dis waste o' time." Taking a moment, he thought a little, the most he could ever manage. "Maybe ya morons can be o' some use ta me. Any o' ya see a crew o' four lookin' fer some work? Dey need me an' stuff." The question would have never been asked if Bimblesnaff had knowledge of four's quantity.

(OOC: Note, he is a jerk.)

[Broken]

Damien was largely ignorant to the manners of men and women. Many simply thought of him as some other reude boy, the type that stuck their noses into the air when they walked by someone in clothes less than desireable, or believed their money could buy anything, but honestly, Damien simply didn't know any better. Thus, he only gave the two reikos a slight glance as they approached, failing to match their cheery greeting. Instead, Damien gave a slight sigh and crossed his arms over his ample chest, the hilts of his swords resting inches from his face.

The taller and older looking of the two, intoxicating red hair spilling down shoulders garbed in a violet kimono, made him uncomfortable in all the right ways as he watched those trio of tails flick back and forth as though possessing a mind of their own. The second to come bore wide, folded black feathered wings across her back that clashed starkly with her long silver hair. A cloak clung to her form, and flashes of a handsome red shown under it. They had both offered greetings, but they fell on ignorant ears; to Damien, they were statements, warranting no replies. There was still another, and there was no use talking without all the ears gathered to the wind, so he turned his gaze out towards the field.

Amber waves of dry grass met the clear cyan colored sky, interrupted only by mountains that rose in the distance like the broken teeth in the skull of a great, dead beast. His eyes went over the rippling gold waves, towards the northwest, to where his true goal was. A tiny little settlement of dwarven miners, an often forgotten off shoot of Erebus, with valuable resources to be taken for their own. While many dwarves where noted, furious warriors, bearing heavy weapons with their stout, strong arms, he'd been assured that the miners and their family that dwelled there were fully dedicated to mining.

Ther last of the Order's initaites arrived loudly behind his own smell. Damien at first forced himself to ignore it, but it grew, crinkling his nose and forcing a scowl across his face. Damien's eyes were forced away from the horizon and towards the foul mouthed, foul smelling, and foul looking little grey skin. It was uncomfortable, the feeling in his heart, a sort of tightening and a rapid increase in his breathing, and somehow, despite his vapid knowlegde of it, he knew that his pride had been hurt. "We certainly can," Damien replied, finding something that finally warranted an answer. "You've found your four, and while I'm hesitant to do so, I welcome you, as I have little ground to stand on to doubt this Order's decisions. Still..." Little blooms of scarlet broke out under the white surface of his skin, the thick smell of ozone rising in the previously clear air one would accept readily with gulps. Little blue sparks leapt from the hand that held his swords, but they died almost as soon as they began, and red splotches beneath his skin began to fade. "...I'd appreciate if you showed some respect," he finished, stood from the archway, and began to wade through the thigh high waves of carmel hued grass.

[Reiko]

“Wow, what a weird group, huh mom?” Inari whispered into her mother’s ear and the older woman could only nod and agree.

“I think it’ll work everyone seems to have a good mind.” Kit whispered back with hope. Sure the winged girl was someone that the kitsune haven’t seen everyday though most people could say that about the mother and daughter. But Makiraas she called herself seemed to have good qualities and was the most polite person in the group outside the two fox girls.

The other was a tall dark and handsome man that that one almost always found mixed up in secretive affairs and so he seemed to fit the part. Though Kit wasn’t sure if it was because he was the mysterious type for the silence or was just nervous around girls, for Kit couldn’t smell the scent that would tell, thanks to the coming of the forth.

“Um, Inari, I take it back.” The forth was a goblin with a vile tongue and no tact, he even got Mr. Dark to speak though it led Kit to believe he was silent due to nerves and the goblin was quite good at touching nerves.

“Yeah I don’t like him much either.” Inari whispered, a bad sign. Kit’s child usually did fairly well with people of all sorts and had the patience of a water dragon.

Kit looked to the goblin with an irritated twitch of her three tails. “Don’t think you can continue acting that way and still have a job. I won’t tolerate this behavior and will make sure you won’t mess anything up.” Kit tapped the blades at her side to drive the point home; While Inari took a step away from her mother.

Inari almost forgot how much her mommy scared her when the older vixen got angry. Though it probably wasn’t that scary to the other’s in the group.

[MadGoblin]

"Whate'ah," mumbled the gray skin, speaking the words with his head turned away from the group. Needless to say, he was less than excited to learn that this group was the same he would be conducting business with, especially after the comments he made just barely off of directly at them. Had he known that the four were those sought, he would have addressed each of the biting remarks to their faces personally to see them squirm. Not even paying attention to the empty motions of polite behavior they cycled through, with their "greetings" and "introductions" and "not stabbing each other in the back", the lunatic dropped to the earth, a short fall, to rest his tired legs from their long walk to the rendezvous point. When a being was his size, most any walk qualified as one. The inane banter passed through his ears without consideration. His pointed perceptors were only concerned with matters of the task at hand or mentions of alcohol, murder, or debauchery, the finer things in life.

Bimblesnaff sat with his knees up and his arms wrapped about them, or as complete as his pair could, with his head tilted downward. The newborn sun blighted his darkborn eyes, despite the tinted lenses. Having banes of both sight and sound attended to, only the vile fragrance was left to haunt him. It boiled deep within him, stirring his very being with a putrid churning that seemed to erupt from his mouth in an acrid stream. This was less a metaphor than it was actually transpiring for a scalding vomit did find its way from his gullet. What did not land on himself found its resting place scattered amidst the gathering place as he had not the care to aim it elsewhere. Never broken from his thoughtless state, the sound of footfalls breaking through the golden grain shattered the maniac's empty meditation. The man, not that Bogg considered him one, had begun to move through the waves of amber. Naturally assuming him to be the leader, as he was not biologically a woman and therefor in command of the throng, the Ghobling pulled himself up with a heavy sigh and tried to keep a few paces trailing behind, hoping that the road lead to a simple task.

[Vorin]

This thread hasn't been posted in a month. I'm closing it up due to inactivity and moving it to the "Unresolved" Forum. Please Private message me to retrieve it if you intend on completing it further. Thank you.