*Pik-ik-cha is quite pleased that the Paymasters have brought them to the desert, one of the only environments he felt truly comfortable in. Clicking his mandibles together in a sign of a contented thri-kreen, he crouches near the middle of the party, thick, mossy green chitin gleaming softly in the pale light. Yellow faceted eyes regard the watchmen with cool, detachted interest as a clear crystal stone orbited his head like a lazy fly. He wears little more than a leather harness for a bastard sword to be hung from, and a belt pouch at the juncture of the straps on his chest. To get to his gold one would have to get past four razor-sharp forelimbs. A pair of punching daggers are strapped to what would be the "wrists" of his upper forelimbs, and a bow and full quiver were strapped to his back. A sack hung from one "hip," obviously holding another quiver of arrows. Pik-ik-cha deigned to speak to them, simply content to lurk in the background and give the impression that it would be a very, very bad ideafor them to do something foolish.*
OOC - We were supposed to recover the book Liber Praesusomes, and kill the one who took it.
OOC - We were supposed to recover the book Liber Praesusomes, and kill the one who took it.