Binder Fred
3 rings to bind them all!
Meanwhile Ur stands calmly by as the Legion argues in their now-comfortable way. For himself he pats the barely-moving flanks of their twin silver rams, Rohim and Brayhim, while his dark eyes brush over the mountainous scenery to the east, the morcelating forest down towards the far away valley of the White to the west, thinking how it reminds him of home. It only lacks sheep.
The dwarf is dressed in his usual style of flowing pants, simple rope belt and heavy chains-over-sashes criss-crossing across the corded barrel that is his chest, all in quiet hues of pale brown. His feet are bare and tattooed with the Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life; his arms are equally bare, and laid thick with hard-worked muscles; his beard is long, thick and flowing, down to his waist in barely channeled curls of russet brown and gold; his head is shaved, and marked at center by the strong sweeps of Thor's holy rune, right between the eyes. Aside from the simple golden earring piercing his left ear, numerous curios dangle from his belt, including a softly glowing red crystal chased in gold, twin rods of alabaster and jade, a plain jug of unadorned clay, a bag of swirly pale blue cloth and last but not least, a tiny metallic book, secured to its own leather holster via a deceptively small silver chain. On his knees are strapped pads shaped like two life-sized skulls with glowing red eyes, their pained grin eternally mocking the defeat of their original owner -- Gaorag Thousand Blows, first undead lieutenant of Iridex the Archlich.
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"Gerard is the winner," Ur points out, lightly addressing his companions: the 'trap', whatever it turns out to be, has indeed been 'sprung'. Without further ado - and there never is with him - the dwarf simply steps into the cottage first, intent on bearing the brunt of any possible traitory -- and not incidentally giving his companions time to react. Also as always, he is preternaturally quick about it.
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