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Raiders of Aundair : The Dead Men Walk Again (prologue)
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<blockquote data-quote="Eryndur" data-source="post: 3781168" data-attributes="member: 2910"><p><strong>Konnel Kressid Pal5/GG2</strong></p><p></p><p>Konnel Kressid, holy champion of Aundair and Dol Dorn, passes his hands through his hair after the waitress leaves. His eye catches a stray strand and he holds it in front of him with two fingers. </p><p></p><p><em>A gray hair? Already? Not surprising, I suppose.</em></p><p></p><p>He's wearing his traveling leathers right now, his field armor taken up to his room. His gigantic dire pick rests at his legs, as always. As he waits nervously for his longtime companions, he peruses the network of scars on his bare arms. </p><p></p><p>Memories of blood and battle flash through his mind, causing his teeth to grind together. He can feel it, just over some near horizon -- the desire for cold vengeance, like an insatiable beast. </p><p></p><p>Konnel watches in amazement as his fist clenches until the knuckles whiten. He had been too long from the front; war was all he knew, and the Treaty of Thronehold had actually scarred him more than any Flameborn weapon. Peace represses anger, bottles it up, makes it simmer. There was no justified outlet any more. He needed a cause, and badly.</p><p></p><p>He forces himself to relax, and tries to think how wonderful it will be to see his old comrades-in-arms. Hopefully, more than a squad would show up.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Eryndur, post: 3781168, member: 2910"] [b]Konnel Kressid Pal5/GG2[/b] Konnel Kressid, holy champion of Aundair and Dol Dorn, passes his hands through his hair after the waitress leaves. His eye catches a stray strand and he holds it in front of him with two fingers. [i]A gray hair? Already? Not surprising, I suppose.[/i] He's wearing his traveling leathers right now, his field armor taken up to his room. His gigantic dire pick rests at his legs, as always. As he waits nervously for his longtime companions, he peruses the network of scars on his bare arms. Memories of blood and battle flash through his mind, causing his teeth to grind together. He can feel it, just over some near horizon -- the desire for cold vengeance, like an insatiable beast. Konnel watches in amazement as his fist clenches until the knuckles whiten. He had been too long from the front; war was all he knew, and the Treaty of Thronehold had actually scarred him more than any Flameborn weapon. Peace represses anger, bottles it up, makes it simmer. There was no justified outlet any more. He needed a cause, and badly. He forces himself to relax, and tries to think how wonderful it will be to see his old comrades-in-arms. Hopefully, more than a squad would show up. [/QUOTE]
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