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<blockquote data-quote="Sparky" data-source="post: 1707537" data-attributes="member: 13681"><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Unwilling to let Mustafah and Hella's words go unchallenged, Stumbin rises to his feet, an eerie motion that doesn't seem to properly reflect the weight and impact of the tree-like man's graceless, efficient movements. The grate of heavy mail plates is muffled by thick, floor-length dark robes of red-trimmed, purest black. The plates grind and clink, punctuated by a sharp rap as the butt of the scythe plants with every step. The man joins the assembling crew with a look over his shoulder... <em>Wonder where Elial has gotten to...</em> and pulls back his hood to reveal a harsh face.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">High, broad cheekbones and deep-set flint-gray eyes glare out from under a fierce, creased brow. A hawkish, blade of a nose and thick crop of dark, short hair - nothing to get a fistful of. His mouth is drawn into a hard line, unrelenting and unforgiving. He stares at Mustafah. He glares at Hella. A thick beard and mustache give little relief to the cragginess of his face, making him appear wild rather than scholarly. A large ruby, mounted in a ring of black metal winks firelight, throwing shattered sparks onto the upturned faces at Stumbin's feet. He looks around, severe eyes taking in all assembled and breaks into a smile that transforms his face utterly.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Reports of my temper are greatly exaggerated," he scratches the corner of his jaw, deep in his thick beard and chuckles, "I did take myself rather more seriously than I should have in those days."</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The chipped flint eyes vanish into warmth and a bright smile breaks and reassembles the hard planes of his face into something much friendlier. And... Reassuring. Stumbin carries reassuring around with him like a shining banner. Never-you-mind the ruby, skull-shaped, holy symbol winking firelight from his ring finger on a hand rapped around a scythe with a blade longer than your arm.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">He chuckles, "But can you blame me, Hella? Or you, O Great Mustafah-al-Rasheed, walker in mist, wanted-in-eight-nations-for-deeds-unnumbered?" He shakes his head smiling broadly, "I had so many things to prove." A look flickers between Stumbin and Hella, he barely inclines his head at the young girl, now seated, before walking over to the tall, hard warrior clapping him on the back, "Slate." He squeezes the tall warrior on the shoulder, brows registering puzzlement, yet again, that you just can't squeeze the man's shoulder. Hard as stone.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"><span style="font-size: 9px">OOC: We just need a title and then we're off!</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Sparky, post: 1707537, member: 13681"] [size=2]Unwilling to let Mustafah and Hella's words go unchallenged, Stumbin rises to his feet, an eerie motion that doesn't seem to properly reflect the weight and impact of the tree-like man's graceless, efficient movements. The grate of heavy mail plates is muffled by thick, floor-length dark robes of red-trimmed, purest black. The plates grind and clink, punctuated by a sharp rap as the butt of the scythe plants with every step. The man joins the assembling crew with a look over his shoulder... [i]Wonder where Elial has gotten to...[/i] and pulls back his hood to reveal a harsh face. High, broad cheekbones and deep-set flint-gray eyes glare out from under a fierce, creased brow. A hawkish, blade of a nose and thick crop of dark, short hair - nothing to get a fistful of. His mouth is drawn into a hard line, unrelenting and unforgiving. He stares at Mustafah. He glares at Hella. A thick beard and mustache give little relief to the cragginess of his face, making him appear wild rather than scholarly. A large ruby, mounted in a ring of black metal winks firelight, throwing shattered sparks onto the upturned faces at Stumbin's feet. He looks around, severe eyes taking in all assembled and breaks into a smile that transforms his face utterly. "Reports of my temper are greatly exaggerated," he scratches the corner of his jaw, deep in his thick beard and chuckles, "I did take myself rather more seriously than I should have in those days." The chipped flint eyes vanish into warmth and a bright smile breaks and reassembles the hard planes of his face into something much friendlier. And... Reassuring. Stumbin carries reassuring around with him like a shining banner. Never-you-mind the ruby, skull-shaped, holy symbol winking firelight from his ring finger on a hand rapped around a scythe with a blade longer than your arm. He chuckles, "But can you blame me, Hella? Or you, O Great Mustafah-al-Rasheed, walker in mist, wanted-in-eight-nations-for-deeds-unnumbered?" He shakes his head smiling broadly, "I had so many things to prove." A look flickers between Stumbin and Hella, he barely inclines his head at the young girl, now seated, before walking over to the tall, hard warrior clapping him on the back, "Slate." He squeezes the tall warrior on the shoulder, brows registering puzzlement, yet again, that you just can't squeeze the man's shoulder. Hard as stone. [size=1]OOC: We just need a title and then we're off![/size] [/size] [/QUOTE]
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