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Tales around the Campfire
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<blockquote data-quote="WizWrm" data-source="post: 1707801" data-attributes="member: 13568"><p>"Right here, Stumbin," says Elial, his gravelly voice indicating his presence beneath a nearby tree. The dwarf sits there, whittling away at a small wooden animal of some sort - the carving's exact nature has become moot at this point, thanks to several defomities and a trio of obviously unintended gouges. "Bah," he says, glaring at it. Elial tosses it aside and sheathes the knife, then stands to his full height (a fairly unimpressive sight) as he brushes himself off.</p><p></p><p>The dwarf is clad in reasonably well-made hide armor, made of a strangely thick and slightly discolored leather. An axe sits in a weather-beaten harness upon his back, and he wears a belt with several pouches and holsters attached, including two knives. Elial's hair is cut to less than two or three inches, but he wears a dark yellow beret perched jauntily on his head, which seems quite out of place given the rest of his attire. A twisting brown tattoo reaches down from his left temple to grapple with a scar on his cheek, ending about two inches away from his curly goatee.</p><p></p><p>"I still blame that cursed scholar for the ambush. I suppose there came good out of it, in retrospect, but it didn't seem like it might turn out the way it did at the time," Elial says, snapping his fingers at the end of the sentence to accent it. "A fascinating chapter in my journal, it was. This is the one I call, 'The Undead's Umbra.' Short and simple, just like the story <em>wasn't</em>."</p><p></p><p>He casts a glance at Stumbin, nodding in acknowledgement. "Indeed, everything was much more serious, and of much greater import, in those days. We hadn't really learned to relax yet - I suppose because we didn't really have any sort of trust for each other yet. That's what they mean by <em>knowing someone</em>. Trust." He nods to himself.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="WizWrm, post: 1707801, member: 13568"] "Right here, Stumbin," says Elial, his gravelly voice indicating his presence beneath a nearby tree. The dwarf sits there, whittling away at a small wooden animal of some sort - the carving's exact nature has become moot at this point, thanks to several defomities and a trio of obviously unintended gouges. "Bah," he says, glaring at it. Elial tosses it aside and sheathes the knife, then stands to his full height (a fairly unimpressive sight) as he brushes himself off. The dwarf is clad in reasonably well-made hide armor, made of a strangely thick and slightly discolored leather. An axe sits in a weather-beaten harness upon his back, and he wears a belt with several pouches and holsters attached, including two knives. Elial's hair is cut to less than two or three inches, but he wears a dark yellow beret perched jauntily on his head, which seems quite out of place given the rest of his attire. A twisting brown tattoo reaches down from his left temple to grapple with a scar on his cheek, ending about two inches away from his curly goatee. "I still blame that cursed scholar for the ambush. I suppose there came good out of it, in retrospect, but it didn't seem like it might turn out the way it did at the time," Elial says, snapping his fingers at the end of the sentence to accent it. "A fascinating chapter in my journal, it was. This is the one I call, 'The Undead's Umbra.' Short and simple, just like the story [i]wasn't[/i]." He casts a glance at Stumbin, nodding in acknowledgement. "Indeed, everything was much more serious, and of much greater import, in those days. We hadn't really learned to relax yet - I suppose because we didn't really have any sort of trust for each other yet. That's what they mean by [i]knowing someone[/i]. Trust." He nods to himself. [/QUOTE]
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