Description
The beard on this duergar is completely shorn and it only
makes more obvious his unconscious but frequent habit.
His habit of licking his teeth with a jet black tongue while
scrunching up his face into a confused grimace. He first
rolls his tongue over the bottom set of teeth, then returns the
other way on the top. Quiet bubbles can be heard popping
and a bit of saliva traces his chin but still he seems
unaware. His eyes, entirely black with red pupils, search
the room in a systematic manner, twitching at any scenes of
interest. Several small hilts indicate daggers stashed away
in his belt and a pungent odor indicates he doesn't bathe in
much but blood, which is caked and dried and flaking off his
skin like paint.
Role
Youthful Dream
Added Sun Jun 27 23:10:24 2004 at level 1:
They speak my name wrong. They walk heavy. They are blind.
Those who would die off Below will be killed off Above. In time, we
will slip out, first to the secret half-cave valleys of the high mountains
and then later down the slopes and onto the country roads. We will
knock as the poorest peasants on the farmer's door in hopes that his
daughter will answer. We will live on the farm like the kings we are
for as long as it sustains, let the air calm and the scent disperse as
we rest and then, of course, continue. The farmer and his life's work
will be left to our god unknown.
We will tear down the city gates and use them in the structure of a
slow live funeral. The guards, the elves, paladins and whatever else
stands fast will be securely fastened and let dehydrate and consider
and wish at the rats for several days in the sun and smoke before
their last gasps for breath bring them only the ashes of their own
legs, finally burning to release them.
But first we will figure out this sword and this dagger, and put our
stolid daydream away. We are not often carried away.