B
Boss Frost
Guest
Original poster
In Front of the Grand Library of Knowledge, Nyjal, Underdark
Stretching towards the top of the cavern with a yawn, the heavily muscular beastman waited for his companion to exit. Seven feet, four inches of strength and fur... From the expression on his face, he knew it. Raising an arm to flex it, he observed the way the muscles held safe under flesh parted fur as he moved them... It was personally hypnotizing - a point of pride to him.
The well-kept plate mail would have been hard to find on a member of his race: they were known to be filthy, nasty creatures. While many cover themselves in the blood of their prey and their own excrement in honor of their Demon Lord, this one was clean - well-kept... The symbol of the Tyrant Lord Bane emblazoned upon his shoulders. Hackles raising, the brown-spotted man turned his hyenalike face towards the door, wondering what was taking so long.
He had gone to pick up some equipment - his plate mail armor, and the massive hammer that sit next to him were proof of this act. He patted the hammer - more a barrel stuck on the end of a quarterstaff than a hammer... Magical, to boot. Splitting up to shop had been a good idea, at least in theory.
Granted, letting a drow male wander a shadowy, lightless drow city wasn't entirely thoughtful. They had chosen to meet here, but...
With a sigh, he hefted the hammer, resting it on a shoulder and entering the library... Almost immeadiately, he could feel the smouldering hate directed his way. A warrior enters a library populated by wizards. His fur rose with a chill. Trodding into the library, he attempts to find his sorcerous beloved...
Stretching towards the top of the cavern with a yawn, the heavily muscular beastman waited for his companion to exit. Seven feet, four inches of strength and fur... From the expression on his face, he knew it. Raising an arm to flex it, he observed the way the muscles held safe under flesh parted fur as he moved them... It was personally hypnotizing - a point of pride to him.
The well-kept plate mail would have been hard to find on a member of his race: they were known to be filthy, nasty creatures. While many cover themselves in the blood of their prey and their own excrement in honor of their Demon Lord, this one was clean - well-kept... The symbol of the Tyrant Lord Bane emblazoned upon his shoulders. Hackles raising, the brown-spotted man turned his hyenalike face towards the door, wondering what was taking so long.
He had gone to pick up some equipment - his plate mail armor, and the massive hammer that sit next to him were proof of this act. He patted the hammer - more a barrel stuck on the end of a quarterstaff than a hammer... Magical, to boot. Splitting up to shop had been a good idea, at least in theory.
Granted, letting a drow male wander a shadowy, lightless drow city wasn't entirely thoughtful. They had chosen to meet here, but...
With a sigh, he hefted the hammer, resting it on a shoulder and entering the library... Almost immeadiately, he could feel the smouldering hate directed his way. A warrior enters a library populated by wizards. His fur rose with a chill. Trodding into the library, he attempts to find his sorcerous beloved...