Submitted by Widnidsir on Sun, 2009-12-13 17:23
Kirell enters the tavern looking for a large meal and a deep mug of ale. "Looks like company will be scarce around town for a few days." While he waits for his meal the Angori begins to speak, in a deep gutteral tone, in a language not before heared on this shard. As he speaks, he paces the floor, at times wildly throwing his arms out and staring skyward. When his meal is served he quietly eats, pays the bar tender and excuses him self. As he walks out of town toward the home he has claimed as his own, his voice echos in the thick evening air.
That which does not kill us makes us stronger.
That which does kill us makes us stronger still!