Hukdar held a fine white-plumed quill in his pudgy hand. He had been disgusted by his little hands all his life cursing his heritage for his thick fingers. He could not play the mandolin or the lute he new the cords and loved the sound but alas he could not play. He watched as the others students of the New Olamn swooned young nobles with the entrancing sound.
Now he sat here cold from the mountains cutting winds trembling to write down the events of the last ten-day. He looked at Ulnar who barabarically poured a canteen onto his face consuming maybe half of what he poured. How vile his brothers were...yet how brave and loyal. They scoffed him for his human ways and yet he knew they would not ever leave him, a small smile touched his face as he pulled his blanket tighter.
He looked at Ulnars rough hands and then at his own soft fat fingers. He curled his hand up in a meaty fist. In the firelight his fist looked like a small fruit and Ulnars looked like an Iron hammer. He was unfit for the lute and the axe. His journal was half full now. They needed more coin to fund a war, that what it would be, a war. The others seemed to think they would waltz into the keep and the "Black Orcs", would surrender. they would not, especially with a dragon at there back door.
He finished his writteing and curled up on the stoney ground, somehow it was a comforting feeling, the stone, at least it was something real.
...Today we found a human in the haunted mines we sought. He was torn apart by the unatural creatures we would find deeper in the mines. They seemed to be humans distorted and putrid with long claws and gaping maws they seemed voracially hungry...for flesh it seems. All they found today was steel. We collected some of the blue quartz rocks but need to aquire more. One of us will carry the body back to the camp and the rest of us shall delve deeper into the mines. I fear there will be more of these walking dead. I fear we may fail. I long to be accepted and these , although sometimes vulgar, new brothers. They do seem to accept me better than the humans that clapped in jest instead of actually being pleased. The notes from my trumpet and the war songs seem to inspire my brothers and that lifts my soul. Haela Brightaxe watchover us tomorrow.
-Hukdar Balfodin and the exploits of the Brotherhood of Stone.
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"The reasonable man adapts to fit the world. The unreasonable man adapts the world to suit him. Therefore all progress is achieved by the unreasonable." - unknown
removed self from forums, contact via E-mail. Adios.