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SRD - v3.5
Order of the Sword & Rose
Raltar considered the two new additions to the table. A human, thief if he didn’t miss his mark, and a drow…fighter? Or perhaps not, drow then to have red eyes, not lavender, and this one did not have the mannerisms of any drow he’d seen before. Was this one of the rare good drow he’d heard stories of? Hard to say, only time would tell I suppose.
He turned his attention to Anto, “Another roun’ ya say, eh? I’d be happy ta git my first roun’!” The dwarf grunts as he hopped off his chair, “Looks like I’ll hafta git it myself.”
He started to walk to the bar and stopped. He spun around and said, “Oh, Whisp, I must show ya somthin’.”
He dug into his pack a moment and then produced a piece of leather with some tooling on it. Handing it to Whisp he said, “Just an idea I had, somethin’ to signify the Fellowship. Perhaps ya could take it before the counsel n’ mull it about a bit, see what yas think.”
He laid the piece of leather on the table and tromped off to the bar. On it Whisp saw a simple design; the left side had been worked into the image of a half moon, the right bore the look of a woman’s face framed in long flowing tresses. The whole thing had been inlaid with gold filigree with such precision only a master could possess. The image had been worked so that it appeared as though the woman’s face was melding into the moon, or perhaps the other way around. In all, the image was perhaps 2 inches in diameter, shaped such that it might fit well onto a small disk.
As he approached the bar, the rest of them at the table could hear the dwarf call out, “Barkeep! Ya need ta git some new help in ‘ere, yer service stinks!”
Raltar returned to the table carrying a dwarf sized tankard of ale and wiping his face with a damp towel. Perhaps tankard was an understatement; he thumped the small keg down on the table and hefted himself back into his seat.
“Th’ name’s Raltar Ironhammer o’ Clan Ironhammer,” he hefted his heavy mace and added, “battle priest and servant to Reorx, th’ Forger o’ Worlds.”
The zealous priest slung his mace back on his side. He nodded to Sho and Bai, “Well met, and thanks fer the compliments. I only threw it tagether las’ night while I was in my room.”
Never having been known for his tact, Raltar squinted his one good eye and said, “Ya ain’t like no drow I ever met before, Sho Drizzin. Ya seem a bit…differ’nt. But, I reckon if th’ Fellowship says yer okay, then yer okay in my book.” Then he pointed a stubby finger at Bai and said, “I ain’t got a prollum with yew yet neither, jus’ keep yer fingers outta my stuff n’ I’ll keep my mace offa yer head, ok?”
Raltar grunted and chuckled to himself, then he hefted his ale into the air and exclaimed, “TH’ FELLOWSHIP!” He took a long pull from the frothy thick liquid and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.