A very disheveled looking dwarf runs in, with all manner of vermin crawling all over his clothes, backpack and through his long messy beard. Breathing heavily, he tries to look in every direction at once, seems to nearly trip over his own feet, and then sits down heavily.
"Blast it! I was sure I was gonna catch up with Beldarion this time!"
After catching his breath for a spell, the dwarf unerringly plucks a fat louse from the deepest reaches of his beard. He holds it in front of his face, ans seems to address it in a very serious manner. Most of what he mutters is inaudible, but a few phrases are picked up by the wind and carried onward.
"... combine forces ... survive!"
"The poor lad ... our doom ... that book ..."
"... running out of ..."
" ... so grateful ... all his efforts ... hope he fares well ..."
Post edited April 01, 2023 by gogtrial34987