“Well,” Tarl laughed, “the least I can do is buy you a stout for your trouble lad.” He turned and strolled on down the street, allowing Aeron to easily catch up. Though a score of pounds heavier, with shoulders a quarter again as wide, the dwarf stood more then a foot shorted then him, forcing him to slow his gait to keep pace. “She was a fine looking lass!” Tarl rambled on, as Aeron fell in step with him. “If you like the skinny, pointed-ear type… Which I have to admit I do just fine! I know most dwarves have a narrow view on such things, but when it comes to a comely lass, I say why be prejudice? Dwarf, elf, human… hell I’d even give a hin a try, if she could… handle it. But I wouldn’t have parted with my purse without some… compensation… If you know what I mean?” Aeron knew exactly what his new friend meant, and he was sure that visions of the beautiful moon elf would haunt him for many nights. The thought of such “compensation” would never have occurred to him, but now that the dwarf had mentioned it, he found himself preoccupied with nothing else. He followed Tarl through several turns along dark allies and back streets; their mostly one-sided conversation ranging from the finer aspects of feminine charms, and how they differ from race to race, to the qualities of a good stout, and who brews the best. “You know this city well… Do you?” Aeron finally asked with more than a bit of humor, stopping both the rambling of Tarl’s tongue and feet. “Never been here before in my life!” the dwarf replied with a great smile, setting them both to laughing as they looked about the deserted back streets of Silverymoon without a clue as to where they were. “Perhaps I could assist you?” asked a lilting, clearly feminine, voice from the shadows. Both men turned, but froze in surprise at the sight of her, as her lithesome figure emerged from the darkness. Her silvery-white hair cascaded down her back to her slender waist, while her ruby eyes gleamed against skin as black and glossy as wet ink. “A drow… HERE!” Tarl roared all signs of humor gone from him as he hefted his great axe and stood ready to charge into battle. The son of a fairly insignificant branch of the Forgotten Realm’s Battlehammer clan, Tarl believes that he missed the “greatest battle of his day”, the liberation of the Frost Hills’ Mithral Hall, and with it, his chance to bring glory to his name and family. Seeking to test his mettle in the untamed lands of the Silver Marches, Tarl left Mithral Hall against his father’s wishes, and knows full well that he will only be welcomed home if he returns a hero. Far less droll and pessimistic than most shield dwarves, Tarl is stout friend, and a cunning and fearless warrior, holding religiously to his word as a matter of pride. However, he also loves the pipe and a good stout, as well as the company of a comely lass… dwarf, elf, gnome, hin (i.e. halfling) or human! Credits: The FREAK 3, RPG Series Part 1 Dwarves & RPG Series Part 2 Cleric and Orc by John Malis, Michael's Morphing Fantasy Beard w/Hair by Anton Kisiel & Woodgod M4 H4 by ElorOnceDark from DAZ, Signs of the World by outoftouch from Renderosity.