On the dark battlements of the dark castle on the darkest night of the year, a dark elf brooded.
He was trying not to, but it wasn’t easy. Drow take to brooding the way ducks take to water and paladins take to armor polish. It was in their genes.
Drow-Bob, sworn servant of the Silver Weasel, leaned against one of the heavy stones
(
Read more... )