Sep 30, 2006 17:40
*Outside his church in the rain, the drow hybrid is apparently busy: water sluices over his shining white hair, plastering it flat to his head. The sharp points of his ears seem all the more prominent in contrast. He is crouched over a fallen piece of carved masonry, and in his clawed hand is a long kris knife, which he seems to be whetting*
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Who's that comes clip-clopping along my bridge?
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Have you come to tell me a story?
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