[color=000000][b]The Black Tongue[/b][/color] [color=406080]A subtle iron mist lingers in the air here, mixing with the caves heavy wet odor, the faint glow of molten metal reflecting off Vunkar's dark eyes as he assesses his surroundings and the crystalline outcrops that decorate the rock walls. The shrill cries of clashing metal echo around him as the blacksmith below shapes his creation with a blunt hammer and blunt expression, fiery lights dancing across his grey smudged face. Resting upon a smooth and crimson colored moss covered rock, crouched slyly behind a towering miners support and peering through a broken planks panel, the Black Tongue watches steadily. Peering through the same broken panel is the sharp eye of his first ebony bolt, softly lying along a strong beam of iron, a curved wing bent either side of it. With an armored finger resting on the trigger, a slow breath rises up through the tense body, past the unwavering lips and out into the world. Closing one eye, the remaining iris is frozen, the confined pupil within receding as a spark leaps into the air. With a near silent whistled tune, the bolt streaks past various miscellaneous, barrels, carts and picks - through a gap between rocks made by the chipping of time and sinks with a dull slicing note into the Dwarfs back as his hammer just retreats from its strike. The body falls forward and and the hammer drops to the floor, crashing with the ground as similarly as it did with the axe it was casting, soft sizzling comes from the forge as flesh meets heated metal. A subtle iron mist lingers here, mixed with a heavy wet odor, the faint smell of burning flesh, and a breath of foul blood - gently Vunkar pulls a second bolt from his hanging quiver and rests it in position, snugly between the smooth wood of his crossbow. With one fluid mortuary motion his left arm peels back the wind and the tight notch clicks in comfort as the string is once more in its grasp.[/color] [color=9e0b0f]The predator waits, for soon prey shall stray into its domain.[/color]