[center][h2][color=999999]Thurin Stoutarm[/color][/h2][/center] 

Thurin's corded muscles and axe strikes had hacked through the Inn keeper and his daughter cleanly. Pity too, for they seemed kind enough downstairs before he had venture above to see the Wizard and settle in his room. That was the second pity. He hadn't had proper rest in near a day. For anyone other than a Dwarf, that would have been bad news. But he was made of the mountain stone, by Aulë of the forge. He was wrought of sterner stuff than most. 

[color=0072bc] ”They are lifeless already, but move like puppets. Only incineration will stop them, they must burn. Help Aelin, two of you,”[/color] Ofnir told Thurin and Ellaryn. The Dwarf looked at the fallen corpses, and then saluted to the Wizard, striding over towards Aelin and Vamyr. He'd do what he could, of course.

[color=f7976a]”Thurin! Aelin! What of our mounts?”[/color] the man said, and that stopped Thurin in his tracks. His poor horsey! "[color=999999]Leonard![/color]" he cried, having named his horse such. He then charged down the stairs, still barefoot and minimally armored as he ran. His Axe waved back and forth as his stout arms pumped along with his stocky legs. His horse better be ok!