[b] Underdeep, Mustering Hall.
Deliv of Bold Red Petal[/b] 

[i]Dark Mountain and it's dwarves. Black city and fiery forge. People look up and see no skies.
It's not sun that brings the heat. It's not water that fills the stream. Always night, no sunrise.
The tower is big, moat is fire. Hall is tall and ahead a road. Folk around, men or mice?
Dwarves fill the wall and chair. Humans here wait for Dain. A giant is wider than me by thrice.
An elf comes inside for sings. Lonely blade here laughs and grins. Woman does not recognize.
Giant whispers to himself. Introduction by orc and elf. Lady with grin does likewise. [/i]

[b]*Snap*[/b] 
It came as a surprise to Deliv, the reaction. He had been writing the poem about things happening around him until his pen had snapped as he put pressure on his quill. The hall had slowly gotten more and more people, but the silence had been broken by a High Elf. One of those thinking himself noble and all, even though he played well his lyre. Still... He was a High Elf. And seemingly no fighter, though he could be like those Dawn Boars. From afar they look fine, but annoy one and you're in a peril.. But it wasn't him that had made him react.

Other adventurers seemed bit more trustworthy. The Orc called "Lonely blade", a half giant and the woman in armor clearly had the strength needed to face at least bandits and bear. Orc and Woman both had weapons: Woman had a sword with a long hilt, but the "Lonely Blade" had chosen a mace to accompany his fierce shield. Deliv would be safe behind them, shooting arrows one at the time. The bard too would be safe behind them and few dwarves present. None of them either had made him break his quill early, thought.

It had been the woman with a scar to make a grin. Puafria Aupa, attuned to the chasm of decay. 

Two hundred years ago in the Forest of Old Green Trunks they had had two druids, attuned to the chasm of Growth and Wild. Other told about Faebold the Huntress, other taught about benefits and dangers brought by Cynid of Life and Death. Both had done marvelous things within the forest, to bring something to hunt or to help trees and fields rise. They both were long gone, but their powers had left an impression. What few were left in the Forest of Young Red Branches still talked about their deeds and praised the gods they had praised. Faebold naturally was more easily praised, as her gifts were many. But those who had been growing the forests said it grew faster than it was supposed to, so the praise for Cynid either wasn't forgotten. 

This woman with a wide grin praised the darker side of Cynid the other had warned. "Death embraces us all. You will bring death with your arrows, and in time the arrow of Time pierces you. Respect Death. Never toy with it. Cynid has given, and She has taken". This woman was the one to take, not give. She did look fragile, and judging her face she had once been. But now? Though she hanged her head and looked down to the floor, she was more danger than something to pity. 

But in a group like this, and depending on an adventure, an Attuned One would be a welcome addition. So Deliv looked at the quill's broken tip, then left it on the table and looked around, bit apologizing. "Ah... Deliv... Of Bold Red Petal." He spoke before he reached for a small pocket in his backpack. It had Arrowheads and feathers for fletching, but feathers served their purpose with writing too. He took a long black feather gotten by one of the Wretch Eaters, enormous black ravens, that had taken a flight, and continued to write his poem.

 [i] Death and decay walks with us. In the front so many to push. From behind the arrow flies.
Dwarves, elves and humans for task. A Lonely Blade and Giant with mask. People whom a caller ties. [/i]