[color=red][h3]Drizzak[/h3][/color][hr]The small dragon-ogre thing hobbled on its elongated arms, sort of swinging its stunted legs forward, much like a gorilla or ape would. Drizzak chose to follow the wagon, but on foot this time. He wanted to be right there if any action kicked off, right in the thick of it. He was still salivating with excitement, skin smoldering slightly as his Fire Shield formula waned to almost inactivity. As the other gathered their bedrolls and huddled back toward the wagon, he had still been salvaging from the Gnoll's body. He salvaged everything he could use, as he was taught. He didn't have nearly enough time to take its hide or its teeth for jewelery, but he did have enough time to pick up what remained of its head. The blackened canine skull sat atop his head, fixed with more of that same dirty string and a strap of leather, becoming a makeshift helmet. The jaw was fixed below that, to his own jaw. Another measure to keep it from shifting.

[color=red]"Drizzak loved fight. We do more. Yes. Yes yes yes."[/color]

His voice was deeper, more a growl than the nasal shriek it was before. He tumbled into a roll as he moved closer to the magic blade man, Artos. This man was a bit more his speed, not quite as brutal or vicious as he liked, but the magic was a welcome change to the exclusively martial practices of the others. Well, save for the holyman, but Drizzak's opinions were not friendly enough after being called a small-scale. He decided to nudge the withdrawn bookworm, not one to wait for an audience with a mere warmblood. The craggy, scaly texture of his hand scraped against the Magus' lovely armor with a rasping grind.

[color=red]"You. Tall warmblood. Why you book? Why? There is fights soon! Book get messed!"[/color]