[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/FohmS05.png[/img][/center]

[center][b]Gripus Probus[/b][/center]

[center][i]Hero of the East, Bane of Morven[/i][/center]

[center][b]Location: Campus Magnus[/b][/center]

Gripus stared at the Drow in a half daze, his mouth agape. Who was this subterranean cretin to lecture him on the conduct of character? For a mere instant he felt certain he could unleash his powers on the woman, smite her with an almighty tide of arcane energy. His mission was pressing, and its importance outweighed his own sense of being. Were he young, as young as he was when he cast down Morven, or faced Magnor Dragonblade, no doubt the Drow's attempt to humble him would have ended in bloodshed. But a 91 years was a long time for a human, even one such as he, and he felt the years weighing down his temper.

The mage considered the Drow, his eyes pulsing with their customary eeriness. There was an awesome power there, beneath the robes and the venomous tongue; hidden behind the bravado and pride. With her at his side, their party would become four, and the dead would tremble before their advance. Still, she needed muzzling. Gripus probably did a great job of hiding it, with his eyes as obstructed as they were by their glow, but her attack had struck a raw nerve and made him wince.

[i]"Empire-hired bounty hunter, and Elven Kingslayer"[/i]

Then his gaze moved to Ellasapet, and the words that she spoke only moments earlier echoed in his mind. [i]"And what you are saving is the women and children and innocents."[/i] Suddenly, the Hero of the East wasn't so certain that he was the patriarch of the group, and neither was he certain this his comparatively short life had much wisdom to it. A crack started to emerge across his impervious guise.

It was Liliana's curious glance that broke the camel's back though. Gripus read her look, it was one of sympathy, and not for him but the Drow. He sensed she was waiting to see just how rabid the years might have made him. Was he just a bitter old fool, made vile by the trials of fire, on a last-shot path to final glory? Had he forgotten that all have a story, that all are made by the lives they were forced into?

No he wasn't rabid, and no he hadn't forgotten. It was time to throw his cards on the table, no holds barred and all that.

"Balls to it," Gripus remarked, his neutral tone breaking rough. "I've been alive too pissing long to keep waving this staff around like it's a representation of my pintel," he stopped, laughing so hard that his robes rippled. "As if I'd be so lucky, eh?" 

For a moment, the glow in Gripus' eyes dissipated, and his youthful flesh aged rapidly until it was akin to rumpled parchment. His lips were cracked yet gleamed with spittle, spider veins covered his nose and cheeks in a hideous quilt. Two dim brown eyes stared out at his would-be-companions, and he let free a grinding rasp, not unlike the final breath taken by a dying man. And then in an instant, his youthful visage returned, and his eyes continued to glow once more.

"I'm old. My knees ache, I'm fairly certain I cracked my hip a few weeks ago, and I need to piss every half an hour. To make matters worse, I'm constantly haunted by an abundance of sins that only a mortal with his short life could possibly hope to rack up. Chief among such sins," he paused to nod in the direction of the west, "is that bastard Necromancer in his bastard tower," and then he switched his focus to the Drow, "second among such sins is Morven; that pointy eared wanker chases me through my every sleeping hour - his body broken and torn, just the way I left it in that blasted desert. He taunts me, calls me a coward, tells me thousands curse my name. He shows me things, suffering, of his kin struggling against hardships that I alone created." A smile formed on the mage's lips, and he shrugged. "I'm no saint, though I'm certainly a sinner, but like Liliana's mithril, my persona as an upstanding Mage and people's champion is an impeccable armour that helps to ward off the many enemies I have accumulated over 91 years of breathing." Gripus sighed, shaking his head merrily. "That is all you're getting in the way of an apology, my mysterious and apparently gifted [i]Drow[/i] friend, whose presence on the surface warrants more questions than I can be arsed with. Come with me, don't come with me, at this point in my wretched existence I couldn't care less. That goes for all of you. The only certainty in my life now is that between here and Dragonblade Tower, I'm going to die... and I don't believe I need many friends to help me too much with that."