[Center][H3][colour=2F4F4F][b]Gentle[/b][/colour][/h3][/Center][hr]

He passed a few more adventurers – companions, he supposed they should be called – on his way out the hall. First an impressively scarred Tiefling woman. If her mug was anything to go by then she dealt with most of life’s obstacles by barging through them face first. A girl after his own heart. The horns were also a nice addition. Never could have too many horns on an expedition like this.

After her came what he assumed was an Aasimir. Gentle didn’t know what to make of him, slight little frail that he was. He supposed that looks could be deceiving, and the shield he lugged seemed sturdy enough, though the Achean’s had been fans of big shields themselves, and Gentle had seen plenty of those shattered in his time. Maybe he was being harsh on the blonde boy, but if experience had taught him anything it was that the size of the dog in the fight definitely did matter a hell of a lot more than popular wisdom would have you believe.  

The last member of their little coterie was even skinnier than the Aasimir, bearing the sharp pointed ears and delicate features of an elf. In her case being fragile didn’t seem like such an impairment. Elves had access to magics that featured in the other races nightmares, every calf knew that, and you didn’t need biceps to cast hocus-pocus. Gentle had run afoul of a few spellcasters in his time, and wasn’t keen to repeat the mistake. He’d walk carefully around this one. 

The crew filed back into the sitting room that they’d passed through on their way into the hall, to be met with the sight of a berobed, masked figure. Nathaniel didn’t even have to open his mouth for Gentle to figure out he was a spellcaster. From the way he dressed, to the way he moved, everything about him said [i]‘I’m quite interested in wizard bollocks’[/i]. Gentle didn’t like him on principal, if for no other reason than his daft mask and the overbearing stench of his lavender perfume. Any man who wore that much perfume was hiding something. 

As if the mask didn’t say that succinctly enough. 

Still, rules were rules, and Gentle wasn’t about to start arguing with a mage without good cause. If Nathaniel wanted to act like the king-swinging dick, he was more than welcome to the role. Gentle had done his share of leading in his younger days, and it hadn’t turned out pretty for anyone involved. He was happy to let the bemasked wizard bear that load. However it seemed like not everyone shared his sentiments. The sword-slinging half-elf, Gentle didn’t know her name because she had quite helpfully declined to give it to the people she intended on leading, got up in the overly-perfumed mage’s face and started acting hard. 

Gentle would have been more than happy to let them go at it – personal combat to decide which bull led the herd was pretty common in ‘taur culture after all – and if this kind of confrontation was likely between the half-elf and the spell-man then it was better to get it out of the way sooner rather than later, but he couldn’t help but wonder if this kind of ruckus would be seen as ‘barbaric’ to the more civilised amongst their numbers. He waited for someone else to speak up, to show support for one side or other, or maybe even throw their own hat into the ring. Nobody did. Looking around he wasn’t sure what he seen on the faces of the others. He’d never been all that good at reading others. Imposing his own will on the people around him, that he could do, but divining what they wanted themselves was a skill that had always eluded him. He snorted audibly, and stepped forward. If no one else felt like speaking then he supposed he’d have to give it a try himself.

[color=2F4F4F]“Does anyone else here care whether Nathaniel, the surely learned and powerful mage who can’t remember the name of the place we’re supposed to be going, or the lady elf so desperate to display the length and girth of her no-doubt titanic cock leads us [i]‘honourable do-gooders’[/i]?”[/color] He did his best to emulate Nathaniel’s painfully sarcastic tone, but wasn’t sure he got the inflection quite right. [color=2F4F4F]“Personally I’m happy to form a square in the dirt outside and let them tear lumps out each other to decide, but then I am just a simple Minotaur. Whatever we decide I gotta point out that while I’m not a betting bull I think that the odds are good that if there is any sands left in the prince’s hourglass, then they’ll be trickling down quick while we're standing here. Even if they weren’t the daylights burning and I’d like to leave some miles in our tracks before sundown.”[/color] He realized that he hadn't managed to go all that long without insulting both a court-mage and a pretty dangerous looking half-elf. So much for staying in the magic-types good graces.

Oh well, he'd never been all that good at taking good advice. Especially his own.