[hider=History Roll]History = 1d8 + 1 = 5[/hider]


It was not for the first time that day (or even in the last half hour of the tedious boat journey) that the stolid and stoic Dwarf wondered why he even put up with the company of Men, the youthful energy they possessed on both a racial and personal level doing much to advance his disapproval, and just as much to wear away at his seemingly infinite store of patience – it was not infinite, but to show any form of discomfort, even emotional, in front of these long-limbed jabber-monkeys would have been unthinkable.

With eyes half closed and refusing to take a seat on the ferry boat - choosing instead to stand firmly with his legs firmly planted and a shoulders width apart, hands as big as plates placed one atop the other on the bottom of the upturned axe haft – Wēlanandaz took the appearance of some primordial statue or fear-inducing gargoyle, a stone-made figurehead ever watchful at the rear of the vessel.

One may enquire as to why the Dwarf elder had even travelled this far with his Dre Costan shadow, and the answer was quite simple. Emilio Virtoli was a human in a generally human dominated world and society, could talk the hind legs off of a donkey (or any animal for that matter), and possessed the natural charisma that those of his ilk were renowned for in the wider world... his business acumen and 'get go' didn't do the pair any harm either, Wēlanandaz supposed with nought more than an exhalation of breath.

As usual the Dwarf simply allowed Emilio to open his mouth, glancing at their surroundings mistrustfully all the while, sometimes at the boy and often more at the broad back of the father, the only one on the boat he felt any sort of true connection with; truly the man appeared to take as much pleasure in idle chatter and rowing a large and deep body of water as he did himself.

The only good thing about this journey thus far was that it would soon be over, the shoreline in sight after what seemed like an eternity of watery Hell!

While the boat made it's way toward the shore the resolute figure began to wrack his mind and memories for any scrap of information he could recall about their rapidly closing destination, stroking a hand over his beard as he did so but saying nothing.

[@Tony Pajamas][@POOHEAD189]