[center][h1][b][i]Bors Titanstone[/i][/b][/h1][/center]

The dwarf listened closely to what he could hear of the Warden speaking. National problems, people in peril. What does he owe the King, or the Kingdom. The humans, the elves or the dwarves? His own people have done nothing but throw him out of the Dwarven Realm. True he had killed and humiliated quite a few high ranking people but that's there fault isn't it? He's about to say something about the Warden can go suck something long, hard, round and rod like, but before he can do so, it finishes speaking.

And then he's falling.

Or it feels like falling.

It could be soaring.

Or even flying.

Guess he didn't have a choice.

As he fell he could hear it's voice in his head, "[i]Apologies Titanstone, but the crimes you committed will not allow me to just let you decide. Good luck.[/i]"

And then the ground is racing up at him.

Bors braces, turning and with a clanking bang he strikes the dirt and stone of a low cliff edge, and rolls. A flurry of Dwarven swear words blares as the short figure rolls down the cliff face. And finally lands in about a foot of water. He'd landed several meters away from the main group, just at the edge of the forest and the clearing, right in the water. And as others begin you rouse. From the stream steps the tank armored dwarven miner. Dripping wet, face beneath his helmet and face mask still dark with the dust of stone that had settled while he had been digging for the prison. Held easily in his hands the axe pick, the great two handed weapon seeming like something that weighed near nothing to the Dwarf.

He scans the ground he can see. The hill-man, the armored thing, the abominations, the half orc, and others besides. He heaved himself up the low bank of the stream. Squinting through the bright light of the surface sun. He growled and looked skyward briefly, growling out in Dwarven, "[u][i]Raaagh, that blasted sun light, the surface is too bright![/i][/u]" With a sigh he continues rattling out in deeply accented Common, "Borselv Titanstone, you can all call me Bors. Blackgaurds the Thing from the Deep called us." He grunts, "Well any camp when in the Deep." He turns, his armor creaking just, nary a sound made as if the plates are fitted so find they would never make a noise even if crashed against stone or only is struck by steel. He looks towards the sound of horses. "Hmmm does the enemy come then?" He peers over at the man who has given himself the prefix of [b]Sir[/b]. Bors hefts his axe pick, "Emmm yes, let's. There are some things that get the heart going. Blood, drink, sex and a mythril vein. Let's shed some blood then eh human? What better way to get to know someone then to crack a few skulls together. Nothing an Axe or Hammer can't solve manling!"

Already the dwarf has thumped his way over and settled in beside but just far enough away that he can't be used as a shield or flung ahead to take a blow. Cagey dwarf he is, not quite fully trusting the lot. But willing to kill something? What dwarf isn't? Under his faceplate his lips part into a pale toothed grin, "There'll be plenty for all of us eh? Let the best Dwarf win!"