Zax sits in the mud, swilling the last of his whisky bought with the last of his coin, on what seems to be the last place on earth.
Having walked, ridden, shipped and crawled for over a year to reach the promised 'hinterlands' he had hoped for a little more than a muddy, goblin-infested rut, but then thems the breaks.
He probes his impressively reddened nose pensively just as a human bumbles past pronoucing something about goblins and wagons. The long-legs says something about pay, now that has a nice ring to it...
But wait up, theres one of them western stunties there proudly ranting on about stone like he knows it, hah. Still, he thinks, tipping up the empty flask, one must eat.
He pushes himself to his feet, hoists his ice-pick, and grunts "Wossis 'bout coin long-legs?'
the Gnome Fighter (MV 5", AC 2/4, HD 1+2, hp 6/6, FC Man+1, N) plate+sh+helm, pickax[/f]