<div style="text-align: center"><img alt="[​IMG]" class="bbCodeImage LbImage" data-url="http://i.imgur.com/OBYSo.gif" src="http://i.imgur.com/OBYSo.gif" style=""/><br/>
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<span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #9D612B">PRIESTS CLUTCHED ONTO BIBLES<br/>
HOLLOWED OUT TO FIT THEIR RIFLES<br/>
AND THE CROSS WAS HELD ALOFT</span></span></span>​</div><br/><span style="font-size: 9px"><span style="color: #544A41"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="font-size: 15px"><span style="color: #9D612B">Sbatarra had at some point taken out the rod from her pack,</span></span></span> flipped it over several times in her hand, then stuffed it onto her belt to quick and easy access.  Never knew when you might need a butterfly swarm, after all.  Beyond that, her trip was left with idle musings and a few curses in her native tongue to the headache that plagued her.  The lyrics of that infernal obyrith song drove her mad as she worked to translate the ever repeating words, trying to find some sort of reason behind the otherwise chaotic messages of the abyss.  She had almost made a breakthrough with her rambling thoughts when she heard something in the distance, and all other noises and thoughts were immediately shut out.  No longer was she the wandering philosopher.  Now she was the wary assassin, drawing her blade for another kill.<br/>
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What she saw was of no surprise, for giants were quite common in these parts, and they often fought against one another, but she had never stopped to really think if they had thoughts more complex than eating, shitting, fucking, and collecting large stones.  Apparently, murder, mockery, and mercy were concepts that giants seemed to understand, which only came as amusing to the assassin.  She contained her laughter, however, and only raised a finger to cover her lips in a 'be quiet' motion, as she disappeared from sight and lifted up into the air with her smokey wings, placing herself above the black giant, in a similar fashion as she had been doing all day now, it seemed.<br/>
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With a brief smirk, the drow tightened her grip of her downward facing falchion, imbued it with the strength of her Eldritch Blow, but with a great deal of concentration put into the strike, to give the blade a bright, wispy purple sort of glow.  Then she dropped, rending into the back of her foe like she had done twice before now.  This was beginning to develop into quite the successful tactic for the drow.</span></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: right"><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span style="font-size: 22px"><a class="externalLink" href="http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=454315" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">*</a></span></span>​</div><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>