The rod in her pocket while everything else had been put into her endlessly useful bag of holding, Sbatarra was able to march on for several hours before anything else had come her way. It was high noon, and the terrain had just started  to become more rocky, when suddenly, something would not feel right. At first, things were deathly quiet, but after a couple more minutes of travel, she would hear moans of pain. Following the noise, Sbatarra would be in for a much darker surprise.<br/><br/>Laying on the ground, groaning in agony, was what looked to be a gray, hairless man, his skin hard and chiseled perfectly to his lean, twelve-foot body. Deep cuts were all over him, and blood ran down his chin profusely, blended withhis saliva to make a crimson mess. Standing proudly over him was a =nother twelve-footer, though this one was built more like a dwarf. His skin was black as coal, and his hair was the bright orange of a campfire. Over his shoulder was a gigantic sword, so large that it would have stood taller than the giant. The armed giant had given a hearty, cruel laugh, and began gloating in the tongue of giants. Meanwhile, the stone giant's blank eyes seemed to have turned just enough to meet those of the elf.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>