<div class="floatleft">(http://www.britsattheirbest.com/cr_actor_keith_ledger.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_u">The Lion of the Press:</span></span></span><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;">Campbell Garrett</span></span><br/><em>Adventurer, Explorer and Famed Reporter for the Korremberg Press</em><br/>Character Sheet (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=168844); 41 HP (Current 26); AC 22<br/><hr/><br/>There really isn't very much I could write about my compatriots.  They lacked social graces.  The drow, a woman of remarkable evil, I should say, sometimes giggled at the things I did or said, and to be very honest, this terrified me.  The next thing that would happen is that she'd ask me out to dinner, and I'd end up having to hunt for snakes again.  I learned my lesson the first time I went out on a date with an exotic, thickly-accented female:  never date exotic, thickly-accented females.  I was a bit leery of the monk as a potential mate, specifically because I am such a terrible mate.  I have scorned each and every woman I ever knew, and none of them could so emphatically hand me my ass like this particular monk.  So I said fuck it, I'm not chasing after that tail.  The machine man wasn't my cup of tea, particularly because he was a man and because he was a machine (though I understand the appeal of machine women, it never really flew my coop).<br/><br/>So here I was, alone, threading my fingers together and placing them over my head, glancing at the dog girl.  A man has needs, I told myself.  A man has needs that need to be sated, otherwise, he might make irrational decisions out on the battlefield.  And, aside from the fact that she was scratching fleas from her temple with her toes, the woman was actually comely.  I belabored to ponder over the ramifications of raping the poor woman.  Who would know?  I certainly wouldn't.  One drought and I'd forget.  I could hand her over to Brolo the Dwarf afterwards, and he might get me that ransom.  I tapped my chin, and then turned to look at the Major:<br/><br/>"Do we get bunks?  And if we do, may I take this woman here?  I need a diversion!  All this fighting."