<table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td>(http://i371.photobucket.com/albums/oo154/PhantomPistoleer/Elf_by_artbytravis.jpg)</td><td><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 30pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Edwardian script itc;">Draque Cyredeplith</span></span><hr/><tt class="bbc_tt">Elven Rogue/Ranger, Level 3;<br/>Current HP: 25; Condition: Normal (Cold/Drenched);</tt><hr/><br/>Draque's back was sore.  His thighs were sore.  He couldn't feel his fingertips.  His lips were chapped.  Oily rain smeared his eyes.  But they did it.  They found the giant's den!  Climbing/crawling up the steep crevice-wall, he huffed a cloud of hot air with relief.   "... Finally,"  he said, his countenance contorted in a grimace,  "But I knew traveling in the rain was a bad idea." <br/><br/>Though the elf despised braving the cold rain, once out, he was determined to find the giant.  It had been by sheer luck that he had discovered the giant's trail over the jagged rocks.  A tuft of cloth here, a rivulet of blood on a stone, all created a zig-zag path, invisible to all but the trained, that the elven adventurer haphazardly followed.  A great swell of fear belied his calm exterior when he neared the mouth of the giant's cavern.<br/><br/>Quietly approaching the cave door, he crouched low and out of sight.  Fidgeting with his pouch, he retrieved his thieves' tools and, looking over his shoulder, whispered:   "Trap."  He looked overhead to see exactly what the device was for, then set about disabling it.<br/><br/></td></tr></tbody></table>