<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 (13); Condition: Normal (Excited);</tt><hr/><br/>Miaren was wise to question Draque's unfortunate lot.  For once, being an elf actually helped him out.  See, he had a great deal of quibbles against his race: for one, he could not sleep.  So whenever his friends set up camp, guess who sat around for most of the night bored out of his gourd.  Secondly, he did not reach maturity until after he was 100, despite feeling pretty grown up at the age of 30.  Then, there was the trust issue.  Humans didn't regularly trust him.  For that matter, other elves didn't really trust him, either.  Draque was not trustworthy, so it really wasn't an issue of race.  It was a nice little excuse.<br/><br/> "Look Miaren," he hissed innocently,  "I'm just trying to make the best of things!"<br/><br/> "Thank you, cousin!" he said aloud in an accentuated manner.   "But why are you helping us?  And why are you here?  Were you abducted, too?"</td></tr></tbody></table>