<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);</tt><hr/><br/>Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the tent.  He felt a bit embarrassed and looked around, attempting to find an excuse so that he might be excused from telling Miaren exactly how he lost that blasted tent.  Sighing, Draque neared Miaren and spoke in a rushed, hushed manner:   "Don't tell anyone, Miaren.  This is so embarrassing.  But I invited a human woman into my tent."   He nodded slowly.   "But not just any human woman.  Even I admit that some human women are quite comely.  But this woman was not attractive, and what's worse, she smelled.  To smell is a rather relative infinitive, but you could smell her a kilometer away in the rain, with a cold, next to a roasting fire.  But I was desperate for some... companionship... and, well.  The stench did not leave my tent with this wench.  I soaked the damned thing into a spring for three days, but the smell was still there!  I'm an elf, clearly," he said, splashing his hand across his long locks to show his pointy ears,  "so... I had to lose the tent."<br/><br/>He leaned back against his chair, fully knowing that he would never hear the end of it.</td></tr></tbody></table>