<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 (Angry);</tt><hr/><br/>For better or worse, Draque hovered over Fern with a snarl on his face.  The elf hated to lose, especially to bugbears.  However, he was relieved that the rogue had not met her end.  Placing the back of his thigh against Miaren's shoulder, he maintained watch of the surroundings with narrowed, hateful eyes.<br/><br/> "How is she, Miaren?" he inquired, bristling.<br/><br/>He certainly hoped she would be all right.  But... but everything had happened in such a tremendous flash and during a time of great duress that Draque could not quite remember the specifics of what entirely happened.  One girl was safe, despite unconscious; the other girl had met her fatal end in the maw of the giant.  That spineless giant.  But what had happened to the other girl?  Did she get to safety?  Did the giant take her?  He hardly knew that Fern had been whisked away until Miaren told him.  He sighed, then crouched down, keeping an eye on the bushes.<br/><br/> "I hate this place," Draque muttered.   "We should not be here."  He then looked at the two women on the ground.  "Senses are fatally wounded by the musk of these caverns.  I hardly know what is happening, yet feel impending doom.  Let's take the survivors back, I say.  No use remaining here."  He hoped that he sounded convincing.<br/></td></tr></tbody></table>