<div class="floatleft">(https://67.media.tumblr.com/ed0c1c51b6662cda0ef7f92a4c723980/tumblr_odm1t15VXw1utyn51o1_1280.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Sella Lampwick</span>(https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=256432.msg12667760#msg12667760)<br/><hr/><br/>Sella's feet hurt. That's never part of the stories, is it? Of course, the people writing those stories are rarely the subject of them, so... maybe that's why. All the great heroes always seems to have the ability to fly, or at least the gold to buy a horse. But then she'd have a sore backside, and the Inndorinn patrons would be treated to the sight of her rubbing something<em>besides</em>her bare calves while she waited for her pilsner. All over the western half of the world it seems, and at town after hamlet after city after port, it was almost always the same...<br/><br/><em>"I'm not suicidal, girl; I heard what happened to that lot."<br/>   "Sorry, I've got to stay and tend my flumphs."<br/>   "Wait, did you say you'd recruited <em>Raivo Tennia</em>? Nope, nope, noping <em>right</em> the fuck out."<br/>   "I'm can't possibly; I'm too busy drinking and knowing things."<br/>   "You play yer fat lute real nice. Let's see what else them hands can do..."</em><br/><br/>That last fellow got a punch in the nose for his trouble, in fact.<em>Fat lute</em>! Callous cad. In fact her fist still hurt.<em>That</em>was never in the heroic tales, either, Sir Brevinald never dislodged a knuckle or cut himself on a tooth.<br/><br/>But...<em>just but</em>not everyone had been so... dismissive. The princess had seemed pretty, uhm,<em>eager</em>. And aside from the whole "trapping her in a snare and poking her with a sharp stick," thing, the halfling seemed to be agreeable. So she sat, as all famous adventurers do, in a shady corner, back to the wall, polishing her weapon of choice - well, actually she was tuning the strings on her guitar, but that was close enough, wasn't it? Every time the door slapped open, her big hazel eyes lit up and she half-rose to greet her party.<br/><br/>So far she had seen innumerable dwarves, a local delivery boy, five stray dogs, a pair of elves with sad excuses for moustaches, and three kobolds in a single trenchcoat who were right now maintaining their charade and quickly diminishing the world's brandy supply. But nobody she knew. Maybe the kobolds would like to go on adventure... Well... No, she remembers last time she used<em>that</em>exact line, and the thought of three scaly hands pinching her butt was entirely unappealing.<br/><br/>So she waited, sipping her beer and pretending her instrument was less-than-perfect. They'll come. They'd better come. If she has to go looking for them again, so help her...