<div class="floatleft">(https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/criticalrole/images/e/e8/Wyvern.jpg/revision/latest/top-crop/width/360/height/360?cb=20150810045153)</div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">Telamon<br/></span></span><hr/><em>A Goddamn Wyvern</em><br/><strong>HP:</strong>73<strong>AC:</strong>19<br/><br/><hr/><br/>For his part, the wyvern did not know what to make of these creatures.  He had never been treated the way that Grimrauk had treated him.  Sure, things had begged for their lives as he tore them apart, but no one had ever truly been kind to him.  None had ever tried to negotiate with him.  None had healed his wounds.  For a creature that had always been tormented and caged, kindness... it went a long way.  Sure, this was a strange alliance, this thing between him and this group of people, but they danced, and sang, and laughed, and that made him strangely happy.  He watched, chomping on what looked like a large grouper, as they embraced and kissed one another.<br/><br/>At times, these people would speak to him, but he would not say anything in return.<br/><br/>He knew some common, but it was only what had been taught to him by the hags.  It was rife with condemnation.  His tone was vulgar.  His vocabulary was mean.  And so, he waited and watched, always keeping an eye open... thinking that any moment, the Sept of the Green Horizon would betray him, as he had been betrayed before.