<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/qvQdg7X.jpeg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;"><strong>Falgrim Runeforged (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2538176)</strong></span><br/>Dwarven Artificer(Armorer) lvl 3<br/><strong>Hp:</strong>26/26<strong>AC:</strong>19<strong>Passive perception:</strong>13<br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spells</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>1st:</strong> 0/3 used</div></div><strong>Actions:</strong>you know<br/><hr/><br/>Really, why was everyone so uptight about the party going on by the fire, it looked fun and the promise of ale was certainly a quick way to catch a dwarf. That and the subtle smells of burning wood and a few other enticing aromas stirred the soul of the cook inside the Artificer. He had to admit to himself he missed the uproar of a dwarven tavern, the sound of clanking bronze mugs(the glass ones kept breaking) the clattering of plates and armor. The music, the food and the revelry of his kin was always so infectious...he missed that on the road.<br/><br/>He was lost in memory and heading forward still when Drip took his hand and shook it. The Dwarfs head turned and he remembered the night they met, the satyr was certainly entertaining and had an appeal about him then, and even through the shenanigan's that night it felt good when the Bard had run to him. With those thought in mind he gripped the satyrs hand tightly and pulled him closer. Armored fist twined into the bard hair and pulled him down for a solid and lustful kiss.