<div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/zdj9kJl.png)</div><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Stats</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>Current Hp:</strong> 29/29 <strong>AC</strong> 17<br/><strong>Passive: Perception</strong> +11; <strong>Investigation</strong> +10<br/><strong>Languages:</strong> Common, Abyssal<br/>Frog Percentage: 17%<br/><strong>Weapons:</strong> <br/>+5 Greataxe (1d12 +3 x3)<br/>Or +5  Maul (2d6 +3 x2)<br/></div></div><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Acantha, Cherise, Kinsey<br/><hr/><br/>Alexander wasn't as much shy as he was uncertain how to address Acantha. In part, that was her fault, he reasoned. She juxtaposed noble mannerisms with provocative dressing and a suprisingly darkly appealing overall aesthetic, but with a far more extroverted personality than him. Cherise, by comparison, seemed more easily categorized. The term 'wild child' came to mind first and at least, her playfully flirting with folks made sense.<br/>She was flirtatious. She also had a wolf that indubitably had a say in anyone making advances on her uncouthly. Alexander wasn't afraid of the wolf. But he respected its space. He hoped that'd go both ways. Any attempt to tease-flirt with him beyond what his natural looming had dissuaded would have been answered with more reserved calmth than enthusiasm.<br/>Either way, looking at the scantly clad women, Alexander certainly did not complain. He also had some more wine.<br/><br/>He did however raised his brows, slightly uncomfortable almost, when called out. He glanced over with a calm smile. He considered how to answer, but started by lifted his glass in response, with more grace than his gruffer apperance would at first indicate. "My mistake to imply, Lady Acantha. I'm not a hero. Such is reserved for mighty wizards and knights in shining armor. My approach to the age old tale of the princess and the dragon would be to purchase a herd of sheep first, in hopes of executing the beast when it's asleep in feeding stupor, rather than charge in on a mighty steed, with mine holy sword held high.<br/><br/>Though, I admit, it'd be a tempting logicstical challenge to find grave and gravestone for such a creature." He pondered, suddenly seeming focused on his own line of thinking, tipping his chin.<br/><br/>"You'd have to secure the grave to begin with, to ensure none disturb it hunting for trophies or crafting materials. Propably would need a tomb, Large entrance.. something build into a hill perhaps, with engravings telling of the dragons deeds, so they can be reconstructed. Heh. My apologies for ranting. I blame the white wine... -more white wine!" Yes, he was intoxicated, he decided. But he didn't tend to make too much of a fool out of himself when drunk, so it was no severe issue. He glanced over to the tiefling woman.<br/>There was no mistaking that was what she was. She seemed cheerful enough, but he had been cautioned of their wicked ways. Then again, the people that cautioned on such things were the same kind of people that refused to tip for overweight relatives and got all shouty when you brought that up.<br/><br/>She was.. endearing, in a way, but he struggled with her.. direct humor. Also, one more woman about with whom he had to remember the lesson of Victor Gravenholme, his father:<em>"If you just look at a womans chest, she'll just look into your coinpurse. Also, don't eat beans before a service!"</em><br/><br/>It seemed no one else had found something ever so slightly off about that story. Perhaps he was being too paranoid again. To be fair, he hadn't dealt with any undead, nor had he gone after his profession for a few days now. It made him feel a little.. useless, almost. If he was not doing Gravedigger work, all he was was a gloomy gardener. If with a snazzy dress-style, he allowed himself to credit.<br/><br/>He again thought about Kinsey's words, realizing the irony of claiming not to be up for heroics, yet having a suggestion on the tip of his tongue for this as well. He also had more white-wine at the tip of his tongue. That was at fault. "I've dealt with a few cursed things in my time. All curses end, ten feet underground." He hesitated. "No offense to anyone currently suffering from minor ailments and such, on reconsideration a lot of temples would offer help too." He shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly and watched the blonde pull out a lyre, joining the cheerful music and festivities, briefly, it was music oh so different from his own. He gave his dark violin a final glance, then, hopefully without anyone seeing it, stowed it away, out of sight, in his backpack, right on top of his bedroll, with a careful motion.