<div class="floatleft">(http://cdn.obsidianportal.com/assets/130047/male_elven_archer_by_vynthallas-d3ehotf.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;"><strong>Runt</strong></span><br/>Male Elf (Forlorn) Rogue: 1<br/>HP 9 (Current: 9); AC 15/T:13/F:12; F:+1/R:+5/W:+0<br/><hr/><br/>Runt walked in late, dusty from the ride from Riddleport over the last few weeks and his meandering through the city of Magmimar. He had been sent, via Riddleport, from Absalon to lend 'material' support to the newly founded Pathfinder lodge in his home city. One that he hadn't seen in almost sixty years. The city hadn't changed too radically, though the faces had changed vastly. The names on the sides of a building have changed and the districts had .. progressed as they always had but most tellingly of the dozens of faces he'd once seen here, only six remained. Vastly aged while he remained the same. He fingered the ornately embroided kapenia that he had been carrying with him so long. It was a gift from his adoptive parents so so long ago. It was a helpful tool for finding adoptive kin, but only reminded the forlorn elf that his family had vastly changed while he walked the Inner Sea looking for a place.<br/><br/>"My apologies.. I was looking for kin upon my arrival from Riddleport. I have missives and notes for the Venture Captain, as well as a letter of introduction from Absalon." He said in smooth common, a hint of Absalon in it that spot of his last decade or so working out of the city at the center of the world. "I'm called Runt," he added simply.<br/><br/>In all honesty, he wasn't really 'there' in the nice estate but replaying what he had seen in the day's trek thru the city and comparing it to the 'home' he'd left so long ago. It was hard, at moments like this, to not be melancholy. At least Magmimar had fared better than Korsova or Westcrown.