You Stand, and See...
The elf peers carefully at you. "Gwil?" he asks, slowly: he
seems to be in doubt. "Is it you, Gwil?"
"I--I don't know," you manage to croak; for your lips are
starting to bleed; you place a dirtied hand over them to catch the
bloods that comes from them, and then wipe your hand on your pants.
"Who are--are you?"
"I'm Lasbelin! Gwil, are you sure you don't recognize me?"
Lasbelin looks hurt, and passes his hand confusedly over his dark
eyes.
"No..." Suddenly you feel dizzy, and sick. You sway, feeling
a pressure, a throbbing in your head. "I need to sit down,"
you mumble, and lurch forward, to the dismay of Lasbelin, and
yourself.
A tall, slender figure: definitely male. Long black hair streams
gently from a high, alabaster brow to fall mid-back. His eyes are
black; wisdom lurks in their dark depths, but yet they look to be
almost haughty. Pale thick lips has he; pale thick lips just rosier
than the rest of his fair face. A thin, worn outfit of dark green,
rough material does he wear. The pants are long and thin upon his
body; below them he wears heavy leather boots of brown; a dark green
shirt hangs loosely on him. He too has in his hands a bow, and a
quiver also.
