The warrior rested, back against the rough stone wall, helmet by his side - his gleaming warsword within reach but resting on the hard floor. A jug of wine resting between his splayed legs. He speaks to his companion after a time as his small fire burns down to little more than glowing embers. Just enough to throw shadows.
"... I don't know why I'm telling you this. Sometimes... I wonder if anyone even listens. Tsk... I know they do. I don't know why I think the way that I think. I used to be so wicked - spiteful - all of the time. Cruel, even. Hmph... still am. I can be anyway."
He laughs to himself and drinks from his wine jug. Raising it to his companion in an odd salute.
"Cruel, like making that mad troll piss herself. I think she leapt to her death. Hrrhh... pretty sure. She didn't even look off the bridge she was guarding, just jumped off the edge into bottomless darkness. That's the kind of fear I see sometimes; in the bones of them that tsk... try to stand in 'my' way. Even -- hmph. Even Seb', you wouldn't know her - how could you? Sebrienne Who-Cracks-The-Sky, I think she might've peed a little too, first time we met. You won't tell her I said so".
He spoke gruffly during those last words, his eyes never leaving those of his companion - deep frowning scowl on his brooding brow. He took a long drink then, two or three gulps of cheap wine. His demeanor softened after taking a breath, he couldn't keep his companion's gaze anymore - couldn't bear it, maybe - and so he looked down at his feet outstretched before him in his lazy slouch; a pair of skulls leering back at him from the toes of his boots.
He finally sighs, and continues.
"...and I'm trying to be better. Hmph... kinder... to people. I know - it's a damned foolish thing - but I'm trying. Even to the half-wit Erilo. Offered him my old ring a while back. He declined. Maybe I'll offer him my old sword, see if a shield won't keep his ugly face out the dirt; maybe he'll stop tripping up over that nasty old spear of his. Ha!"
When the wine is gone, he picks himself up from the floor, slips his longsword back in its scabbard and puts his helmet back on. He looks at the body of the slain Orc that he'd been speaking with; braces the heavy wooden door with his boot, and with a grunt, pulls the blade of his axe out of both of them - the Orc slumping to the ground in a heap afterwards.
"Look, I know we parted on... hmph... well, it could've ended better for you. Just -- thanks -- for listening..."
And with that last line he turns, and laughs darkly - musically - to himself, the horrid deep sound filling the cavern and echoing over the litter of dead bodies that had been left in his wake. His shadow thrown far by the dimming embers of his campfire; his companion's glassy unblinking eyes watching him go....
