So there we are on a hill; five of us, warriors proud, magic weaving about us, desire for blood in our veins. Down the ragged and rocky slope is a litter of bodies, stumps of trees and fires belching black smoke. Amongst this wreckage are eighty gnolls and five giants of tremendous size. A creek and small palisade separate these voracious and bloodthirsty killers and slayers from the community of Ends Meet.
Braelik draws a circle in the ground, his death ring. Ki looks on, drawing his sword. Stark sniffs and smells death in the air. Tolvar forces his fright away and begins weaving spells. Doffodil says, "I think we should skirt the edge of the forest and see if we can get into the village on the other side of the river and avoid these guys."
Braelik looks to everyone to see their reaction. Consideration!
"Yes, we could, like damp weasels, slink and crawl amongst the vermin of the ground and, like thieves in the night, steal into the village and hide behind wooden walls. Or we could, like the warriors of old, slay these foul beasts and make our mark in this land for all time to come!"
Oh I'm Braelik