The svirfnebli gazed up at the night stars, yearning. The stars seemed to chuckle back at him. Taunting him. Perhaps daring him to count them. Maybe sympathizing with him.
The svirfnebli fingered the hunting axe at his belt, still stained with the blood of the creature he had killed in obtaining it. He wondered what he should feel about that death. About that light he put out. He felt little. Little but the itch.
He shook his head and walked into the building. The guard looked him over quickly, probably fighting the urge to make a crack about his size, and let him pass. The warrior’s guild was a simple place. Basically a tavern with a training room and an entrance into the sewers below Galadon. The svirfnebli was not in the mood to train, so he pulled himself up to the bar and ordered an ale.
A chuckle to his right caught his attention. He looked to see a massive cloud giant, giggling into his own ale.
“Problem?” the svirfnenli asked.
“Nay, nay. There no problem.” The giant shook his head and tried hard not to laugh.