Neve Nevergreen - Smallfolk Rogue:: AC 15 MV 20' HP 16/16 [Attack] :: Init. 1
It's over by the time she can react - the flurry of bigfolk turning the contest into a flurry of mud and boots and tail that has her scrambling back, ducking from the warrior's flailing, dying swings and the press of bodies of her companions.
There's not time for pity, and in truth there is none: the dying chant stirs no such soft feelings in her breast. Kinship? Yes. Recognition? Yes. But it was thus for all of their sort, and all in the Fell. It was true in the other wild places as well, though civilization hid it a bit better.
When it's all over but the dying, the rogue steps up and makes in quick, her own rough draconic a murmur cast to the rustling leaves.
"Од крв нашите души се измачувани, во крв се враќаат. Добро пливајте.From blood our souls are conjured, to blood they return. Swim well."