"Just once--that's all I ask for, just once--let the lass ride with me." Molok's drunken heavy lids stayed closed a beat too long when he tossed the copper in the fountain. Dwarfs...never underestimate their capacity for imagination: he could almost feel her thin, strong arms holding tightly to his waist, her spun-flaxen hair tickling his ears in the wind. She would be no burden to bear, one so light as she. Dwarfs' reverie, however, is usually short-lived. He opened his eyes, heard the water of the fountain, and felt a great need to piss. He lumbered back to the inn to sleep off the ale.
He saw a couple strolling hand-in-hand, hearing a hearty hello from Rhonin, and a nod from his beautiful wife. She hooked a strand of her flaxen hari behind her long, delicate ear. Aye, Rhonin was gracious enough, a good leader, a fine man that one, but argh, he could be a bit pompous in the pompadour. Molok's service and loyalty was to one true hero: Falstad. Daily flights and practice aerials were part of the duties of a gryphon master of Molok's calibre, and part of the drills were to take diplomats and their families to safety. Falstad trusted Molok's gryphon handling skills above all others, so Molok was charged with taking the heaviest in weight, and in political power. In mock simulation after another, Rhonin was his charge.
But just once...
Navimie's Genn (wondeful as always)