Marhault Deepvale
As the golden-haired half-elf dismounts from the chestnut mare, he plucks a quill from out of his weathered cap and dabs in into a small vial threaded into his leather jerkin. With tight, quick scratches he jots down something into a pocket-sized folio. "Road...ill...tended..." he mumbles to himself, finishing his note with a decisive stab. "My neck will be in worse shape than this trail if we don't rest a spell. Ah! Ain't that just the way. Buttons, could you hold this?"
He returns his quill to his cap, where a pinched, furry face appears and takes the quill in its tiny fangs - the shiny eyes of a bat glitter for just a moment before slipping back into the confines of the hat. "Much obliged, my friend." With a sigh and a casting look about the campsite, the half-elf places his hands on his hips. "Anyone for a quick run? I know a great song to keep the blood pumping. Just me? Ah, well!"
He returns his quill to his cap, where a pinched, furry face appears and takes the quill in its tiny fangs - the shiny eyes of a bat glitter for just a moment before slipping back into the confines of the hat. "Much obliged, my friend." With a sigh and a casting look about the campsite, the half-elf places his hands on his hips. "Anyone for a quick run? I know a great song to keep the blood pumping. Just me? Ah, well!"