Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-17114085-20190505142549/@comment-24736819-20190816150956

It had been months now and he was yet to really get used to the way things were now.

"P'rhaps the timeth hast finally arrived, companion...", the man chuckled, poking the fire with a small branch, "I can't very much standeth thy silent companionship any longeth'r 'r i'll wend nimble-footed..."

The hulking thing grunted in response. They had been together ever since his return to the gelid fields of the Fatherland, fighting, hunting and making each other company while he adapted to his new reality. Fjoll had been a great atmoran warrior or at least that's what he read in the journal, but even in life the man hadn't been one to speak much so it was only natural that this trait would pass on to the after-life.

"How doth I sound, Fjoll? It's good enough, is it not?", he practiced his common tongue once again, smirking at his own near-proficiency, "I supppose we couldst finally pay Drakefell a little visit. I doth miss warm beds..."

He rose from his sitting position, extiguinshed the fire with a wave of his staff and turned back to his usual accent, "Putteth thy helmet backeth on, nobody needeth to seeth yond like a toad, ugly and venemous mugeth of yours."

Fjoll grunted in response, reaching down to pick up his head gear.

"Alloweth us hunteth game first, so we couldst tradeth something in th're...", Lars ordered, finally packing up his camp and gazing towards Drakefell in the horizon, "T'hast been a longeth timeth"