Waylorn gratefully accepted the man's help. With a grunt and several more resounding cracks, straightened to his full height. With a satisfied sigh, he stretched his back from side-to-side. As he continued stretching, he stopped suddenly and whirled on the man who had helped him up.
"OLD?! Did you call me old," Waylorn roared indignantly. Despite his seemingly agitation, the human sobered just as quickly.
"Well, maybe I am," he said thoughtfully. As he pondered, Waylorn began retrieving his weapons, grabbing the long rod last and then turned back to Ulin.
"When and where in the abyss are we?" Before Ulin could answer that question, Waylorn held out the rod he was holding and smiled. "Care to poke a bear," he asked with a mischievous grin. "Might be entertaining!"
"And that blockhead Rukin.. he might not be much of a thinker, but he can kill things well I suppose..." Argent: Cleric of Silver Master. ICRP Key of Destiny.
"Well I'll be a pickled dog-turd," Rukin grunted.