There were few arrows. About eleven left in a quiver. Three bows, though. [user avatar="https://cravatar.eu/helmavatar/DeathValley105/74.png" name="DeathValley105"]15756962[/user]
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Polly gasps watching Grimnir flex. "H-how do you make your axe so ha-strong." [user avatar="https://assets-cloud.enjin.com/users/16311516/avatar/small.1517585379.jpeg" name="Gundabad1"]16311516[/user]
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"Not a trick. Heh. Or, I supposed you could call it that. A name? Sigeric, you're too kind. Not. Hah. I'm known, more infamously, as the master of tricks. One may even surmise I am a Trickster of sorts." As the others began freaking out Eonwe looked back at them.
"What devilry? What's wrong?"
"Tsk tsk. Don't tell that little soldier about me. Otherwise, I'll make it hurt. This'll be our little secret. Just you all and I! Now, I've gotta ask, how the hell are you lot alive? So much bullshit has been thrown at you that it makes no logical sense for you to be alive. What sort of plot armor do you have? Mithril? Na, just kidding. I do, however, have a serious question. Do you intend to play your roles, boys?"