Štrængér's page

The Stranger raises his own drinking vessel at the celebration, but only offers a grunt of affirmation.

Sharing the Kholo's sentiment Stranger nods along, "With luck. I do not believe Iblydons do much indoor sport."

Growing quiet at his end of the table and slowly nods. "A dying breed indeed." He says solemnly, "But now is not the time for remorse, we should instead celebrate the full life Dintolneon lived hmm?"

The stranger as many of the Iblydans had come to call the otherwise nameless Elk-headed man typically did not entreat others with eating in their presence. It often upset him, as well as those around so he carefully took bites of the food when no one was looking as to avoid such topics.

In the sweltering heat of these lands the Stranger took to robing himself with the simplest of vestments, at least when not adorned in armor. A plain chalmys wrapped around his waist, folded and tucked on itself so it resembled a shorter skirt and made for easier sitting.

"Agreed, it is never easy to lose a long time companion." Comes the deep rumbling voice seldom used. "We are ever in your debt for your hospitality and patronage Madame Terpsime."

He raised his own kylix upwards in toast, being careful to not scratch the outside with the glossy rough hoof-like 'pads' of his digits. Unlike most humanoid bodies where the underside of their fingers were flesh, his were made of a strange malleable hoof which made grasping certain objects a pain. But he would endure to appease his host.