[Sol'ahiel Vervalsa]

Doubled over as he was, and trying unsuccessfully to extract a lung by hacking, Sol was duly unaware of Selegon’s arrogant and rather rude declaration. His body shook and convulsed with each cough and his throat was becoming rapidly more raw. The convulsion became so bad that Sol was forced to sink down to one knee in growing agony, clutching desperately to his makeshift staff. A full minute passed before the disheveled Elf managed to subdue his hacks long enough to partake in the ‘festivities.’

“I should think you could show a fair few more manners, stranger. Most especially when you are the one to be sneaking around like some kind of vermin.”

Sol glared maliciously at the would-be assassin, quickly gaining a thorough dislike for the character.

“And I will thank you to keep your bribes and pity-offerings to yourself!”

He cried, striking Selegon’s proffering hand with his staff while still from his kneeling position.

“I have no desire to associate with the morals of the thieving and degenerate.”

Considering Sol’s current situation, it may have been slightly hypocritical to say so, but he did regardless.

Struggling to gain full stature by rising to his feet—aided, of course, by his trusty staff—Sol cast a sorrowful glance in the direction of the blossoming sunrise. His morning, he knew, was quite thoroughly ruined. He had hoped for an hour or two at the least of quiet respite for his aching body, something to take his mind off the persistent problems that had plagued most of his woken life for the past several months.

Dwelling upon such thoughts, if even only for but a moment, depressed the Elf, and he spoke again, this time more tolerantly.

“Truly, I hold little ill will towards you, stranger. Rather, you have perturbed my respite: of the few pleasures I am allowed the most anticipated. Let us continue this feud no longer, but part in peace.”