The Invasion of Toril

[Medic!]

Krgg

The anxious orc turns his eye to Bleerie, as he tucks the red crystal into his belt pouch, Now here's one who speaks with some sense. I don't care where we go as long as we're moving towards removing those scum from Toril. You all may have the right of it in planning...very well, you make your plans and preperations, I shall make my own.

Krgg begins removing his armor, placing each piece with care on the table. When he finishes he removes a flask of oil and a whetstone from his pack and goes about lightly polishing and oiling his armor and honing his blade with his whetstone.

He polishes the armor in an almost angry manner, with furious but tedious movements, applying a very small film of oil to every inch, placing each piece in his pack when it's finished. As he draws his falchion, the black blade seems to drink in a small amount of light around him, and he sets to work on it with the whetstone. An almost supernatural calm overcomes him as he slides the stone lovingly up one side of the blade's edge and down the other.

His voice takes on a completely different tone as he speaks to nobody in particular, resembling a father teaching life's secrets to his oldest son. You have to be careful, you know. Too much attention to a blade with the stone will ruin it. Just enough, with a light touch, hones it into a fine edge. Pay particular attention to removing any rust spots if you were careless enough to not protect it from moisture. The One-eye will never lend his strength to a careless whelp.

After several minutes of this he lightly coats the blade in another light film of oil just as he had his armor, and sheathes it. His tone shifts back to the proud, gruff rumble it previously possessed. Not that Foebane requires any such care, ha! Gruumsh is a god of action; even a prayer to Him requires action if you mean for it to be heard. You have seen my soul, I'd like to see yours. He addresses the last to anyone who remained close enough to watch and hear his ritual.