Fistar

The wood elf rogue watched the departing armored man return to his duties. He shrugged nonchalantly and returned to looking at the shelves of books that the cleric had pointed out. He grimaced, not really wanting to look thru all those tomes. He recalled his father placing books in front of him, forcing him to sit for hours reading. Little good did that do him as he recalled the stern look of his father, when he said he was leaving the forest. He shook his head, bringing him back to the present and started picking thru the old musty tomes.

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