π Ώπ °ππ Ίπ ΄π
"Seriously? That's the race you chose after empathizing that we have to lay low?
With his more than 7 feet, Walter, now Walark the firbolg, looks shyly at the ground. The half-giant's pointy ears and broad build don't help either.
"Think of it this way," he mumbles. "They would expect us to choose something less noticeable. They would never investigate a giant."
He is right, but still, wouldn't it be smarter to blend in?
"Are you guys finally rea- oh my god."
Aehorn facepalms himself when he sees us.
"Great. Now we look like a circus. Why didn't you at least choose some powerful races? A satyr? Seriously?"
I cross my arms. "What's your problem?"
The hybrid rolls his eyes. "Look in the mirror. Waist down, you're a goat on two legs. All you can do is ram someone with your horns. We need powerful fighters."