The Scarred One

Of all the creatures the lived in the murky depths of the cave, few were as cunning as The Scarred One. His race had a short life span, a decade at most, and most were to stupid and horny to do anything but charge at anything with breasts. But not The Scarred One. Born from a copulation of a high elven maiden, the creature that took the name Scar or The Scarred One, had unnatural long vitality. In truth, around forty years, making it absolutely ancient. And with those years, it had gained wisdom, experience, and more importantly, increased venom potency.

With mottled green skin, and a large grey scar over its belly, it looked little different than its counter parts. He understood this, and used this to his advantage. After all, the scar given to him by adventurer's blade was enough to temper him even while young. But he had become patient, had learned from his mistakes... and even had learned bits and pieces of other race's language.

Resting in one of the harder coves to reach, the creature watched the entrance of his home. The others were reactionary, he could see that from the few that also chose the entrance as their home. When the sound of croaking, what akin to "Mate!" and "Fuck!" sounded to him, the creature's yellow eyes peered down from his vantage point. He could make out several figures which quickly dispatched his brethren. It was tragic, but Scar rarely grew attached to its peers. After all, they lived a fraction of his lifespan. Whether by blade, spell, or simply age, they would never see his years.

Eyeing the party warily, he began to look over them. Looking for the females, especially the ones that were weak willed, or overly arrogant. He listened carefully, picking up words he could understand....