In a dark alley of the Underground a battle raged.

The Dwarf gathered himself from the dirty alley floor. He spat a glob of blood. He grit his teeth and rose proudly to his feet.

Down the alley was his opponent.

Beams of blue light from above illuminated the alley.

The Dwarf, Thryn, stumbled forward teetering on his drunk legs. His addled mind had forgotten what the argument was about.

“Come on,” said Thryn. “I can take eight of you!”

The Orc crossed his arms. He was a big one. What was his stupid name? It didn’t matter.

Thryn threw a punch with all his stubborn might.

With a flash of light, he found himself back on the ground. His head rung and his vision swam.

“Fuck you, Greenie,” groaned Thryn.

“You’re Pathetic, Dwerg.”

“Fuck you!” he barked, blood dripping down his nose and into his moustache. “Don’t call me that!”

The Orc sighed. He had a square head and a squashed nose. The dense green skin across his face twisted into a pitiful frown. He leaned over Thryn.

“You’re just another damn dumb Dwerg with something to prove. Go back to the Clan.”

The Orc left him.

Thryn threw a punch at nothing, screaming and cursing in Dvergr. He collapsed back onto the alley floor and promptly passed out.


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