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"I already told ya, yer on! Quit stallin' or forfeit now, Fourthrate!"
"Well at least yer big mouth is good for somethin' then!" The Slab shouts, smiling, "Yer on if ya think yer dwarf enough!"
The Slab spends a lot of time drinking, and brawling in the square, but does take some time out to play cards with his new partner and keep him company as well. It would be rude to just abandon him. He frowns a bit when he sees Four Pillars coming around. F~~&in' snob. Thinks he's better than everyone else 'cuz he can draw fancy magic squiggles. he thinks to himself. Out loud, he shouts over the din of the party. "Hey, Four-Head! Let the lad be, eh? We're here to party, not listen to one o' yer lectures!"
"Aye, to the Bottomless Barrel!"
"Oi, 'ey, Bronzey! C'mere!" The Slab says, giving him a quick belly bump, like Bornzebelly likes. "Yeah, let's get the newbie drunk, eh?" he says, putting his arm around Durivig's shoulder."[/b]
"We thrashed a small group o' looters but nothin' else to report. They was real concerned with somethin' in "Warehouse 61", but I'm not sure what."
"Yep, need to get back to patrol. If they die, they die, if they live ain't no skin off my nose." The Slab says with a shrug.
The Slab grabs his victim and drags him along some more. "You sorry yet? Time to make it up to me." he says, firms his grip on the dwarf's ankle with both hands, and then slams the guy down on the crossbow dwarf.
The Slab then firmly sets his boot to the rear end of the battered, half-drowned dwarf (or the crossbow dwarf, whichever is alive).
"Which one of ya scrawny gits is next!?!" The Slab roars in challenge.
The Slab snorts. "C'mon boyo. You 'n' me's goin' for a trip." he tells the helpless looter dwarf, and starts dragging him off toward the warehouse.
"Ya need help over there, boy? Pretty sure I could make the young lad here play nice."
"Let the other dumb gits go. No need to hunt 'em down if they didn't even get away with nothin'."
The Slab just puts his boot on the neck of the pinned dwarf and holds him there until he loses consciousness.
The Slab shifts his grip, pushing the ornery looter to his knees.
"Milkdrinker, eh boy? Yer lucky I'm not, or you'd get a real fine show from down there."
The Slab struts in on the loudest one. "You had yer chance, boyo." The Slab grabs him by the shirt.
Then (whether it succeeds or not), he moves to put him in a headlock.
"Yer in fer a new level of PAAIIIIN, boy!"
The Slab starts aggressively stalking towards them. "You don't drop that barrel and get outta here the only 'booty' you'll be having is my FOOT UP YER ASS!" he shouts.
"Oi! You three! Drop the barrel and get outta here before I stick you through one of these buildings the hard way!"
The Slab mulls over the value of further debating philosophy with someone he barely knows, and thinks better of it. I ain't drunk enough for this. Instead, he shrugs. "S'long as it's your own choice. No skin off my nose."
"Aye, perhaps. But think o' this: would ya even have the scars without his influence in the first place? There ain't no reason to praise Torag in the lower circles, boy. He's the only reason we're here in the first place."
"Yeah yeah, Torag be with ya and all that." The Slab responds, barely avoiding rolling his eyes. "Not that the uptight git's ever done nothin' for me. Now Gorum, Kord, Kurgess: those are some real gods." he says when he thinks they're out of earshot of the other dwarves. "Ain't never got so much as a single extra rep out of Torag. Got no appreciation for the simple purity of massive gains."
The Slab walks over and grabs a map. "Alright, let's get movin'!"
The Slab visibly deflates at this, but rallies quickly. "No accountin' for taste I guess. Damn pretty boy muggin' for the crowds all the time..."
"Aye, 'en I know who ye are. Been in enough scraps to know a thing or two aye. A right proper set of steel should do the trick, but ye can't do much fightin' with water I thinks." "Maybe not, but I've been around long enough to know it's never one thing. Mark my words: there'll be somethin' more than water in those tunnels." Despite his serious words, his tone seems light and unconcerned, and he grows visibly happier when Durivig shines his belt. "Hehehe. Didn't know you were a fan. Remind me to get you an autograph when we get back from the field."
"You ever been in combat? If not, stick with me. The Slab will make sure you get out all right." he says, flexing and posing as they walk toward the other squads, waving to anyone who looks like they might recognize him.
Ye call that armor? I've seen dinner trays deflect blades better. You dissin' my CHAMPIONSHIP BELT tincan?
THE SLAB is ready to rumble whenever you are. |