Flint roared.
He was not angry. This was something deeper. Darker. This was rage.
No sooner had the duergar clasped his hand than he was felled by a devilish elven arrow. Frostbeard tore his battleaxe from its stone cradle with one impossibly strong flex of an arm. As fortune would have it...
"So much fer diplomacy!"
Flint swung his battle axe around in a lazy arc, knocking the duergar's maul aside with a clang of metal and stepping in for a headbutt that sent the Dhunbor warrior reeling. He slammed the axe down to embed itself in stone and towered over the fallen grey dwarf now...
"What treachery is this?!" he roared.
Flint's worst fears about this desperate expedition flashed through his mind at the first sound of alarm bells and the clash of steel against steel. Relations between the upworld dwarves and their subterranean cousins had always been strained to say the...
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