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"We Only Roll With Motherfethers Who Kill For Me." [Basic Axe/Mod Please]
OOC: Need a mod for this melee.
It was one of them nights on Jag Fang, down in the Gorefist camp, where Braz crashed through his home and hit the bed at full force. Sleep had swept over him for some candlemarks, drawing the beast into one of those stone-heavy reveries. Night drifted on, never realizing how close the triple suns were. When the doors busted open he had no idea what to think. Half awake, groggy eyes fixed on three shadows at the door. Orcs. Brothers. Feth. He didn't even have time to push himself off his mat, bum-rushed in a maelstrom of tackles. Two bodies hit him hard, the third body bringing a leg to his gut. He threw a couple fists, felt something connect but it didn't matter after two solid cracks came upside his skull. He could hear the shouting, struggling as anvil arms clamped down on him.
"Waarrrrrrrrrgh! Fethin' manticore ****! Fething break ju's!" Jerked up by their fists, and ignoring his threats, they mashed him through the doorway. His feet were moving fast, theirs too. Half-stepped, he saw the corral coming up. There were about seven goblins milling about in them, two humans, looked like a couple; phondran human and his wife. Brothers shoved him in. Everything went silent, electricity in the air. Braz finally managed a breath, staring through the bars. "Wha th'feth?!" His bear-paw fists shook the bars. "Open dis fether!" His eldest brother, Graskul stepped forward, powerful arms folded across his chest, his head shaking. "Watch jer back, Braz." Braz starred at him dumbfoundedly, then it came and a crack from a broken piece of wood hit his shoulder. One of the goblins got bold, three more looking awfully hungry. The game was clear.
"Ju tink 'am jur slave!? Ju gunna feel me eatin' trou jer underbelly when dis is over." He spat venom at his brothers, arms brought together like a mangler, eyes filled with hate and fire.
"Ju tink jur Gorefist? Show dem weaklin's den." Graskul puffed his chest out, standing final.
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