Three Strikes and You're Out!

"A goblin?!"

Lobur yelled, sharing in everyone else's surprise. "Goblins ain't green. Don't fucking lie to me! How are you faking your level?" 

"Nothing's fake about it." Rizz shrugged. 

He raised the pointed blade to his eyes, staring down the edge at the boarkin warrior. "Now, tell me. Was that enough pain, or are you thirsty for more, you masochist piglet?" 

"I'm no such thing!" 

Snorting and kicking up dirt with his hooves, Lobur was fully alert to the situation.

The feeling of cold, bloody cloth stuck to his skin. The lack of feeling something on the other end of his hammer, creating only a breeze while missing his target. The sensation of concern from the crowd, of humiliation… 

"If you're a man, then face me head-on, you snotty branch!"

"I wouldn't ask that if I were you."