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"Tell me again why you think this is a good idea?" Â Said the armored lord of the Grindstone.
"He's kept himself restricted to mauling and maiming. Â We have no idea where he sleeps, lives, or goes after this. Â It's the only place you'll get a chance to get him in the open and without his full combat kit." Muttered a cloaked figure perched on the rock next to him. Â "It'll ruin your little game here but it's not your tournament, so no real loss..."
"No. Not that part. Why Him? Why does Ishgarde AND Ul'dah care what an old, alchoholic Roe does in his spare ti-" Â Warren stopped mid sentence and reflexively stepped backwards as a shadow crossed the sun. Someone Hammersmith's size shouldn't move that quick, or that quiet, or be able to leap that high. Â The giant's bulk, briefly, eclipsed the day-star as he dropped from the cloudless sky and brought The Stick down, overhanded, into the skull and spine of the Ishgardian emissary. Â
The explosion of The Stick's impact was a meat-filled balloon popping over the two large men. Warren stayed very, very still as Hammer pulled himself out of the gore sodden impact where the agent had been standing and spoke.
"Figgures they'd get desperate. Â C'mon tin-can. Â Dun really care what sword they got hangin over yer neck t'make this happen." Â The giant shifted his stance and found footing on the blood slick stone. "We both been waitin fir an excuse t'dance."
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