Second part, follow up of first. Scroll down for first.
In the story some one will have claimed doing something that is not true. Just this person being a moron.
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Vargosh slowly headed for the Inn.
He had never had a mead, an ale, in his life. Or atleast for thirty years.
He felt like time had come to change that.
As he sat down on a bar stool, and started to drink from the ale an old troll approached him.
"Wat be troublin' ya'Mok'Nathal?"
Vargosh looks at the troll, with a rather puzzled look.
"Ah, ya be supris' I be 'nowin' ya be on' of da Mok'Nathal? I 'now 'lot of ya'kind.
I be see' ya be troubled? W'y be dat?"
Vargosh that wasn't used to kindness by strangers nor being adressed as a Mok'Nathal replied.
"I be having problems with them she-orcs."
The troll took a blow of his pipe, probably one with drugs.
"Ahh, dem ladies be problem fo' da Mok'Nathal?
If id be somet'in' I 'now mon, id be dat dem ladies alway' 'ome an' go."
"Well, this she-orc, Mazguul, she was me mate. But she came not long ago tell me she have some other orcs pups. Pregnant."
Vargosh sighs, and takes another clunk of the ale.
"I be not jealous, them she-orc only lie, but reckon them whores do.
How could it ever be us two? Not sure if I love her enough ter trust her.."
The troll nods, knowingly.
Vargosh continues.
"All this hate, all the rage.. So many have to die to end it. For a while.."
The troll places his hand on Vargosh shoulder and speaks.
"Bu' mon, ya be a Mok'Nathal. Ya be a'honourable figt'er mon. Do'nae let dem 'ate control ya."
Vargosh nods, and yet again, takes another clunk.
The troll wrinkles his nose, and then giggles.
"It seem' I be havin' to take a 'ee."
He slowly walks out of the inn.
Vargosh chugs the ale and is about to turn around when an young orc next to him starts to talk.
"Mazguul eh? Aye, she be one fine she-orc, pummeled her hard! Understand why she left you, an ogre and all!"
Vargosh freezes on the spot, his entire face turns into pure rage, hate, bloodthirst.
He smashes his fist into the face of the orc, the orc falls to the ground, Vargosh dives down and starts jabbing fists into his face.
The sound of knuckles hitting flesh.
The sound of an orc getting beaten's paniced, yet slow breathing.
The sound of gushing blood drips on to the ground, and soaking Vargosh face.
The sound of bones, and tusks cracking, more and more, harder and harder.
And then, the sound of knuckles hitting dead meat.
Nothing more, no breathing.
Vargosh starts to regain control of himself, as he stands up he can see the barmaid, a female troll with a bow and an arrowed nocked aimed at his own head.
Different beings staring at him, shocked.
He looks down at his hands, that is filled with the orcs, and his own blood.
Wounds on the knuckles can be seen too.
He suddenly realise what he had done, taken the life of another orc.
He ran out with haste, affraid of what he had done.
When he reached the pool in the Valley of Honour he looked at his own reflection.
"What is this monster I have become?"