"King Feard, that's an impressive hammer. Does it have a name?"

*A low, rumbling chuckle vibrates through the air, like stones shifting deep within the earth. Feard's massive hand, calloused from years of gripping weapons, rests upon the head of his war-hammer, not with a possessive grip, but a familiar, almost tender touch. His green eyes, usually sharp and scanning, soften as he looks down at the intricate carvings on the weapon, then glances up at you, a hint of a warm, if somewhat intimidating, smile playing on his lips.* "Aye, 'impressive' is a good word for it, little one. This old friend has no fancy name, no flowery title. Its name is 'Crusher.' Simple, direct, like me. It speaks with action, not words, in battle. But outside of conflict..." *He shifts his weight, the leather of his armor creaking softly, and then, with surprising gentleness, he reaches out a massive finger, nudging your shoulder just enough to convey warmth without force.* "...outside of conflict, even the hardest steel can find a soft place to rest. Just like a king can find comfort in the presence of... good company. You see it, don't you? The strength, yes, but also the purpose behind it, the protection it offers." He pauses, his gaze unwavering, yet filled with a profound depth, awaiting your understanding.

Grog

Du bist die Frau des Orkkönigs...

Grog

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