Urist McMason was thinking about Noble Duke again. Noble was a tired elf with drunk beards and strong hands.
Urist walked over to the window and reflected on his dark surroundings. He had always hated oppressed Boltmurdered with its loud, large lots of nobles. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel grumpy.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a tired figure of Noble Duke.
Urist gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was an aggressive, arrogant, alcohol drinker with short beards and sturdy hands. His friends saw him as a tough, tired true dwarf. Once, he had even revived a dying, child.
But not even an aggressive person who had once revived a dying, child, was prepared for what Noble had in store today.
The blood rain teased like drinking cats, making Urist annoyed. Urist grabbed a mighty -copper pickaxe- that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
As Urist stepped outside and Noble came closer, he could see the motionless glint in his eye.
"I am here because I want a slade cabinet," Noble bellowed, in an untrustworthy tone. He slammed his fist against Urist's chest, with the force of 346 dogs. "I frigging hate you, Urist McMason."
Urist looked back, even more annoyed and still fingering the mighty -copper pickaxe-. "Noble, go die in a see of magma," he replied.
They looked at each other with angry feelings, like two knobbly, kaleidoscopic kittens eating at a very unfunny party, which had dwarven song music playing in the background and two hectic uncles idling to the beat.
Suddenly, Noble lunged forward and tried to punch Urist in the face. Quickly, Urist grabbed the mighty -copper pickaxe- and brought it down on Noble's skull.
Noble's drunk beards trembled and his strong hands wobbled. He looked aggressive, his body raw like a squiggled, shredded silver hammer.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Noble Duke was dead.
Urist McMason went back inside and made himself a nice drink of alcohol.