Date: August 7, 541 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
Krag-Mhor hummed like a giant beehive. The roar of forge hammers and the hiss of steam created a familiar rhythm to which Datuk and Sobra marched briskly along the narrow streets of the residential tier. The dwarf, once again displaying his bare torso and fresh scratches, felt his inner essence, only just calmed after the fight, beginning to demand new fuel. The Warrior level granted not only strength, but a truly beastly appetite.
"Smell that, Sobra?" Datuk noisily inhaled the air. "That's the smell of victory. Or roasted pork ribs with garlic. I like the second one even more right now."
The bear responded with a sound somewhere between a groan and a purr, and quickened his pace, nearly knocking over a venerable dwarf jeweler who barely managed to press a box of gems to his chest.
Datuk's house was in a dead-end alley cut into the rock. It was a sturdy structure with a heavy oak door that had seen better days. Datuk didn't knock. He simply shouldered it open, tumbling inside along with his huge, shaggy friend.
"Hey! Anyone alive? We've come to claim our rightful loot!" the dwarf shouted, heading straight for the kitchen.
Inside, it smelled of comfort, old wood, and—to the raiders' greatest joy—of something very meaty. On the massive table stood a huge cast-iron pot, covered with a towel, and beside it, on a platter, were the remains of yesterday's ham.
Datuk and Sobra acted like a well-coordinated team of bandits. The dwarf sank his teeth into the ham, while the bear, without any ceremony, stuck his head straight into the pot, blissfully slurping the thick, rich broth.
"Mmm..." Datuk mumbled with his mouth full. "A core is a core, but a good feed—that's sacred. Right, Sobra?"
The bear just smacked his lips in agreement, splattering drops of fat on the cleanly swept floor.
"Again?!"
This voice wasn't loud, but it contained such steel that Datuk instantly choked on a piece of meat, and Sobra tried to pretend he was just a very large, hairy piece of furniture, slowly pulling his head out of the pot.
In the kitchen doorway, arms akimbo, stood Brunhilda—Datuk's mother. Despite being a head shorter than her son, this woman exuded such an aura of unshakeable authority that even the Berserker Spirit in Datuk's Vessel quieted in fear. She wore an apron smeared with flour, and in her hand, she clutched an impressive rolling pin. Her inner power wasn't martial, but it was so stable it could have served as the foundation for the entire fortress.
"Ma..." Datuk tried to muster an innocent smile, but the piece of bone sticking out of his mouth spoiled the effect. "We just... came by to say hello."
"Say hello?!" Brunhilda stepped forward, and Sobra guiltily backed away, bumping a stool with his rear. "Look at you two! One—all bloody and dirty, like he's been through a rock crusher, the other—face-first in my best stew! I spent all morning cooking that for your father!"
Without looking, she brought the rolling down on Datuk's shoulder. The blow wasn't hard, but weighty.
"Now get out of here, you brawlers! Both of you!" Brunhilda began actively shooing the uninvited guests out with a towel. "You've plastered my whole kitchen with your 'victories'!"
"Ma, but we just..." Datuk tried to interject, but the towel whipped him across the ear.
"No 'buts'! If you're so itchy you can't sit still, go to the 'Fighting Circle'! There's a bunch of other boneheads gathering there today who need a good thrashing. Have a fight, earn your drinking money, and don't you dare come back until you've washed in the public baths!"
Datuk and Sobra, their heads hung low, backed towards the exit. Brunhilda slammed the door behind them with such force that dust showered from the ceiling of the alley.
Outside, the dwarf and the bear exchanged glances. Datuk finally swallowed the unfortunate piece of ham and winked cheerfully at his friend.
"Well, you heard Ma, Sobra? We've been officially sent to go punch some faces. And you gotta listen to Ma, or next time she won't even let us into the baths."
The dwarf straightened up, and the spark of excitement reignited in his eyes. The fatigue from the forest sparring vanished as if by magic.
"To the 'Fighting Circle'!" he shouted, raising his fists. "Let's see who in this city has a core tougher than my Ma's! Wanna bet we won't find any?"
Sobra gave an approving roar, and the strange pair, forgetting their recent disgrace, bounded off towards the lower levels of the city where the famous arena was located. Krag-Mhor didn't know it yet, but Datuk the Brawler was in a particularly "hungry" mood today.