Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
From: kender@wam.umd.edu
Subject: Morgue to Loe, Sunstorm, and O^ulak
Message-ID: <1992May21.233127.6899@ms.uky.edu>
Date: Thu, 21 May 1992 23:31:27 GMT

  The female Orc again clanks to her feet and, with a thoughtful look 
which appears very out-of-place on her rough features, turns to face
the flind who addressed her. "Claim ta fame? Nah, it's da name ma big 
brudders give me when i was... much younger. Dey taught me howta fight.
Den i whupped 'em all... So dey sent me out ta make some money." She
smirks.
  "Big man, i'd take ya up on yer offer, but it'd hardly be fair of
me, would it? You tryin' ta get drunk on _beer_? How much 'ave ya had 
so far?" She smirks again, taking another swig from her pitcher.
   When O^ulak mumbles something behind her,  she whirls around
to snarl at him, upper lip pulling back to expose sharp canine teeth.
  "Whazzat 'sposed ta mean?" She steps over and grabs the front of his
shirt, pulling his face up to hers. "You don't even KNOW my god! Nor
would ya like ta, skinny bookworm! I'm sure yer god "SUN o' SILICON"
knows _nuttin_ about battles or strength, and don't even _care_ about
_life_! Even yers! She snarls once more, shoving O^ulak back into his 
chair, and continues growling at him in Orcish, her hands clenching and 
unclenching in her obvious desire to throttle the nerd.