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It didn't take long for you to make up your mind as you rummaged through the items which you'd been collecting since moving in. The Dwarven hammer still hung proudly upon your wall just as it had when you'd first placed it there, a disappointing lack of vengeful ectoplasm attempting to wield it in an attempt to avenge the sacrilege of its use.

Really, haunted items these days... none of the vigor and fire of a good Bloodforged, hate filled Orc blade, it just laid their quietly trying to lay subtle curses upon you and yours. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the pathetic attempts really, was this truly what Dwarf hauntings were all about?

Bah, give you a blood forged poltergeist any day and a good battle for supremacy over its host of raging specters.

Either way, as silly and amusing as it was to have Puppy keep the creeping curse off your back you figured it was probably about time that you tamed whatever specter that loomed within the beautiful dwarf forged item.

… bah.

You could do that later.

As with any spectrally infested object, the hammer would gain properties useful for the purpose of combat, even if it tried its sneaky little backstabbing curse. Haunted Dwarven items especially tended towards being very attractive to wield in combat, their ghostly energies giving power to runes which ran throughout the entire thing’s construction.

In truth burial weapons were meant as a magical arsenal of last choice for relatives and friends in dire need, every bit as practical in purpose and construction as their creators in life. And it was a nice hefty size too. Likely made to be a two handed face beater for smaller dwarf hands… but for someone of your… stature… it fit nicely to your large meaty paws.

You could practically feel the buzz of power which surrounded the thing, a crackle of spectral electricity.

You weren’t too impressed with that, but you’d work with what you got.

The runic on it seemed to suggest that said electrical powers were its major forte either way.

Good.

You’d see later if you’d decide to put it to use.

For now though, you just hooked it onto your belt and carried on smartly.


----===----


Now all you needed to do was go pick up your Fighter to be, Kiruj the Demonborn Beastkin; which frankly turned out to be something of a non-event, as your slave seal on his cute little ass kept the boy in check, his tendency to lash out quelled by a single simple order.

Leaving in its wake an apparently sweet youth, happy and eager to be free of his many restraints.

“You want me to fight sir?” He asked with all the wide eyed innocence of a child being taken to its first playground, his fluffy hair rippling with colour, and the floppy ears which had been bound down and otherwise hidden by the immense cascade of his hair.

You didn’t even begrudge his grip on your pinky as he skipped along beside you on your way to the arena.

“Yes. You’ll be allowed to fight to your heart’s content.” You smiled, ruffling his hair lightly as he giggled though long delicate tusks. You really couldn’t decide how you liked him better. Tied up, blindfolded and restrained to be abused at will by anyone who wanted to, or bubbling and adorably skipping along... abusable in so many, many ways.

“Hehe! I hope they’re nice and red inside...” He stopped for a moment, freezing as his eyes went wild, though unable to do more than walk mechanically beside you as the bloodlust ran its course though the otherwise delicate seeming lad.

You smiled widely.

You couldn’t help but approve of this flouncy bit of fluff beside you. For all his floof, he’d make a wonderful orkist berserker... but his bloodrages were a bit too unpredictable for the more traditionalist forms of training. If not for Puppy he’d be a bit too much for even you to safely handle.

It was quite likely to prove quiet entertaining once he was allowed unleashed fully within the waiting ring.

Your arrival was inauspicious, and the place to which you arrived even less so.

It was, for lack of better words, a dirty hole in the root, a simple dug out venue, with a literal pit of dirt piled around a ring. Not much in the way of protection for its audience and all around the low lives gathered, either to watch or to themselves fight, it mattered little.

You were greeted by an attendant as you entered the door.

“Sar Udar Greenwake?” The cute bunny girl bobbed and bowed as you waltzed into the wretched hive of scum and villainy. You looked down upon her pretty with interest.

“Yes.” You answered simply.