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He wasn’t as fast an elf; he wasn’t as nimble as a cether; but he was far stronger than any of the civilized races on Telath. Leading with a flurry of wild jabs and swings, Korgar’s battle cry was harmonized by the sounds of the cheering crowd, many of which, he realized, were shouting his name. The Zerdargian would have smiled had it not meant revealing his teeth and making a target of them, but the noise of the coliseum invigorated him nevertheless.
And his single punch, colliding against Danton’s eyebrow and drawing first blood, urged him onwards.
Howling from his enormous lungs, Korgar had little time to celebrate as the human responded with nifty footwork and a right hook that buried into his gut. The punch felt as if Danton was driving a war hammer into his stomach, and the air was forced from the dwarf’s lungs. Trying to absorb a portion of the blow by sucking in his belly, Korgar realized that he was in a dangerous situation.
The best defense was a good offense. It seemed that this maxim was proving correctly in every one of his recent fights.
The human was probably the better fighter; after all, he’d likely been doing this for a much longer time. But Korgar was still young, and as the adrenaline pulsed through his veins, he was reminded that he was the son of a laird, one of the mightiest dwarves in all of Zerdargia. He came from a legacy of wrestlers and brawlers; he was not about to disappoint –not without a real fight at least. For his ancestors’ sakes…
Grappling onto Danton’s right fist before he could retract it, Korgar pulled it low into his stomach to secure it, and he bent at his knees to pull the arm downwards and subsequently lure Danton’s weight forward. It was then that he launched from his powerful legs, aiming his thick head underneath Danton’s own. It wasn’t the most graceful of attacks, but a dwarf had to do what a dwarf had to do. And a dwarven skull, catapulted by the muscles in his tree trunk-like legs, was possibly one of the strongest weapons he had.
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