Pleased to Meat You
Content warning: everything.
So you’re dithering in the the street one day, trying to work out which turn to take to reach Gampforth’s Exotic Potionérie when you fail to notice a dwarf, and you walk right into him. "EX-FUCKING-SCUSE ME" he spits into your face from a distance of two inches, before grabbing you by the collar. Before you know what’s happened, he’s done some kind of headbutt-somersault pivoting around your collar, landed on your shoulders with his feet squeezeing your neck, Pulling your hair and your head straight up. He reaches down and holds a long, thin flint dagger to your neck.
“The fuck you think you’re doing? Is this your fucking street? Is it? Is It? I would slit you from gullet to sphincter, if I didn’t have places to go." His right knee connects with the back of your head, and he leaps off you as your body crumples and your face hits the dust.
