“So enlighten me oh mighty warrior, by what name shall you be immortalised within those great dwarven halls.”
Tumbor tried his best to ignore his diminutive follower, but it only encouraged the question to be asked again and again until answered.
“I am Tumbor, son of Lorgrun,” he said proudly.
“Tumbor the herbivore slayer,” laughed the Kender. “Has a certain ring to it.”
His jibes fell on deaf ears, the dwarf opting to focus his efforts on traversing the difficult terrain of the swamp.
“And why would a mighty warrior be travelling through the swamp alone I wonder? Does he kill companions the way he kills plant eaters? Perhaps he doesn’t like herbivores.”
“What do you want Kender?” snapped Tumbor stopping dead in his tracks, turning to address him.
“Well, now you mention it,” he replied, rubbing his chin as if mocking stereotypical dwarven characteristics. “That axe looks awfully pretty.”