Today was like any other day. The sky was clear, and a few birds flew over the formidable fortress city of Coron. Guards patrolled the walls, keeping watch over the bustling streets below. Adventurers and merchants came and went through the city gates, their chatter mixing with the sounds of hooves and wagon wheels on the cobbled road.
Guard 1: "I swear, you should've seen old Greg last night. He got so drunk he tried to arm wrestle a dwarf… with his left hand!"
Guard 2: "His left hand? Ha! That fool can barely lift a tankard with it, let alone beat a dwarf with that!"
Guard 1: "That's the best part! The dwarf wasn't even taking him seriously. Just sitting there, sipping his booze, barely holding Greg's hand in place. Then, out of nowhere, Greg lets out this war cry—'For the glory of Coron!'—and throws his whole weight into it."
Guard 2: "Let me guess. He went flying?"
