[color=000000][b]The Black Tongue[/b][/color]

[color=406080]Waiting. His eyes hunting for the foot, a hand or cry of mouth - a sudden burst of shadowed color or reaching sound to indicate a target, flesh bound towards his sights. With a clatter from behind a slim stone pillar, the sound of a shout from between the hairs of a beard rang around the cave. Turning his neck on an angle, Vunkar spotted the shimmering tip of a pike just in time, his window of opportunity was closing fast, the sharp end spinning and rushing towards him.

Rolling to the floor, his shoulder catching between two rocks and flipping him onto his stomach earlier than expected, Vunkar swiftly squeezed his trigger and struck the armored arm that hang around the pillar, its owners awareness not broad enough to consider their weakness. Crash, crunch and tearing - in that order, the bolt pierced the gauntlet then broke bone and finally broke through the flesh on the opposite side.

[color=fff79a]"[i]Furrin Pikearm, 'ell of an arm. Ee can be fund North of er' for sur', in t'cave whar they mine.[/i]"[/color]

He recalled his contract and its specification, this would have to go one way, and if The Black Tongue had learned anything in his time of killing, it's that Dwarfs are the least likely to surrender without a fight - even man filth are not as arrogant.  
[/color]

[color=9e0b0f]Crawl, pounce and restrain.[/color]