ANOTHER YOUNG TROLL, THOUGH SIGNIFICANTLY AND VISIBLY OLDER THAN THE LAST, ENTERS THE BAR WITHOUT EXPECTING TO WALK INTO SUCH A CLUSTERFUCK OF A PLACE. THE FIRST WORDS OUT OF HER MOUTH AS SHE SEES HER COMPANION UNLOADING THE NASTIEST CAN OF WHOOP-ASS SHE EVER SAW ON A RED-HEAD ARE, "OH, WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS GOING ON HERE? STUPID FUCKING LAND DWELLERS."

YET, AS SHE GOES TO INTERVENE, HER ATTENTION IS TURNED TO THE BULLET-FILLED LIZARD MAN AND THE BALD-TENDER DUCKING BEHIND THE COUNTER. THE WALL BEHIND THE BAR HAS CAUGHT FIRE, AND THE TROLL CAN ONLY WONDER WHAT KIND OF LITERAL HELL SHE HAS STEPPED INTO. SHE LOVES IT.

APPROACHING THE BAR QUICKLY, SHE JUMPS OVER THE TOP AND GRABS THE BALD-TENDER BY THE SHOULDERS, SHAKING HIM, "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"