It didn't matter what words the halfbreed spoke in his broken accent, they were an intrusion, an insult, an annoyance. Before the word 'fight' had even reached his ear Clay's hand was a tight fist, there was a sick excitement in his dilated pupils and his weight had already began shifting...

Clay liked to drink fight and fuck, all in that order, and he had been drinking for most the day now. 
He took one last deep swig emptying the bottle into his mouth then... 
The a glass shattered and a small shard stuck in clays leg.
Clay Snapped... 
And the rest was a sudden unwarranted violent flurry...

With a sharp left twist his right hand came plummeting from around his body straight at the fighters face, that was instantly followed by a viscous downward slash with the bottle in his left hand, aiming to smash it over the creatures head.

He finishes the hat-trick with a dazzling malevolent display as a lit lighter appears in his hand. He firmly sprays the highly volatile liquid that he had stored in his mouth over the delicate little flame causing it to suddenly explode into a bright dazzling torrent of flame, lighting up the tavern in a splendid flash as it burst towards his opponent.


Clay would be left standing there, panting, arms wide, left foot forward,  the remains of the bottle held pointing towards the half orc. A subtle growling sound stirring in the back of his throat and a sick empty excitement in his eyes. There was the thrill and rush that other fighters got but there was also an unhidden wild malevolence. He wanted to hurt him.