The strong smell of roasted owlbear permeated the hidden tunnels where the enormous beast had, until recently, made its lair. Enormous char-kissed chunks of its flesh lay strewn about on makeshift platters fashioned from the the remnants of Tanule’s shredded armor. Not for lack of flavor, mind you — it’s just that the creature was so damn big that even captain Ironsoul’s dwarven appetite couldn’t keep pace.
Half grunting, half roaring with triumphant effort, Tanule pried another mangled plate off of his layered armor. Now at least he would be able to wear it without the jagged, twisted edges cutting into his side. The dragonborn lifted a hunk of owlbear thigh to his mouth and tore the seared meat vigorously away from the bone.
Mouth full, he looked down at his handiwork and proudly proclaimed, “There! Now that’s what I call seasoned!”
Captain Ironsoul stared down the dragonborn. No one was quite sure whether she was offended or pleased at the comment. In any case, it turned out Tanule wasn’t talking about her cooking.
“Bit by a dragon, clawed open by an owlbear!” he continued, tracing his claws down the impressive damage. “Before, this armor was impressive… but now— NOW everyone who looks upon me will bask in the glory of the battles I have survived!”
The dwarf grunted appreciatively and the others murmured their vague assent. Tanule tore another bite of the owlbear away and banged the bone of it against his shield, “Now then, are we ready to visit more of that glory upon these dwarves?”