The battle was going badly. The dwarves had tried everything they knew, but the Psychatog was getting closer and closer to their sacred Dwarven Shrine.

"Throw another Volcanic Hammer at the damned thing!" bellowed Bobo the Dwarf King.

"But, sire, we've already thrown two, and we're sort of, you know, close to the Shrine," answered Fobo the Dwarf Warlord.

"Just do it, you rock sucking bastard," screamed the King. And so Fobo launched another Hammer.

"Ow, fuck, that hurt!" screamed the King as the Dwarven Shrine

"I tried to tell you," said the Warlord. "I don't know why we even keep that stupid Shrine around in the first place. Son of bitch is always going off on us."

"That may be true," answered the King, "but just wait until the Psychatog tries to throw another Repulse. He's used three already!"

"Incoming Repulse!" shouted Slobo the Dwarf Scout as hateful Blue magic swirled around them.

"Ha, now that damned 'tog will feel the wrath of our protective Shrine!" boasted the King.

"Negative, sir," the Warlord said with a sigh. "The Psychatog ate the other Repulses out of the graveyard before that one resolved. Now he's much bigger, and didn't take any damage."

"What! How outrageous! Throw another Volcanic Hammer at him!" yelled the King.

"But sir...." whined the Warlord.

"Do it!" the King thundered.

"Hammer away!" the Scout announced as the fourth Volcanic Hammer thudded uselessly into the every-growing Psychatog.

"Ow, that fucking hurts!" screamed the King as yet another arc of lightning originating in the Shrine slammed into him.

"I knew I should have just gone Black like Balthor," sighed the Warlord as the 20/21 Psychatog stomped the shoddily built Dwarven Shrine flat.