The little dwarves who had been blasted onto the square scrambled miserably to their feet. Blackened by smoke and fire and flung more than a dozen miles away, they somehow looked as if they had suffered no injuries at all. One dwarf, no more than three feet tall, opened his mouth and spat out a cloud of black smoke, then launched into a torrent of abuse that poured forth like a river. Starting by sending regards to the fathers of every god in the Ashir Divine Clan, he went all the way to the mothers of the elven gods, greeting the ancestors of every god in this world except those of the Hockjin Divine Clan before finally shutting his mouth.
Another short fellow, black from head to toe, picked up where his companion had left off. Hopping about, he began cursing loudly. "Every calculation was flawless, every material was just right, every mold and every magic circuit was correct! Yet we still failed in the end! Why? There must be a reason! Who didn't wash their hands after pissing this morning?"
Dozens of little dwarves, blasted black all over, looked at one another. Then they all began stomping their feet and cursing. One accused another of going straight to breakfast after taking a dump that morning; another berated some companion for not bathing for three days; several more joined voices to attack one particular companion with unusually large feet for not washing them for seven whole days!
Before long, the little dwarves had rolled up their tattered sleeves and started swinging their fists, brawling into a tangled heap. The high-ranking nobles and officials of the Goblin Empire nearby watched these little fellows scurrying and rolling across the ground, pounding their companions' heads until they went "bang, bang," and merely waved