Defiant we stood, weapons drawn and dripping with the demise of the defenders Thorim sent our way. He flinched each time we persevered against his minions, standing there taunting him, causing him to grow frustrated, lose focus and let down his guard. Brazenly our ambushers approached him from behind and forced him out into the arena, to make Thorim face us himself. It wouldn’t be long once his feet met the arena floor, before they couldn’t bear the weight of his failure and foolishness, and Continental Types would stand alone, the victor. We all know how that story ends… to the victor go the spoils.
A few more screenshots in the full post.