Tallzies lived everywhere, talked too much. Short ones scurried and hopped around the slow-moving tallzies with all the speed they needed. Tallzies didn't talk right. Didn't hunt right. Didn't smell right.

He wasn't a tallzie. That made him special.

Gnar knew this. Knew it the same way he'd known Fuzzy-Burning-Smell was the son of Fire-eyes, his sister. He knew it in the same way Stalks-Prey-Tiny-Death was the son of Evil-Day, son of Blinks-At-Nothing's second mate.

Everyone descended from their ancestors, and Gnar knew them all. Why couldn't they?

It had been explained by Big-Generous-Hairless that the reason why Big-Shouting-Sky-Voice boomed overhead, scaring the birds, was to warn everyone that fighting was happening. Why? Fighting meant surprise, meant blood-in-teeth-terrify … no one actually died.

That meant this was playfight.

Gnar bounced over Giggles-Glowing-Stick-Stopper, hearing her laugh as he passed her. He responded in kind, shaking the Throw-Stick so its adornments rattled, buzzing in time with the chants. Giggles-Glowing-Stick-Stopper laughed again, requiring Gnar to initiate the Dance-of-Protection, warding himself and his incompetent companion against attacks from the Grass-Sneakers. The sound of their rapid departure, fleeing his precise movements and calls, brought a wide smile to his face. The other yordles had an instinctive aversion to Grass-Sneakers, and held the bare minimum of instinctive motions necessary to repel the beasts. He, on the other hand, had known the Shaman-Stomps-Snakes-With-Screaming, and could repel them from the entire arena for days at a time.

A pity the old man hadn't been stuck in the frozen-cold-wall with him. The man had a gift for words.

More rustling alerted him to incoming opponents from the far side of the arena, trying one last time to sneak through the back channels to the weakest areas. He flourished his stick at Giggles-Glowing-Stick-Stopper, signaling his ebullient sidekick to prepare herself for imminent combat.

She giggled, and began performing the Dance-for-Confusing-Observers. It certainly confused him; first she dropped her weapon, then began twirling presenting her unarmored back to every angle. That wasn't being silly, that had to be a part of a cunning plan. A distraction, like when hunting Tasties.

The plan worked. Frowning-Eagle-Eye was focusing completely on the twirling antics of Giggles-Glowing-Stick-Stopper, and completely missed his presence.

Cheerfully, Gnar tossed his Throw-Stick, whacking Frowning-Eagle-Eye across the forehead before running to intercept its return trajectory. The woman cried out in surprise – it couldn't have been pain – and Giggles immediately snapped the Glowing Stick to hand.

Gnar hopped over the nearest Walking-Clay, nimbly evading Eagle-Eye's death scythe. It was almost flirtatiously close, but she was no yordle; he'd have to let her down gently if it turned out her pursuit was romantic.

Bushes rustled once more, betraying the presence of yet another Grass-Sneaker. Gnar decided to take care of this one personally, crushing its vermillion-striped head since it couldn't take a hint.

"Gnar? Where are you going?" Giggles called after him; he didn't respond. Her simplistic vocabulary was not capable of comprehending the information-rich linguistics he was accustomed to using. Why, just two weeks prior, after what should have been enough time for her to acquire the basics, he'd wished her a good morning, commented on the weather, and slyly noted the presence of Ezrael's token-of-favor on her epaulet.

She'd thought he'd sneezed.

No, only Big-Generous-Hairless truly knew how to speak. Hunts-With-Talons understood – after a fashion – but didn't really appreciate the subtle nuances a born speaker could employ. Now, with the majority of Tallzies slapping each other at the Giant Shiny, this was the perfect time to do a little hunting.

He snickered three short exhalations plus a prolonged laughing inhalation, the traditional start to a hunt, and set off.

Paths led under the overgrowth, trails made by ancient beings. The Summoner's Rift was known – even in his own time – as a place for combat. Safe routes, for maintenance and recall were evidently needed. Faint indentations, the remains of feet older than his own, marked the sides. Other marks, newer than that begged his glance, inviting him to read their story.

There was no time for that.

The Grass-Sneaker, alarmed at his sudden appearance, ducked away, deeper into the tunnels. Gnar followed, rattling Throw-Stick. It took precision, to run and imitate the Chalker-Stalker, but he had practiced with his brothers for many moons. They knew how to hunt, the venomous creatures that dwelled still in stolen homes.

Ahead, the Grass-Sneaker redoubled its pace, no doubt sensing the impending tramp of doom. Gnar hurtled forwards, hopping over the nearest obstacle to bounce off the reptile's head, landing on all fours facing it from a completely unexpected angle. It reared back, poised to strike, but Throw-Stick made a perfect arc, its painstakingly etched ironwood tip striking just above the uvula in the creature's mouth. Practice and experience paid off, the blow sending the snake's head upwards while the weapon rebounded to Gnar's hand. He made one more pass, shoving the blunt end forwards, crushing the Grass-Sneaker's skull at its weakest point.

Business done, Gnar hustled onwards. The route led beneath the Acid-Spitter, towards the concealing shrubbery that separated the river from the main mid-path. He stopped there, sniffing. The pheromones given off by She-Cat were strong there … along with the musk of – he sniffed again. Deeply, a crawler had confused the scent, but Bear-Bird-Beast-Man had been there too. Both of them; often.

He shrugged, moving on. When those two decided to press-face, he had no objections. Or support. The only benefit was that it sometimes distracted other champions from the True Hunt.

Then, the stench tickled his nostrils, instantly flaring straight to his mind. Nest.

Faster now, he pushed onwards, ignoring the sounds of frantic battle overhead. A terrified poro scrambled past, falling over itself in the opposite direction. Gnar stepped around the tiny-fluffy, wordlessly vowing revenge for its terror.

But then, then he could see it. The redoubt, meticulously constructed to defend against the pestilence now filled with the vermin. Vexations lesser than their Acid-Spitter brethren, but greater than the pathetic Grass-Sneakers. Void-Parasites, over a thousand of them.

Anger flared within his heart. What had the yordles been doing, to allow such an infestation a foothold?

Stamping his feet, he began the Battle-Blood step, segueing into the Wrath-of-Ancestors statement. Emphasizing every third step with a grinding heel-toe twist gave the vermin notice this was a battle with No Quarter. None would survive the encounter, or he would die trying.

Mocking hissing came from the grate, amusement at his apparent temerity.

Gnar's eyes narrowed, the mystical energies beginning to flow. Void-Parasites had gone too long without facing a true Son. The hissing sound gradually died away as the light surrounding him grew exponentially. He danced faster, pounding his feet into the ground. Step by step, he worked himself in to the Blessed Battle Fury.

Enough was enough.

With an earth-shattering roar, Gnar hurled his now-massive body at the Void-Parasite den. Glifner-steel, forged to defy the elements of nature for over ten millennia failed against his rage. The door collapsed, its fall sending a wind through the inner chambers. Then, there was nothing but the Battle, the Pests and the Song-of-Fury running through his veins.

Stone cracked, Void Parasites fell by the dozen. What furniture had resisted the ravages of time exploded into splinters, flung about the room like Throw-Stick. Without its resilience, unfortunately.

In minutes, half the population was gone. The remainder began to panic, desperately flinging themselves at his bulk. Gnar swatted the tiny bodies aside, chuckling as they broke at his touch. All too soon, the power enabling his physical growth ebbed … but it was still perfect timing. Individuals of a depleted Nest were difficult to pick off in the Blessed Battle Form.

Throw-Stick was perfectly situated for that problem.

Cackling to himself, Gnar sent Throw-Stick into the last few Void-Parasites, ending their miserable existences. Minute shifts in his grip ensured the terminal blow was as painless as it was final.

Satisfied, Gnar hopped outside, giving himself a vigorous shake. Ectoplasm was sticky; a good dust-bath would solve things nicely.

He was met with an irritated cry. "Where have you been? We almost lost the Nexus. If it hadn't been for Lux, we wouldn't have …"

Gnar tuned out Complains-Without-End. Giggles-Glowing-Stick-Stopper had done her job, and he had done his. The memory of the battle filled him with a happy glow; Throw-Stick rattled once, punctuating the emotion.

"Are you listening to me? What were you thinking?" Gnar rolled his eyes, flipping his weapon from one side to the other. Tallzies talked too much. Good thing he wasn't a Tallzie.