Morgan leaned slightly, whispered to the Mage, "Lynch, although I don't like prophecies either, no one can speak ill of the Elf Queen. So, could you turn that brat from the South into a rat or something?"
"And then I'll turn you into a cat." Lynch had a mischievous smile on his face. He interrupted the elf's questioning and suddenly said, "Let's hear the dwarf's opinion first; my friend Morgan happens to have something to say."
Big Beard was stunned for a moment, not understanding what Lynch meant. Something to say? He had never had such an intention. However, the chair under Morgan's bottom suddenly seemed to grow teeth and took a fierce bite. The pained dwarf yelped and jumped up, protecting his behind with both arms.
'You have to say something, don't you?' Morgan's mind was in turmoil, constantly muttering to himself. Being watched by a large group felt terrible; he'd rather be surrounded by Snake-men. "Ah... I believe... we will win!" the dwarf said.
