Commander Corvaughn sat back, fury seeping from every pore of his pudgy features.

"In my world," Marcus continued. "There are many men such as you. Men of honor. Most of them fight to the last man, their hands stained with the blood of their loyal soldiers who will leave grieving widows and sons behind when they die. Such men, however, do not think of these things. Death and glory – that's their mantra. But some men exist who understand that there can be honor even in defeat – in giving his people the chance to fight another day. A chance to go home to their loved ones. I am willing to offer you and your people this."

"You mean," the Dwarf said. "You'll kill my men if I refuse your 'terms'."

Marcus shrugged. "The decision is yours, Sir. I know your men are probably as ready to die as you are. The question is, are you ready to let them? Or will you put your pride aside and allow them to go home to their families?"

The Dwarf snarled like a cornered panther, every fiber of his bulging muscles willing him to throw himself at the human and rip him to shreds.

"You speak of 'honor'," he spat. "Something you pretend to understand. But your words ring hollow, human. Ye don't fight with honor."

"No," Marcus agreed. "You did. And now, here we are."

Marcus let silence hang in the stank air of the ramshackle Spearclaw prison. His rats outside were ready in case the Dwarf tried to rampage through the door. He could do it. Marcus knew the strength in those bulging arms was probably great enough to break his binds and rend at least him and five rats limb for limb before the fort's ratguard put him down.

But he didn't. Instead, Marcus watched him sigh with the weariness of a man who realized, finally, that he'd been beaten.

"…what do ye want?" he eventually asked.

"Your weapons," Marcus said, keeping composed in spite of the fact he was finally coming to the crux of his argument. "Tell your soldiers to relinquish their firearms, tell them to drop their hammers, and tell them to leave every bullet behind. Their armor they can keep. I can't give you back your hurt pride, but I can promise your men a safe journey home."

Corvaughn's eyes buzzed with activity. His brain was a blur of possibilities, possible eventualities…each one warped by his anger in the face of utter capitulation.

"Ye want our guns," he said, slowly. "Ye want their power fer yer own."

He met Marcus's eyes again with pure spite.

"Ye could just kill us all and take them," he said. "Why are ye even offering me any deal?"

"Because," Marcus said. "I'm not here to commit genocide. I'm not here to extinguish the light that so clearly still burns in the chest of you and all your people. You've been at war down here for – what? Decades? Centuries? Perhaps, like these ratmen, war is part of your nature. Perhaps not. Perhaps there's something, or someone, who can give you something else to believe in."

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Marcus stood, patting down his dirtied trench coat and smiling with a strange hint of nostalgia at the glasses-wearing ratman symbol on his coat-sleeve.

"Either way, I think you should be given the chance to make a different choice one day. You can't do that if you're all dead. And from what I've seen of your people, you don't deserve annihilation. Only one creature in this Underkingdom has to die, now. And his day is coming."

Commander Corvaughn scoffed in the face of the human's determination, keeping his posture straight as he looked up and addressed Marcus without hesitation.

"Ye've got some nerve for a Lank," he said. "I'll give ye that much. But don't spin me this shit about 'respect' for our kind. Your people above have only ever made war. It's the one thing you know how ta do – take the lands of others and leave nothing but scraps behind. Either that, or burn it all like a wee child playing with dangerous toys. Yer just like the rats. And now yer giving 'em even more dangerous toys ta play with. You mark me, boy, one day they'll turn those toys on you. And then ye'll have no one ta blame but yerself. Then, ye'll wish ye'd chosen a more honorable path."

Marcus crossed his arms behind his back. He was done with the conversation.

"Your decision, Sir?" he asked the panting dwarf. "Will you march your men home or watch them bleed out on our lands?"

"'Our lands!' Corvaughn spat. "'Our lands', he says!"

"I won't ask again, Commander."

"Fuck it," the Dwarf said – his voice guttural and cold. "Take the guns. Take the bullets. Let my people go in peace. But I've got one condition."

Marcus tried to keep from scoffing.

"Condition?" he asked. "You're in no position to-"

"Take me," the Dwarf said, eyeing Marcus with no fury now – only total conviction in his words. "Kill me here and now."

As Marcus opened his mouth to interject, Corvaughn continued, the utterly serious, morose tone of his voice stopping Marcus from speaking over what were the Dwarf's last words:

"Yer wrong about somethin'," he said. "Yeah, my men can go home. They can return to their families and fight another day. Yer giving us that much – whether it's out of a naïve sense of 'good faith' or just because yer time in this realm has left ye insane – that's somethin'. But fer those of us who abide by the Stone, who lead men into the meat grinder of battle, there is no surrender. There is no quarter. We don't go home. There's a line we cross one day – and when it's crossed, there's no turnin' back. I'm not going home as a failed commander. I'm not going home ta look my wife and son in their eyes and tell them I turned tail and fled from a buncha thieving rats and their Lank commander from the arse end of some other world. I am Corvaughn Knox of House Darragut – Dwarf of the Underkingdom and vassal of King Lokir Garrison, First of His Name. By my King, by the Stone, and for the honor of my House, I lay my body and soul to rest. Kill me however ye please, human. Feed me ta yer soldiers' putrid Queen or have yer barbaric priests put me ta the flame. I'm done with this life. I'm already dead."

If Marcus was the same man he was when first he'd set foot in this accursed underground, he'd probably have argued back when the Dwarf finished his death-speech and then sat back, staring off into a distance that didn't even exist.

Instead, he bowed, saluted the fallen soldier, and promptly exited the room.

To the guards waiting outside he directed only one simple command before shrugging again and proceeding to the fort battlements.

"He's a brave man," he told them. "Let him die like one."

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