Alphonse enters a local item shop, looking to replace some supplies he is low on. The shopkeeper, Jim, is a long-time friend of his who has just had a baby with his wife. While inquiring about how things are going, he mentions that he is having trouble maintaining his hours at the shop as the baby is interrupting his sleep something terrible. Al (as he is referred to by the locals) offers to whip up a calming potion to help the baby sleep through the night so Jim can get some real sleep.
Wú-rén overhears this conversation while skulking around the shop waiting for an opportunity to pocket something of value and thinks to himself that this larger-than-life sorcerer needs to be taken down a peg. He foolishly attempts to pick the pocket of Al but is caught red-handed with his fingers on the purse strings. Instead of turning him in, Al sees something in the rogue’s eyes that catches his attention and offers a pint at the local tavern. Wú-rén thinsk that Al is being “too nice” but is never one to turn down a free drink. Before he can figure out what it is with this guy that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, they see two half-orcs start fighting. A Danny-Devito-shaped half-orc picks up another who is at least half a foot taller than him and tosses him across the tavern like he was a peanut. “Whoa, that dude is ridiculously strong, even for a half-orc,” thinks Wú-rén to himself.
Al, without missing a beat, steps in to break up the fight. This is HIS town and HIS tavern, no way are a pair of half-orcs going to destroy it over god-knows-what. “Such a brutish breed,” he thinks to himself as he grabs the little one by the scruff and lifts him off the ground. Al, always aware of his surroundings and keenly aware of how god-like strong this half-orc is, keeps the half-orc at arms length and off the ground, effectively neutralizing him. The other gets up and charges Al, still holding the first half-orc. He’s yelling unintelligibly and appears to be more muscle than brain. Thinking quickly, Al kicks a nearby stool at him with surprising strength and speed. The half-orc, charging at full speed, is unable to dodge fast enough, although he sure tries. Realizing he can’t change direction quick enough, he tries to vault over the stool. It’s coming way too fast and hard at him and it hits him in the shins, hard. The charging half-orc is flipped end-over-end and lands flat on his face on the tavern floor. He lands with such force the entire building shakes and people quickly grab their drinks to keep them from spilling.
As quickly as it began, it’s over. A solid minute passes and no one is willing to break the spell of silence that has fallen over the room. Then, the bar maid goes to clean up the broken glasses and table from where the fallen half-orc was originally thrown and everyone goes back to their drinks and conversation; the excitement is clearly over. “Thanks Al, I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here; those guys are stronger than anything I’ve seen in here. Next round’s on the house,” says the bartender, a childhood acquaintance of Alphonse.
Wú-rén has been sitting in stunned silence watching this entire exchange. “No wonder I couldn’t pick his pocket, this guy isn’t just a fancy-looking-well-spoken-wannabe-sorcerer; he’s got some real skill,” he thinks as he realizes being turned over to the authorities is the least of the trouble he could have had if this guy chose to make an example of a pickpocket.