[the guy who be short]

A few minutes later, Fléin had reached the A-AOO6, or Autoroute All Obdurate Orcs 6. Some called it Ent-One Road. The Road systems of Lûndûn were immensely complicated, making mapping something of a nightmare even in the right language. However, Fléin made sure to ask several people along the way, and was quite sure of his direction.

Furthermore, the map had started to make a little sense, once he had shown it to people. Though the names were awfully mucked up, he had a vague idea of where he was going to, and where he was coming from.

He even felt brave enough to leave the main roads. If he stuck to the A-AOO6, he'd go far out of his way. Chavton Road would significantly cut his travelling time; by a quarter, he worked out mathematically in his head.

Unfortunately, as a newcomer to Lûndûn, Fléin had no knowledge of Chavs. Some things were horrible, even by Mordorian standards, and these things had a habit of congealing in the vibrant city. The Chav was one of them.
Fléin noticed a large group of youths up ahead, all with odd clothing. Nick, their white clothes screamed at him from afar, which should have been a harbinger of things to come. Um, Bro? other tops asked in the linguistic manner of these people. Another boy's top seemed to say Re-Book. As Fléin got closer, not noticing the snickers of the lads, he managed to read the whole slogan. "We apologise most sincerely, the mechanized telephone system seems to have failed miserably, please Re-Book.

The white, near-fluorescent jogging bottoms the boys wore hurt Fléin's eyes. No wonder they had covered their faces with huge hoods, he was surprised they didn't need goggles.

As the gang approached, Fléin aimed to walk directly through them, thinking they would part around him. Apparently, it was not to be so. Suddenly, he found himself surrounded by a dozen boys towering above him.

"Aw-ite, mate, givvus yoo munny'nd mobile" the tallest of the chavs sniped at him. He too wore a hood, but Fléin could see the boy's pale face and bling-bling fake diamond earring. He couldn't help bursting out laughing at the combination of hideous fashion and attempted machismo.

The boy's face turned sour. His body tensed up visibly, as did the rest of the gang. "Whaddya larffin' at? I ain't kiddin' bruv. Givvus the cash now."

"Bruv? I am Fléin, Fréin's son of the Orocarni. I am no brother of thine," Fléin accidentally slipped into Jamesian English.

"And I's tellin' yoo to gimme yoo munny, innit," the boy replied, trying to maintain the upper hand and appear as threatening as possible. Fléin bit his lip.

"I'm warnin' you, bruv-" he attempted to continue in an intimidating manner, but was cut short by the sudden apparition of a double-headed axe in Fléin's hands.

The entire gang dissolved and fled before Fléin could blink, which was a little disappointing, truth be told. He had wanted to make a clever retort, something along the lines of "No, I'm warning you;" but no matter. It was too late now. He half-heartedly chased the leader who had tried to mug him, waving his axe frenziedly whenever he looked back, but too soon the fun had ended.

"And not even a severed arm to my name," the Dwarf grumbled to himself into his beard. Still, the short jog had quickened his journey yet more, and now he had an interesting tale to his name.

The rest of the walk passed without major incidence, unless you wished to count a dog jumping onto him, tearing off part of his beard and running off on its tartan-clad, furry little way. Fléin, however, resolved to omit this part of his day from his account to the others, presuming they had got to Edge-Where, of course.

Well, he thought, One task down... Let's hope the others are a little easier.

A short while later, he realised he had just referred to himself in the plural form and sincerely hoped he wasn't developing schitzophrenia.

A short while after that, he was with the rest of the offending party (minus Valde) at Edge-Where BliddyUnnerground Station.