Shor could hear the banging of weaponry, firearms both firing and backfiring, useless pieces of trash forged by fools with no idea how to work metal. However, Shor soon let such thoughts leave his mind. He wasn't one for thinking, much, never had been, as was a staple of his race. However, he was most definitely one for fighting, and even as he strode down the hallway, he could feel almost giddy excitement. Shor had a lot of stress, living in a world where everyone he met was smarter than him, trying to fight for a goal with only the vaguest ideas of how to achieve it. He needed to blow off some steam.

As he walked out into the open air, a wild goblin wielding a scimitar jumped at him, only for it's head to be caught in one of Shor's massive hands. With a strange happiness, Shor threw the small green man overboard, flailing all the way down. He wasn't glad at the death he saw, indeed, he respected all life. However, he was at least glad to be in his element, doing something simple that he could easily understand. He took a hold of his hammer and began swinging it from side to side, mowing through the lines of battle, wiping out anything that wasn't a goat. With the hammer's massive weight, the velocity of each strike crushed even armored targets, punching through steel as if it were cardboard, smashing rib cages and skulls, as Shor walked, a mountain of muscle and death.