Thrakbog: What do you mean, there is no magic in it? It is called “The Magic Mountain”!
She-human: It is indeed. But no magic, sorry.
Thrakbog: That’s cheating. Why? WHY?
She-human: That is actually a question a lot of people would like to ask the author.
She-human: He’s dead.
Thrakbog: So what? Get a necromancer and resurrect him.
She-human: Good god, no!
Thrakbog: I want to know why he called it The Magic Mountain when there is no bloody bit of magic in it! Not even a miserable wizard? An old hag? Any supernatural stuff would fucking do.
She-human: Language, Thrakbog, Language!
Thrakbog: Oh, piss off.
She-human: Would you like to sleep on the balcony for the next couple of weeks? It looks a lot like rain, I must say. But then again, orcs like to live rough, don’t they?
Thrakbog: Um, well …, alright, just tell me about that fu… pseudo-magic mountain-guy.
She-human: Well, the main character has some weird dreams.
Thrakbog: Oh, good. Juicy? Wild?
She-human: Strange would describe them more accurately.
Thrakbog: But strange is good, right? It could mean orcish in some way.
She-human: Um, no. I rather doubt that.
Thrakbog: Is there at least an old wizard’s tower on that mountain? Maybe he just deserted it and on his return the magic will be back too.
She-human: Your optimism does you credit but that is not going to happen. Actually there is a sanatorium on that mountain where people stay if they can’t breathe properly.
Thrakbog: You must be kidding.
She-human: I’m afraid not.
Thrakbog: So it’s shit! And no, I don’t mind my language at all!
She-human: You might have a point there. But it is a highly acclaimed novel.
Thrakbog: You mean like the teacup-fighting-soldiers-novel about Prick Darcy and dear Lizzy?
She-human: That had a lasting impression on you, hm?
Thrakbog: I’m still suffering from constipation after having swallowed it.
She-human: You really shouldn’t have done that. Books are for reading, not eating.
Thrakbog: Well, I’m definitely not reading or eating that fake magic thingy.
She-human: What would you like to read then?
Thrakbog: Must I really? I am an orc. It is so unnatural.
She-human: It was part of our agreement.
Thrakbog: Sticking to an agreement is rather unorcish as well.
She-human: Boo hoo.
Thrakbog: Alright, alright. So give me something gritty and grim.
She-human: So, Dickens it is.
Thrakbog: What the …?
She-human: Dickens. Exactly.
Thrakbog: Well, I hope it is at least short.
Of course we were discussing this famous drivel: