Normally dwarves are either figures of Norse myth who have found safe haven upon our world or people with growth disorders. They’re normal, everyday things that people run into every once in a while and while they’re sometimes kinda weird they’re not the strangest thing in the world.
But you, you’re a dwarf straight out of Tolkien. You talk like an asshole and you’re all about rings and gold and mines. You’ve also lived super long and have a sweet ass beard.
People would’ve caught on to you long ago if you lived anywhere else. But you live in Portland Fucking Oregon, so that hasn’t really been a problem for you. Your huge beard and love of weed have given you the perfect cover.
Most days you just live your life in peace. You tend bar three nights a week and live in a shitty little apartment in outer South East. But lately you’ve had dwarven medical problems, life Swarvfinbel and Black Lung, and your usual sleep it off strategy hasn’t been working.
So today you’re going to walk in to a government office (we’re not sure which one, we really can’t be bothered to know this shit) and apply for Medicade.
The black lady who runs that government office, along with three others, will look you up and down briefly before nodding.
“A’ight, honey,” she’ll say, writing all the lies you told her down on a card. Then she’ll hand it to you, insuring that you receive the best medical care in America which, hilariously, belongs to the most disenfranchised among us: the impoverished and fantasy creatures who cannot hold down a real job for any length of time.
Congratulations Dwarf!
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