It's a fantasy role-playing game.

DM: You are Grog Strongjaw, a goliath barbarian . You are the member of the famous group of adventurers. Previously, From the sidelines, Scanlan yells inspiration at you and Cutting Words at Kern. Keyleth attempts to heal you from a distance, but gets caught by a nearby Bastion.
DM: You see him snarl to the side as you toss his wineskin to the ground and you chug your own. It tastes very heavily-- this is frost giant strength, you said?
Player: Or the stone giant, yeah.
DM: Oh, the stone giant. It tastes very heavily of black charcoal, dust, grit, and the actual liquid itself has a very gravelly texture as it goes down your throat, and you can feel chunks getting caught, but you push through and continue gulping it. It's thicker, like a molasses, than it is an actual liquid. You finish it off, toss it to the side. Go ahead and mark your increase to strength for this.
Player: I got it down already.
DM: You came prepared!
Player: (singing) We're going to need a montage, a montage.
DM: You toss your wineskin to the side. The bookie, you hear now, raises his hand. "All here in attendance. We have here in the Crucible this day, a rematch of titans. The standing champion of all the Braving Grounds of Vasselheim: Kern the Hammer." (cheers) (booing) Coins start raining on you copper, silver, and gold pieces spin down on the ground around you, Grog. You guys just stand tensely locked in that warrior glare. "Challenging him, once again, tail between his legs, intent on claiming his glory, returning to the Crucible, Philip."
Player: No! Philip is dead. There is no Philip. There is only Grog, the Vengeful. (cheering)
DM: Cheers go up around the outside of the Crucible. You can now see the entire crowd-- the energy itself is electric in the air; eyes are intense and bloodshot. Everyone is looking down into what is about to be, hopefully, a drag-out, throwdown fight. You feel the rippling strength of your stone giant elders tearing through your body. You flex, and you hear with each muscle tensing and the popping of bones and sinew as you prepare yourself for this. As you're doing this, you see across the way, Kern cracks his knuckles, and you can see the giant scar from his snarling lip. You realize he hasn't been snarling this whole time; it's just the natural state of his current smile. And then he snarls. You can see his orcish tusks protruding out, and the gums themselves, black and purple, peering out from underneath his upper lip that you once destroyed. "I'm going to take yours this time, boy."
Player: Enough words, toothless. Let's do this.
DM: Roll initiative.
