Sounds of the Dar'krest mountain
Moderator: Gamemasters
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Knak' gash
- Posts: 49
- Joined: Tue May 12, 2009 1:27 am
Sounds of the Dar'krest mountain
Deep inside the orcen caves, where now many fires keep buring the stench of animal furs, where now anvils make the axes even more sharper and the warriors walk with heavy armors, probably getting ready for no good deed, the large body of the chief of the Horde rest under a grey cloth, waiting for his proud burial where the heroes rest. All along the lands on the orcs, is not strange to hear the horns blowing darlky, remebering their fallen leader, as the grunts and clashes of weapons can be hear as far as the crying of the horns can be heard. If anyone would be as fool to enter their domains, would be arrive quickly at the conclusion that the ones who did that, and the rest of Gobiath, have some dark days ahead.
He, a tall and strong orc, seen several battles, steps outside. He snorts at Gruknug, the brave gateguard. There was no need for a smile. Gruknug was an old friend. Last thoughts at his thoughters dissapeared as he hieved the giant axe uppon his broad shoulders.
They found the chief, Murgo's mentor and oldest mate down at the shores of the Troll's Vein. And also the wise shaman wasn't able to tell what happened. Murgo wasn't the smartest he knew. His female, Krudash allways liked to banter him. In a cute and smart kind of way, Murgo doesn't became mad about. Next to her curious nose, he thought the matter of fact a smart orcess like Krudash has choosen him as partner was one of the best thing could happen to him. Anyway they gave him a name. "Tjum'rhual" , his female smirked hearing about. It meant strong mind. And Murgo thought that was a kind of trick. A smart and tricky trick indeed.
Now there was a plan needed. Needed like the blood of those who was responsible for the happenings. First Murgo would walk to the shores of the brook. And then head north, where the water comes from. In a kind of way he knew he will grab some of the humans in the bane town. And start there to ask. Surely one of those tricky oomies have to do something with it. He sniffles and inhalates the air in front of the gate. He didn't liked the smell. He becames mad about. He narrows his eyes. His tounge touches his tusks.
They found the chief, Murgo's mentor and oldest mate down at the shores of the Troll's Vein. And also the wise shaman wasn't able to tell what happened. Murgo wasn't the smartest he knew. His female, Krudash allways liked to banter him. In a cute and smart kind of way, Murgo doesn't became mad about. Next to her curious nose, he thought the matter of fact a smart orcess like Krudash has choosen him as partner was one of the best thing could happen to him. Anyway they gave him a name. "Tjum'rhual" , his female smirked hearing about. It meant strong mind. And Murgo thought that was a kind of trick. A smart and tricky trick indeed.
Now there was a plan needed. Needed like the blood of those who was responsible for the happenings. First Murgo would walk to the shores of the brook. And then head north, where the water comes from. In a kind of way he knew he will grab some of the humans in the bane town. And start there to ask. Surely one of those tricky oomies have to do something with it. He sniffles and inhalates the air in front of the gate. He didn't liked the smell. He becames mad about. He narrows his eyes. His tounge touches his tusks.
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Grim_banned
- Posts: 636
- Joined: Fri Sep 01, 2006 3:07 pm
The Warlord, usually clad in the thickest of armors, lays knelled next to the table where the Chief slumbers, covered by a large gray cloak. He has not slept, he has not eaten, he has not spoken to anyone in days, his furious eyes being the only proof that he is not a statue.
None dares to approach him, his face, covered by the dark veil of anger and mad fury, would inspire fear in the hearts of even the toughest of the warriors. He snarls from time to time, hitting the ground with his huge fist, covering it with ruptures, cracks and blood from his wounded knuckles.
The dark sound of orcish horns echo in the whole valley, making the ground shake at every blow. None has ever seen this happenings in the past and if one would approach the orcish lands, he would be sure that rivers of blood are soon to come.
None dares to approach him, his face, covered by the dark veil of anger and mad fury, would inspire fear in the hearts of even the toughest of the warriors. He snarls from time to time, hitting the ground with his huge fist, covering it with ruptures, cracks and blood from his wounded knuckles.
The dark sound of orcish horns echo in the whole valley, making the ground shake at every blow. None has ever seen this happenings in the past and if one would approach the orcish lands, he would be sure that rivers of blood are soon to come.
Slowly the tall orc leaves the town. His fingers was sweaty and he was tired. A long day filled with questions was behind him. And much more answers. But answers of oomies. He knew they are tricky liars. And he can't trust a word of them. Rather he tried to watch their reactions and trust his instinct. It was complicated. In his head fromed slowly a few names. Names he was willing to hunt down soon.
And now he was thinking of let them rast one more day. And search some weak folk he would slaughter down. As a waring.
He grabed his helmet and rubs over his forhead. His head hurts. Was a long day. He will return to the cave. Walk to his daughters and his female. Dish some roasted Goat and then send them for his giant axe. He will take it and guard the laid chief until the sun announce the morning.
And now he was thinking of let them rast one more day. And search some weak folk he would slaughter down. As a waring.
He grabed his helmet and rubs over his forhead. His head hurts. Was a long day. He will return to the cave. Walk to his daughters and his female. Dish some roasted Goat and then send them for his giant axe. He will take it and guard the laid chief until the sun announce the morning.
Nilka kneels in the shadows at the edge of the cave, keeping watch in the chamber where the unconscious body of the chief rests. She tends to the chief then scuttles away and huddles fearfully in a corner, hiding from the rage of the warlord. Only the occasional groan from the chief would make her challenge the warlord's fury and draw near to the body of the chief.
She keeps a smouldering fire in the chamber that gives off more smoke than heat and leaves the greasy smell of cooked flesh lingering in the air. A pitcher of the fat and juices collected from the roasting pit are on hand which she feeds to the chief those rare times when he seems able to swallow. The rest of her time is spent sitting on the stone floor of the cave, her body cramping with the cold and stillness of her silent vigil.
She keeps a smouldering fire in the chamber that gives off more smoke than heat and leaves the greasy smell of cooked flesh lingering in the air. A pitcher of the fat and juices collected from the roasting pit are on hand which she feeds to the chief those rare times when he seems able to swallow. The rest of her time is spent sitting on the stone floor of the cave, her body cramping with the cold and stillness of her silent vigil.