-Role-play scenario:
Lo and behold, throughout days on end within a hellish vessel that transversed the waters beneath, the sickened half-kin stumbled his way along the wooden surface of the ship, taking a strong hold onto his large battle zweihander, like his steel could hopefully cleave through the distress of not being able to avoid vomit and complications every ten to twenty minutes as a culmination from the sway of the waves and the poor food served in the ship where he had found himself. Out now, along the port, the sailors darted eyes and comments at the colour of his skin, at the soft features for an Orc, and it caused the lad to growl in an animalistic fashion.
A sailor spoke aloud: “They don’t do yer folk like they used ta, lad, must’b a freak, aye?” to another, not seeming to accept the concept that Keithro would, most likely, take heed to his words of prejudice.
Turning to one of the sailors, apoplectic remained the creature of muscle and viridescent might, locking peering orbs of crimson hues upon the frame of the lesser kin to whom now he had been aptly forced to speak. Silence, however, illustrated the acrimony leer of non-euclidean aesthetics in comparison to the proper response dictated by social norms: Mayhap the yelling lad had a point, possibly Keithro wasn't in his proper place at a proper time. The barbarian cared not, and within his body blood boiled with the thought and lack of acceptance to the inquiry unverbalised and at the same time meditated upon: How dare he, speak to I, Keithro, like that? - The only demonstration of the notion, though, were hot irons for a gaze locked, unblinking, with the one offered by the demanding, and rather rude, man. Only then words were weaved, of threat embed instructions: " Yewd dooh better fink frice befoohre shpeaking lyke dat hooman.” Hoarse timbres in tones of stoic seriousness pierced the speech of the other, hopefully halting him in his tracks, and even more so, for both of them, causing any audacious conflict contender to shy away from their decision of foul mannered and intended nature.
Then attention diverting, digressing from the current impending predicament of other hardened warriors, warforged in their own accord, gathering around the troublesome Uruk man, the echoing of a gentleman’s voice was in dissonating disagreement to the overall demeanour of the scene, but it caused many unwilling sailors sigh in relief at the change of pace of things around, no longer an Orc threatened them with a stare or words of impending danger. Keithro inspected the other in utter scrutiny, though unannounced, what he spoke was simple, before gazing around and about back at the complication instigator, and then averting eyes only to lay them back at the smaller creature: “Drink.“ Pushing the well dressed man aside with a strong hand to the chest pushing forcefully, the orc extended his mighty stride, thundering storming steps upon the pavement beneath, with every boom more looks, with more looks, more so did Keithro crave the sweet re
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