A Flatulence is Heard

[bungo 3965]

The sand underneath your feet is warm as the day comes to an end. A strange change as the dry, arid heat-filled desert changes into a freezing cold desert. The low beats of drums begin to play as the day comes to an end, the Orcish Population, scrambled. A female orc, carrying around leathers to build a nest, a young cub holding a blunt piece of metal, chasing chickens around to club. Everything in the day seems just about correct, for an Orcish City.

A loud chime is heard as a Runt slams his fist into the Symbol atop the Gate Towers. A figure approaches the city this must mean. The figure, growing closer with each step slowly begins to take shape in the eyes of those on duty. An orc is made up to be seen, the Runt raises his right hanbd, picking up a small rock. He throws the rock at the Jabbernack, which itself goes around the winch and the doors open.

The figure slowly lumbers through the gates, with great triumph, holding his head up, body exposed. He shows his scars, a large one covering his face, with a gashed and mising eye, one upon the back of his head. Many more smaller ones plague his malformed and broken bald skull. His tusks, two different sizes. The left one, slightly chipped. His body, covered in more scars. Scars of honor they were, scars that the orcs pride themselves with. Not much scars their thick leathery hides, however the might of steel does, and the might of steel is what the Orcish Traditions are based around.

The orc, slowly stops before the crowd growing before him. He slowly moves his head, simply shaking his head back and forth, his eyes moving around examining the orcs around him. He slowly let out a muffled grunt, not saying anything else, he was simply waiting for a response.

[[Orcs, come on here and RP. Keep this thread alive because you know. Roleplay is good for you.]]

[George of House Glover 372]

Zogtar lies in his bed, skahin his slaves