You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town?" she begins, then pauses to study your face— ”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” ((How do you respond?)) "Ug-" He stopped himself before letting out a short cough and cleared his throat. "H-hello hag. I dank you fur yer, er... hozhpitality." Grugrahk, dwarfing the hag's dwindling form, crossed his legs as he placed his rear on the mentioned cushion. Though it was soft, it would have been more comfortable had it not been of modest size when compared to his large build.
"I have traveled far 'n fur many yearzh." he began, using a more common vocabulary than to be expected from a typical orc. "I left mi home when I turnd ateteen. I wazh diffrunt. Thay culled mi nubhosh or pinkzhkin. Mi wazh orc but not treeded like one." He looked down at his shuffling hands as the disheartening memories reared their ugly faces once again after so long. "After maybe a year, I crozhed pazh wit a kind zhara achtrizh. Zhe wazh... b-beu-... pretty. And vury zhmart! Zhe tot mi ta reed 'n rite 'n entriduzhed mi to zhcripted theeahtur!" he exclaimed, bringing his head up from the excitement. "Zhe wazh my mentuur 'n tot mi lotzh. Wonzh I finizhed my zhtudeezh, zhe rewarted mi wit a nuu name. Zhebazhton. Thuzh way humanzh 'n da like wud be lezh afraid. After dat, I zhtarded mi own juurny tu be un actuur. 'N now 'ere mi am, on mi way tu da bubhozh goi!"
Though his eyes told a story of pain and a life of judgement and isolation, they also told the story of an intelligent and proud orc ready to face the unknown world head on and with a theatrical gusto!
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