The burly Red uruk walked into the camp, steel armor-clad, carrying a large kleaver over his back, a square-y sword with a protrusion coming from the tip. His eyes stared out into the camp, dragging the tired mule with him, the mule carrying two chests filled with several things. He had been out hunting. Hunting the dark. Hunting those he knew meant disgrace. Last time he had been around, a Goblin led the Uzg. He didn’t leave, no. Why would he. Right when things got interesting.
He knew what he was going to do though. All he heard was of his clan. Who led it. It confused him. He was no elder, forgotten, hells be. But… He felt it was necessary.
“MI AM LOOKIN’ FOR GROGGNAR’RAGUK AGH MI KLAN. MI CHALLENGE DIZ WARGOTH FUR A KLOMP, FOR DAH TITLE OB WARGOTH. MI AM KRUTMOZAK’RAGUK, KUB OB LEYDLUK’RAGUK AGH AM HERE TO PUT DAH KLAN ON IT’Z TRAKZ AGAIN.”
The uruk went off to a corner, letting his mule rest and settling down his chests, awaiting his response.
A LARGE STAMP IS ON THE END
ANG GUND GRIIZH
i didn’t leave, **** off