Post by Vugor on Apr 9, 2004 17:33:44 GMT
--- As seen by nearly anyone traveling thru the Fredian North Forest and Foothills over the previous 2 days---
The half-orc hunched over his kill, his armor cleanly gleaming in the forests patchy light despite the violence that had taken place but a moment before. To look upon him, most would assume him a full blooded orc – his features oversized and hard with the exception of the expression on his scarred, ugly face. An expression of sorrow and determination that he so oft could be seen wearing of late. He stripped the skin off the bear expertly, cleaned off the remaining gore, rolled it and placed it deftly into one of the numerous magical sacks on his person. With equal precision he carved the bear meat into manageable size and stowed those away as well. Looking at what little was left of the carcass, he suddenly fell to the ground, weary from days of work with no rest. He mumbled to himself “Dere no time… no time. Hows me can get all dat stuff maked before dems kill hers body…?”
Shaking his head, trying to invigorate himself, he rose and followed the tree lined road to the north, preparing himself for the onslaught of spiders that usually inhabited the path near the stream. Plodding footfall after footfall he arrived at the place, to find two more bears and the spiders as expected. Dispatching all expertly, with incredible economy of motion for one of his size, it was easy to determin that these were creatures who held no surprises for him; a path he took on such a regular basis that the motions were almost as basic as breathing. Again, the skins came off the animals fast and clean as if there were not effort needed for such a task. He headed north a short way more to dispatch two grizzly bears in the same fasion. Always moving – kill, skin, walk, kill, skin, walk… He paused a brief moment to admire the fine Adamantine veins in the cliff which called to him, but there was no time… no time... “Me gotta learn to make all dems best cloaks… Dat da only ways…”
He turned back south, weary heading back to work the eighty pelts he'd gathered, the same as he had done time and time again on this day that had already lasted 53 continuous hours. “Me gotta save Myria……..”
The half-orc hunched over his kill, his armor cleanly gleaming in the forests patchy light despite the violence that had taken place but a moment before. To look upon him, most would assume him a full blooded orc – his features oversized and hard with the exception of the expression on his scarred, ugly face. An expression of sorrow and determination that he so oft could be seen wearing of late. He stripped the skin off the bear expertly, cleaned off the remaining gore, rolled it and placed it deftly into one of the numerous magical sacks on his person. With equal precision he carved the bear meat into manageable size and stowed those away as well. Looking at what little was left of the carcass, he suddenly fell to the ground, weary from days of work with no rest. He mumbled to himself “Dere no time… no time. Hows me can get all dat stuff maked before dems kill hers body…?”
Shaking his head, trying to invigorate himself, he rose and followed the tree lined road to the north, preparing himself for the onslaught of spiders that usually inhabited the path near the stream. Plodding footfall after footfall he arrived at the place, to find two more bears and the spiders as expected. Dispatching all expertly, with incredible economy of motion for one of his size, it was easy to determin that these were creatures who held no surprises for him; a path he took on such a regular basis that the motions were almost as basic as breathing. Again, the skins came off the animals fast and clean as if there were not effort needed for such a task. He headed north a short way more to dispatch two grizzly bears in the same fasion. Always moving – kill, skin, walk, kill, skin, walk… He paused a brief moment to admire the fine Adamantine veins in the cliff which called to him, but there was no time… no time... “Me gotta learn to make all dems best cloaks… Dat da only ways…”
He turned back south, weary heading back to work the eighty pelts he'd gathered, the same as he had done time and time again on this day that had already lasted 53 continuous hours. “Me gotta save Myria……..”
