I was very concerned for a moment, since you have some flies and I have some cats. Must have been a different game, though.

It was this game, but not your cats.

Orcs, Day 42

Groolk was soon surrounded by a dozen or more odd spectres, horrific and terrifying. They taunted the orc from all angles, whirring around him merrily as he lay on the rocky ground of hell.

PATHETIC
WEAK
FILTH
DISGRACE TO YOUR PEOPLE

The circle of spectres spun around him more and more rapidly until Groolk felt dizzy and sick, their otherworldly voices rising in pitch. The screeches reached a crescendo and then stopped, whereupon the dead orc opened his eyes. He found himself in a spot of bright light, surrounded by impenetrable darkness.

For a few minutes, nothing happened and all was silent. He thought he could make out vague shapes in the blackness, stirring images within the noisy expanse of his imagination, but he trembled in fear, unwilling to leave the spot of light and investigate. Finally a strange voice rang out from a point ahead; it swung about in pitch with disconcerting effect.

"So this is one of Skulkan's brave soldiers! The young, and now dead, Groolk of unknown family and limited importance! See how he *cliiiings* to this little spot of light like a soft, defenseless animal. And now he must wonder, as his gods sit in judgement, what exactly has he accomplished in his short life? But his gods already know the sad answer to that unspoken question."

The spot of light started to narrow tortuously, and Groolk bunched up in the middle of it, trembling more violently than before. The darkness threatened to engulf the terrified fellow, but stopped just short of him.

Another voice spoke in turn, seeming to emanate from the darkness behind Groolk: "And yet, in spite of that, Kazon, he is a far less offensive animal than his mongrel of a wizard. The same wizard who caused his ignominious demise through unnatural sourceries, I might add."

"Indeed, Dogar."

The young orc was well enough versed in his people's traditions to recognise the names of their gods of war and treachery, Dogar and Kazon respectively.

"Skulkan is an offense to me. Each and every arrogance-fueled word he utters or monster he summons corrupts our domain more. I did tell you of my plan, did I not? Perhaps we can make a warrior out of this young blighted thing, and use one pathetic animal to dispose of another..."

"Your plan promises much bloodshed, and the chance for an orc of no stature to suffer gloriously in our name. It shall be done... did you hear that, whelp? Groolk the worm suffocated to death in that wretched tavern. You are Grork, our servant reborn. You shall be an instrument to carry out our will, and to avenge Groolk's death. You shall atone for for Groolk's pathetic demise with a gloriously bloody death in battle. NOW BEGONE!"

Fires flew up and licked at Groolk's weak body, consuming it rapidly, starting with the flesh and continuing through his organs until the dry bones were exposed and nothing else remained. He watched it all helplessly, tied down by the unimaginable agony.

"IT.... SHALL... BEE... DONE", croaked the skeleton of Grork.

This is all getting far too edgy.

NICE reference. Just as edgy as I like it, like an uncooked, bleeding steak.

TS

Archons, Day 43

Turn sent.

Nomads, Day 43

TS

Orcs, Day 43

TS

TS

Archons, Day 44

Turn sent.

Nomads, Day 44

TS

Orcs, Day 44

Orcish beer was quite unique in the world of alcoholic substances, in that it got worse the more you drank of it. Indeed Orcs were the only race who could remotely stomach, let alone enjoy, the treacle-like dark substance.

The recipe is, of course, a closely guarded secret, perhaps in part because we don't *want* to know what it contains. All we do know is that it's strong enough to knock out a sphinx, cheap and a cornerstone of their 'culture'. In normal times, cheap beer served its role of keeping a King's subjects in line, and making any orc's worries disappear within minutes. These were not normal times.

Currently the substance was being consumed yet more cheaply by the elite vanguard of the Orcish army, who had decided to raid a small village brewery along the southern border, under pretense of restoring public order and crushing dissent.

Now Skulkan's mighty war party raucously ate and drank at a grand table outside the building, while the brewery's owners hung limply from wooden posts above their heads. The sun had already set, but this party was only getting started.

"ANBB THEN HE SWED..." began the Chief in between mouthfuls, "HURR HURR... THEN HE SAID THIS GOOLP GUY WAS IN MY UNIT. AN' I SAID I CANT REMBER HIM!"

A few of them guffawed, equally unsure who this 'Goolp' who had died on sick leave actually was. The Chief threw a set of bones over his shoulder, where it landed amidst a trio of starving kobolds lurking just out of the firelight, who set upon it with abandon. The conversation soon moved on.

"Just can't waits to slaughter me some Demons! His wizardliness is spoilin' us!"

Meanwhile, at the other end of the table, a young orc's eyes burned with firey conviction as he preached to his captive audience.

"And so we find ourselves, a race without moral lynchpins, clawing and mewing like children for a paternal figure of authority! For where is our constitution, our conviction? We have none! It is thus that I find myself the first to realise the sorry fate of our national governance: one based only upon strength and not upon right. For this sytem where the man with the most magic governs and oppresses the rest is utterly untenable. A summoned dog is bound by the mana of his wizard and is merely enslaved, while we are bound by both his mana and his gold and are twice enslaved! I never voted for Skulkan, and nor did any of you!"

The firebrand's audience were far too dumb (and drunk) to understand much of what he said, beyond 'Skulkan bad'. An armour-clad orcish woman sitting next to him, however, seized upon this simplified interpretation and ran with it.

"Well I dunno about you, but I'm worried about big master's new ducks. They gonna run us out of our jobs!"

A few shouts of agreement went up and mugs of beer were slammed down on the table. Blad the Implaler stood up to his full, unimposing height to join in, swaying from side to side as he drawled out his words.

"Yeah, big wiz gon reeeplace us wiv dem coz they don't need sleeps or beer or foodings. They just need sometimes petting and affection and then they ok to go."

"I 'eard it's not just ducks that's replacin' us greenskins! It's chickens, lambs and... abominations!"

"Me nephew was made an abomination. 'orrible business, and e's never bin the same since! But Skulky loves em, loves em more than 'e loves us"

More shouting and grumbling followed, and the tone of the drunken conversation soon soured. Violence would probably ensue before long. The firebrand sneered, unsurprised but nevertheless disappointed by his audience's simpleminded complaints. Regardless, rebellious sentiment had begun to stir.

TS

Archons, Day 45

Turn sent.