Post by Duradin on Jan 5, 2019 8:10:59 GMT -8
Belgon, the Hidden Tribe, is willing to trade secrets about other tribes in return for valuable secrets of neighboring cities.
You awaken in the middle of the night with a start, jolting upright and half awake. Your makeshift campfire is smoldering in ashes and coals with minimal light remaining. Blearily, you cast your gaze towards the entrance of the crack in the mountain you deemed worthy of sleeping in. You mainly chose it because it was high up and small, hardly noticeable against the rocks and too small to house any large creatures. But now your hackles are raising, a squirming sensation filling your gut as instinct kicked in that something wasn't right.
As you begin to stand you feel something cold press into your neck and nick the skin. It appears you have been ambushed, and the intruder holds a blade to your throat. A sudden light flashes, illuminating the cave as stone is struck and your fire is relit. But what you see about you brings your heart dismay; a gang of orcs, glaring down at you. The cave is now severely cramped, with no less than seven red-skinned orcs blocking the only exit.
Among them stands a bald orc wearing a heavy fur coat, a singular grey fang hanging from a thread around his neck. Unlike the others, who bare down with a menace, his eyes are curious and his mouth is pulled in a sly grin. In broken Common/English, this orc asks you, “Have you secrets? I've many to trade, friend.”
As he says this, the blade leaves your neck and the orc that had held you hostage goes to stand with the others by the exit. They all watch you for your response, and you feel you must be careful with your next words.
You awaken in the middle of the night with a start, jolting upright and half awake. Your makeshift campfire is smoldering in ashes and coals with minimal light remaining. Blearily, you cast your gaze towards the entrance of the crack in the mountain you deemed worthy of sleeping in. You mainly chose it because it was high up and small, hardly noticeable against the rocks and too small to house any large creatures. But now your hackles are raising, a squirming sensation filling your gut as instinct kicked in that something wasn't right.
As you begin to stand you feel something cold press into your neck and nick the skin. It appears you have been ambushed, and the intruder holds a blade to your throat. A sudden light flashes, illuminating the cave as stone is struck and your fire is relit. But what you see about you brings your heart dismay; a gang of orcs, glaring down at you. The cave is now severely cramped, with no less than seven red-skinned orcs blocking the only exit.
Among them stands a bald orc wearing a heavy fur coat, a singular grey fang hanging from a thread around his neck. Unlike the others, who bare down with a menace, his eyes are curious and his mouth is pulled in a sly grin. In broken Common/English, this orc asks you, “Have you secrets? I've many to trade, friend.”
As he says this, the blade leaves your neck and the orc that had held you hostage goes to stand with the others by the exit. They all watch you for your response, and you feel you must be careful with your next words.