- Messages
- 5
- Character Biography
- Link
"Back off beast!" The pink-skin's demand sounded more like a squealing pig's plea to Mog'osh.
The Stormcaller flicked his tongue across his tusks in a show of intimidation. The merchant-human-thing's eyes widened with realization at the gesture. His panicked eyes darted to the two equally human guardsmen that had seen fit to bar Mog'osh's path along the roads. Crimson vitae poured freely from the slits in their iron helmets. Mog'osh had wasted little time at their accostment, and had grabbed the both of them by their iron skulls and slammed them together. He was uncertain how badly he'd harmed them, but they weren't dead.
That was good enough.
"Pick a god and pray." The Orc growled in the sing-songy tones of the human language. The utterance was far too soft for his liking. The language of the traders lacked any true emphasis behind its words: it was far more disingenuous than proper Orcish. The merchant's pack beast eyed Mog'osh with lazy eyes. Normally such a creature would try to flee, but Mog'osh had a strong affinity for the natural world, and the beast knew whatever harm he intended was not meant for it.
The humans had seen fit to try and relieve him of the currency he'd been carrying in a small leather bag at his belt. Perhaps they'd thought him an easy target, wandering alone in the backroads of The Spine. Their lack of foresight had been their undoing.
"Back!" The man shouted again as he pointed his little metal stick at Mog'osh. The Orc vaguely recalled that such things were called swords, and that they were far more dangerous than they looked. Even still, by the way it trembled in this one's hand, Mog'osh was not afraid.
With a wave of his axe and the clang of metal crashing against metal, the sword spun out of the man's hands. The merchant drew back his hand, cradling it as if it were a child as blood poured from where the metal had met flesh. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Mog'osh was already upon him, a massive green hand lifting the merchant clear off the back of his bull, and hurling him down into the grass below.
The warm amber light of the setting sun poured in over the tree line as Mog'osh slowly stalked up to the now sobbing man, his lips pulled back in a pleased scowl. He had no love for thieves, and relished the abject terror the human-thing was now consumed with.
He halted just a foot away from the man, and dropped into a crouch, his head mere inches from the human's. "You who would call yourself a merchant are naught but a thief. Thieves are cowardly creatures, pig-skin, and fear makes the meat all the more tender."
The man screamed as he broke into another fit of sobbing. Disgusted with the display, Mog'osh rose to his feet, snatched the human up by his long black hair, and held his squirming form out toward the sun as he debated killing the merchant or not.
Zeri Rekani, Bula
The Stormcaller flicked his tongue across his tusks in a show of intimidation. The merchant-human-thing's eyes widened with realization at the gesture. His panicked eyes darted to the two equally human guardsmen that had seen fit to bar Mog'osh's path along the roads. Crimson vitae poured freely from the slits in their iron helmets. Mog'osh had wasted little time at their accostment, and had grabbed the both of them by their iron skulls and slammed them together. He was uncertain how badly he'd harmed them, but they weren't dead.
That was good enough.
"Pick a god and pray." The Orc growled in the sing-songy tones of the human language. The utterance was far too soft for his liking. The language of the traders lacked any true emphasis behind its words: it was far more disingenuous than proper Orcish. The merchant's pack beast eyed Mog'osh with lazy eyes. Normally such a creature would try to flee, but Mog'osh had a strong affinity for the natural world, and the beast knew whatever harm he intended was not meant for it.
The humans had seen fit to try and relieve him of the currency he'd been carrying in a small leather bag at his belt. Perhaps they'd thought him an easy target, wandering alone in the backroads of The Spine. Their lack of foresight had been their undoing.
"Back!" The man shouted again as he pointed his little metal stick at Mog'osh. The Orc vaguely recalled that such things were called swords, and that they were far more dangerous than they looked. Even still, by the way it trembled in this one's hand, Mog'osh was not afraid.
With a wave of his axe and the clang of metal crashing against metal, the sword spun out of the man's hands. The merchant drew back his hand, cradling it as if it were a child as blood poured from where the metal had met flesh. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Mog'osh was already upon him, a massive green hand lifting the merchant clear off the back of his bull, and hurling him down into the grass below.
The warm amber light of the setting sun poured in over the tree line as Mog'osh slowly stalked up to the now sobbing man, his lips pulled back in a pleased scowl. He had no love for thieves, and relished the abject terror the human-thing was now consumed with.
He halted just a foot away from the man, and dropped into a crouch, his head mere inches from the human's. "You who would call yourself a merchant are naught but a thief. Thieves are cowardly creatures, pig-skin, and fear makes the meat all the more tender."
The man screamed as he broke into another fit of sobbing. Disgusted with the display, Mog'osh rose to his feet, snatched the human up by his long black hair, and held his squirming form out toward the sun as he debated killing the merchant or not.
Zeri Rekani, Bula