The image of a crying woman. An orcish guard watching over her, himself more terrified then the chieftain hulking over him. . The weak cries of protest.
“Chief…certently selling the hostages back would give us more gold to recruit and equip our warriors with..”
A brutish punch between the orcs to remind the lesser who was in charge.
- “Hah! Do you care nothing of honor? Of glory on a battlefield? You, who would parley with the humans, and allow there wizard’s to practice dark magics right under our mountainside? You are weak.”*
“Our forces are strong,..” came the protest from the guardsman but, we lack the numbers too…."
“I won’t let MY people starve to death in the desert! I will stop at nothing – NOTHING – to ensure a proud and glorious future for the orcs. These “adventurers” are but a test of our strength. We will pass this trial, just as we have passed others."
“These humans are less then us, warrior. Our suffering is at an end. When this war is won, our people will see prosperity at last. We are Orcs! We are slaves to nothing and no one!
The orc’s voice fell to a low whisper.
And when the time comes…I will burn away any remnants of weakness within us……