Oghurn looked around, his glance passing without stopping over burnt down houses and corpses in the streets, dropped weapons and limbs all around, looking only for an orc to take an order from. He was wondering what it might be, and already felt the pleasure of the evil tasks he felt sure were ahead consume him. He shook off the feelings as he saw Pirk and Grumish standing in the midst of the wreckage.
Oghurn could not hear them from where he stood, but he was a better reader of faces than he had ever let on. If he had shown his gift, some larger orcs, no doubt, would rid him of it, and much else besides. He saw in Grumish's face a dark rage, concealed well, but, nonetheless, not from those watching from afar. He wondered vaguely what it was about, but decided not to interfere. He saw a Man crawl out of a dwelling wouded, and kicked him hard with his iron-tipped boot. He groaned and lay still. Oghurn's face changed expression to what would have been called a rather evil grin, if it had been upon a fairer face.
He stood among the bodies and the ruins, and smiled again. This was what he, Oghurn the Orc, reveled in.
[ March 30, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
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"Glue... very powerful stuff."
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