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[Tir'Og]

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Well Tir'Og was upset.
Nothing new there, Tir'Og spent a good portion of his time looking out at the world around him with menace. Even for an Orc his sadistic sense of humor and his unnatural ability to turn any mundan object into a cast point in violence made him a greenskin to be wary of. Like most Orcs Tir was obsessed that the world had wrogned him once and was nearly pyscotic with rage over insults, both real and imagined.
And now he was in a bad mood.

To a Orc violance was a welcome pressure release to the petty probelms of the world. Survival, dominance, hatered, pain... All the little things that can be forgotten in the joy of combat if only for a brief moment.
Like a junkie looking for a fix, the Orcish captin leared out at the patrons of Poets Tavern and attmepted to use his force of will to dare someone to make a smart comment.
If looks could kill, Poets would be a charnel house of red meat.

No use, the one human, (one!) who had not yet learned that silence and life were linked when Tir'Og was around, had scurried away like a frightened ferret as the Orc rose to meet him. 'Bah!' He thought bitterly 'Wud da puint ob behin mojo palahdin ef ju nub gunna defen' jur wurds?'

To be fair, Tir'Og had yet to see the fleeing human pray to the Virtues or consicrate his weapon, if indeed, he carried one. It was just a good policy to assume every human with the gall to offer resistance was a elite fighter like the paladins claimed to be. The fact that every murderer and insane gibberer about the banks of Brittian could qoute a few lines of the Holy book and thus be given Paladin abilities was not lost on him.
Better to be safe and assume all humans had that power then take a chance and go toe to toe with a tin can who simply refused to die when beaten.

It was because of this lack of hurting and his the dull wits stewing over the 'paladin to non paladin ratio' in the enemy ranks that Tir'Og failed to register the redhaird suductress until she had boldly plunked herself down next to the Orc.

"Erm, ugh der" Tir'Og began bedside mannor as sterlign as ever, picking his nose and flicking the sub-standered findings at his fellow patrons.
Sonya, that was her name... 'Yyp Yyp Yyp, dat femym suur du blab alut.'

He continued his inner monalog while drinking, nose digging and ogaling the body in front of him. He was only half paying attention. What are humie women for anyways? Certinally not for listening too.

In a better mood he might've dragged her into the next room for a bit of "privecy" and that might've been that. But without the red mist over his eyes his heart simply wasen't into it. At times it was depressing being an Orc and scaring everyone away.

Suddnely he caught a word, a long word of a rare kind of rock and though to have a bit of fun with the femmy.
"Ju wan mi tu blab tu ju weer ju kin fin' diz "obcidian?" Tir'og struggled to prenounch the word 'pugdugn humeis an der WURDS..'
"Well if you know where I could find some, I'd be most greatful." Sonya replied with slightly flushed cheeks (Tir' had that effect, or he liked to think so anyways) and a sulty pursing of her lips. This lady was used to getting men to do what she wanted, no doubt about that. No doubt at all!

"Wud ju guttah du." He began leaning forward and hunching his massive shoulders, trying to contain his growing grin. "Wud ju du am du, ju guttha fite ah balrun wun un wun. An wid wepun en jur hend... " He continued, pleased with shocked look his coments drew. All lies of course, the Orc knew very well were one could find the stones. But why give that information away when there was a possibility to get some toopid humie hurt?

Sonya, he knew, was no warrior after all. He dearly hoped she might use her femmy charms to get a paladin to help the "damasal in distress" and get beaten to a bloody pulp for his viturtous assistance.

Ah Tir'Og. Your it is only eclisped by your looks, and charm, and matrtial ability, and smell...Ok, I guess it's low on the scale..

After filling his willing audiance with tales of his own prowness in dealing with blarons "Dem juz pugs". (Said with a non-chelant shrug and downing a pint of ale in a single gulp) and offering his advice to have her weapon posioned for a "suur kill". (?! HAR HAR! )
His curiousity got the better of him.

"Ey femmy, whi ju neeb ob-cid-ian fer aniweys?" the large Orc wondered aloud.
"Oh, why, to help Molly regain her sight". Was the innocent reply from the gorgious red lips.

And for the first time that night Tir'Og face broke into an evil grin.
"Ohh... Weelie?"
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For the last time Tir'Og! "Dat toopid humie dezerbed id" is NOT grounds for justafiable homacide.
-Judge, Yew Court