Rise of the Runelords

A Riddle to Your Ryhme

Barthus.jpg

The orc stood above the broken body of a woman. His head tilted curiously looking at the frail figure tempting to poke it with a stick. It was unusual to see any living thing at this elevation, much less so exposed to the elements. He motioned to the rest of his company beckoning them to investigate. Suddenly, the woman lurched upright screaming murder. Octook released his fist in suprised to her face, knocking her out once again. He had thought she was dead. I mean, he tried blowing through her nose and that did not wake her. “Taking to beating defenseless creatures again Octook,” a stern Orc approached through the snow. “It tried to…” Octook thought about his words. “Captain, it.” Octook was stopped. “Matters not, we have a job to do and you need to stop playing with animals,” the Captain paused looking at the woman. She could be useful he thought, so unusual to be out here the way she was. Perhaps she knew something about the dangers they faced in these mountains. “Well Octook, it may be we have someone to cook now,” the Captain rationalize. Octook let his confusion show, “You mean to cook her?” “No Octook, we mean to carry her until she recalls something useful… and perhaps she can make a better meal than you,” Captain clarified. “Octook confused, do you mean to cook me?” The Captain simply held his words back behind his shaking head. He needed experienced and stout stock that would listen to him but not smart enough to question him. Yet he wished he had invested in a few more Orcs who could hold a conversation beyond food.

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