Team Ambush
The orc coughed and spat the blood that still choked its unbreatging lungs. The unnatural movements of its face muscles did nothing to make Urgan feel any better about his use of necromancy. He hoped the answers he received would do more.
"Ghhuuh. I'm called Brogh the Blade. Twas so long, long ago, but I 'member now... my mum called me Bruggie." the orc replied to the first question, his scarred, veteran face scrunched up at the memory, looking almost soft and vulnerable.
"I sired two orclings," he said to the second, turning proud and serious once more, "Give Angur my axe - he was always too soft, an' show 'im ta use it!"
To the third he answered, "We was told ta yell at the bridge, 'Feed the Beast!' Or the Watchtower is ta kill us all Again at the gatehouse, though ol'Argyle will laugh at it. An' he should. Tis stupid. Bah! I guess it will feed 'im. The Beast I mean."
To the fourth question, he shrugged, "I don't do no roll-call. Cultists comin'. Cultists goin'. Priests, wizards, alchemists. I dunno. Maybe a hundred, all told. Probably less. Not less than half that, for sure."
To the last question, he answered, "I dunno if tis true. Rumor says the Dragon ain't real. A watchyacallit, fake. A construct, maybe. Cultists might be lyin' to us, but I don't think that's it. I think crafty ol' Sikakul is lyin' ta the Cultists. Keeps 'em in line, see?"
The corpse chuckled - a horrible wheezing sound through what was left of its pierced lung. Then it shuddered and was still once more, the spell having ended