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Message: <blockquote data-quote="SilverFoxKnows" data-source="post: 2369106" data-attributes="member: 33593"><p><strong>I'm working on the crunch but here's the flavor...</strong></p><p></p><p><span style="color: black"><span style="color: red"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Butagga studied the young warrior with his one eye. The lad was a mountain of muscle, a full head taller than any warrior in the tribe. It was said he could sunder an Elven shield with his bare hands. And the War Chief assured him the boy’s lack of battle scars was the result of his prowess with the double axe. He was a fine warrior, perhaps the finest in a generation. He would, no doubt, become a War Chief when he matured. </span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: black"></span></p><p><span style="color: black"><span style="color: red"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">It pained Butagga to risk this champion of the Orcish way on a desperate gamble with an unproven ally. The priests of Malar claimed they could turn a common warrior into an engine of destruction. What, then, could they do with an uncommon warrior? If the Malarites were true to their word the tribe would have a warrior that could not be defeated. If they lied the tribe would lose its last hope. </span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: black"></span></p><p><span style="color: black"><span style="color: red"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Each day the tribe was losing ground to the greedy Elves. They could not repel the raids much longer. It was a risk the War Chief said must be taken.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: black"></span></p><p><span style="color: black"><span style="color: red"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">“What is your name, boy?”</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: black"></span></p><p><span style="color: black"><span style="color: red"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">“Marak”.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: black"></span></p><p><span style="color: black"><span style="color: red"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Even the boy’s voice was impressive, like the sound of war drums.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: black"></span></p><p><span style="color: black"><span style="color: red"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">“You have been chosen, Marak, by He Who Watches to save your tribe from the Elven menace. This is a great honor but it may involve great sacrifice. What are you prepared to sacrifice?”</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: black"></span></p><p><span style="color: black"><span style="color: red"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">“To save my people I would give up the strength in my right arm”. </span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: black"></span></p><p><span style="color: black"><span style="color: red"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">He held up an arm that was thicker than one of Butagga’s legs.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: black"></span></p><p><span style="color: black"><span style="color: red"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">“Good, good. But let’s pray it doesn’t come to that.”</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: black"></span></p><p><span style="color: black"></span></p></blockquote><p></p>

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