DM: Forsooth! 'Ere your band of compatriots has cross't the rectory of malignancy, when a band of scurrilous rogues, the scourge of life, the 'orcs' some may say, has emerged from await, nay, from their skulking depositories of shadow, to waylay you!
Fighter: Hark! Back, foul ruffians of porcine demeanor! 'Ere I lay about me to and fro'; wi' my honor in hand, bright shining in it's steely sharpness, I'll have you all in Charon's ferry this day!
Rogue: Goodman Master of this Dungeon, mayhap my fortunes are favored in this endeavor I seek, to skulk into yon shadow and leave the wary vigilance of our attackers?
Wizard: Stand ye back, foul beasts! My dweomers are of a potency undreamt of, by mortal males! (And potency dreamt of by the fairer sex, wot?)
Cleric: By the stars and the moon and the star-crossed of the world, do I ponder the tableau before me! To wit, the vileness of yon miscreants of miscreance, and perchance of even malfeasance? I'll call the wrath of heaven upon your heads! Back! Back foul ones, I say!
Fighter: Enow and away wi' these beasts of burdensome appearance! Shall I take it 'pon myself to end these outrageous fortunes with slings and arrows of my own making?
Rogue: OH CRUEL FATE! A 2! A two, to vex the soul and curse the spirit of the gods of shadow and reclusivity! Now must I endeavor to recoup my losses and discern the path next chosen!
The orcs have long since left by now, fully fed up with the scene before them.