Snippet #2688259

An orc traveled along the roads with the setting sun, his fee thudding along in scuffs. The first to be noticed about this orc was that he was simply massive.

Perhapes that was typical of orcs, their natural raw strength, as there were always tales of them surplexing the greatest of beasts and challenges, right next to the usual ones of their beastly raiding and haphazard violence. Certainly, he dressed no differently from his kin, for beneath a wolf pelt cloak, he wore nothing more than a kilt made of yarn cloth, and a leather strapping that ran across his chest, securing most of his supplies, such as many canteens, coin purses, that for security were spiked. His left waist was slapped repeatedly by the scabbard of some blade, something long and thick.

The orc himself however, was imposing. Standing at seven feet, eight inches, the orc towered above most hominoid creatures, even if he was considered at a normal height for his kin. His legs and arms were bursting with strength, someone who hiked, and traveled regularly, or perhaps someone who participated in heavy duty work often. His jaw was quite large and broad, to accommodate the two tusks that protruded up towards his cheeks, and his eyes were a tad sunken into his skull. As if to add to this, the orc held a few honorable across in the form of perhaps claw marks across his chest, turning the green skin into something of a yellow straw color, as well as a mark along his jaw line, perhaps a blade, or passing shot. It seemed as if he had been in a scuffle were, despite his impressive build and intimidating factor, the odds and perhaps, even the weight, were against him.

Those green, emerald, earthy eyes however... And that grin upon his face... They spoke nothing of a history of fighting and arguing, they spoke nothing of contempt. They simply spoke of a jolly and uproarious attitude about life. Some people could even call that face friendly.

His name was Oaklum Stoneheart, and on this evening, on one of his many hikes, he heard a scream of pain ahead of him.

The orc gave pause, stopping for the moment, his hand coming around to grip the weapon strapped to his waist. His eyes began to scan his surroundings, that face of merriment dropping for but a moment. His nostrils flared, sniffing.

"Hrmg." The orc went, and he broke out into a jog, the ground complaining with massive thuds. He kept up this jog, spotting what appeared to be a pile of... Horse.

And it's rider, whom was limping their way along.

Oaklum's instant assumption was that the orc somehow spilled, and injured the... Man? Woman? He couldn't tell at this distance. Yet it was a simple enough guess. Horse falls were dangerous. It vaguely occurred to him that perhaps he should leave this be, after all, an orc charging out of no where would seem like he was taking advantage of her weakness.

And he pushed those thoughts aside, continuing his jog until he was close enough to shout.

"Oi! Oi ye', za git wid' da' limp! Zats 'ioght, ye! Ya 'ioght there!?" Came out his booming voice.