Tonguescum

The orcs settled here in the outer region of the Pinefore, far from her dangerous and haunted inner sanctum years ago. This location provided ample opportunity to war with barbarian chiefs and made an excellent staging point to plunder caravans, what few there were, traversing through or around the nearby Laandsraad. War with rival orc and frobold tribes was constant and pleased Gruumsh, or so it seemed as many of his blessings were bestowed upon this camp, which was more of a village these days. The orcs who live here call it Lurz Ghazrach, orcish for "Freezing Trees".

Before Tonguescum's arrival the warring was non-stop and brutal. The orcs concentrated on controlling the area of the Pinefore nearest the humans where Lurz Ghazrach lay. They longed to destroy all nearby orc tribes that rivaled them as well as the inferior frobolds, gnolls and bugbears that also called the Pinefore home. Before Tonguescum, before he had become chieftain, Lurz Ghazrach was just another orc-colony in just another wasteland outside the sight of the eye of humanity. Away from the real fighting, like the recent war in Westheath, or the coming doom in Eystlund led by the human warmonger Rogar, friend of the orcs. Gruumsh had, for some reason, called them to this frozen place instead of leading them to where other orc brothers were glorifyingly terrorizing the land, staining the fields red with human and elven blood. Now that he was here, all that was changing, for the better.

Three years ago he came, from nowhere it seemed, unchallenged through the pines. A seven and a half foot tall, black-skinned behemoth wearing a combination of studded leather and bear hide. His thick rippling arms stood bare from a lack of sleeves, exposing scores of raised-flesh scars, and though he seemed unaffected by the chill, their only covering were thick, iron-studded leather wristbands. From his right hand a large canvas sack, bulging and moist at the bottom, hung. In his off-hand, nothing but a clenched fist. His hair was massive, and deliberately wild. A crown of dry black braids rose from the top of his head and cascaded outward, spilling behind his shoulders ending in multi-colored iron ringlets. A pair of scimitars rested menacingly in cris-crossed scabbards across his back. His thick black boots loudly crunched upon the snow.

Emerging on the south end of the village with four bodyguards, he strode purposefully toward what would now serve as his personal compound. He was watched closely by those among the village but no one challenged his intrusion as he moved, his seeming familiarity with his surroundings would've seemed absurd to more acutely aware folk than these Lurz Ghazrach orcs. As though he'd lived here all his life he walked the road toward the walls surrounding the Lurz Ghazrach chieftain.

The wooden gates leading to the stone tower that now belonged to Tonguescum opened before him. It creaked slowly, deliberately, the orc opening it sending a message to Tonguescum that whomever he thought he was, he would wait for those superior to him.

Once open, two sentries, armed with crossbows came out from either side of the gates. They drew down on Tonguescum alone, disregarding the other four who flanked him, two on either side.

Without word or warning Tonguescum tossed the sack he held between the two sentries, a few feet in front of them. Out of the open bag spilled three bloody orc heads.

"Who are they?" One sentry asked.
"You don't recognize them?" One of Tonguescum's bodyguards replied.

The inquisitive sentry, ever keeping his aim on the massive orc in front of him, moved over a few feet and chanced a look at the ground. As he approached, the sentry could hear a low growling akin to to a snow leopard's purr coming from the behemoth he held at bay. He lifted a foot gingerly to toe one of the heads at his feet, moving it enough to see the whole of its face. He recoiled immediately after realizing his familiarity with this particular orc.

"The southern patrol," The sentry gasped as he backed away to his original spot. "They've killed members of the southern patrol."
"Not members." Tonguescum growled. "All of them."
"All of the southern patrol?" The other sentry now spoke.
"All, patrols." Was Tonguescum's reply.
"By Gruumsh's eye!" The first sentry spat. "You'll have your belly opened for that!"
A disturbingly low grumble, what passed as a cheerless chuckle emitted from him as he disregarded the threat. "Send for your chief."

In response the second sentry loosed his bolt toward the enormous black monster before him. Tonguescum stood stone-still as the bolt passed over his left shoulder, flying harmlessly through the cascade of his filthy hair. With blinding speed belying a creature of his size, Tonguescum reached over his shoulder for a scimitar and, pulling it free from its scabbard he launched it toward the offending sentry in a single fluid motion. End over end the blade flew, striking the sentry mid-chest, impaling him just under his raised arms. The impact launched him off his feet from the snowy earth and he landed several feet behind where he had stood. From his back his arms rose, his hands twitching momentarily as they made a feeble attempt to grasp the massive scimitar embedded within him. Then they stopped altogether, slowly, gently falling to his sides upon the blood-stained snow that had pooled around him.

Tonguescum drew a slow breath and looked to the first sentry. The sentry stood as he had before, though his current body language belied his earlier self-assurance. After a split-second of unwise defiance, he dropped his crossbow.

"Send for your chief." Tonguescum repeated.