Octavien enters the dusky portico of Throne of Thunder. He dusts off imaginary lint from his sleeves—you never know what you'll find in a load screen—and looks around. Polishing off the rim of his tankard, he greets his fellow teammates. "Hi guys!"
"So, uh, guys. What's up?"
"Om, nom, nom," can be heard collectively from around the banquet table.
"Guys?" Octavien is starting to feel like that one time, at band camp, when the other little blood elves didn't want him to sit with them at lunch because one of his long, flowing locks was knotted with mud. His eyes narrow at that recollection and he shakes his head, putting that painful memory behind him just as quickly as it presented itself.
Only the sounds of chewing and swallowing can be heard. A grunt catches his ears and Octavien's eyes go from one orc to the other then back again and across to the crouching troll at his right.
Darger: "Sit. Eat. We kill stuff next."
Korgak nods at their leader's wise words.
Octavien rolls his eyes, sits as he's told, and starts the process of buffing up. Orcs, 'nuff said.
2 comments:
Haha, nice!
;)
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