Norak found the journey to be relatively uneventful, though one of the group had gone missing on the hard march to Iron’s End.

Norak was surprised to find such a comparatively friendly reception from the town, though the reason for this apparent acceptance of the Orcish kind became quickly apparent on entering the boundaries and finding many of his people going to and fro. Those that spotted him were quick to grow surprised, even Orcs who had grasped relative civility such as their ilk could recognise a Black Orc, one of the oldest and fiercest of their kind. They usually made way for him, those that could stop staring in time to avoid his careful shoves anyhow. No offence was ever taken. 

The Orc had business to attend to, so he was not unhappy when the Farrg gave them free-reign and then wandered off alone. He did not followed anyone in particular, so he found a place to eat and bought supplies with what little money he had from his last bounty.

The thought of bounties brought his mind back to the arrogant knight he had spoken with on the way here… and as if that very thought conjured him from nothingness the Orc spotted him ahead. His nose sniffed attentively, he smelled of blood. 

The Orc gave him a knowing glare and walked past, though for certain he had no way to know for sure if he had in fact assaulted someone, there were plenty of other explanations after all. With his sack now heavy with supplies for their extended march coming up ahead, he knew he was pretty much done with everything in town. Deciding there was little else for it, he sought out a tavern for a room or a drink, and then decided against it and instead left through the main gate, hiking up into the hills and preparing to rest outside beneath the stars…