Duruz growled out a curse, to any of the servants that got to close to him. Being the last of his tribe in blood and flesh. Made it hard for him for anyone to get through the outer shell of the walls he had put up, strapping on the old fur and leather he had come here in. The two orcish blades were sitting on the table, grabbing one of the blades by the hilt. Seeing if they had overbalanced the blade, spinning it around in his hand, feeling the familiar rough leather of the hilt in his hand was reassuring to him. The blade wasn't over balanced, nodding to that he ran his fingers along the edge of the blade. Feeling the familiar sting, it was sharp a breath escaped past his lips as he set the blade back down with the other one.

Nothing was the same like it was out in the wilds, they were more dangerous you had to fight and no warning would come that's why it would be hard to survive without the experience. Shaking the thought away, no time to dwell on what was the past. He grabbed a small knife that was sitting on the table, looking at the long hair he hadn't cut before he was brought here. Grabbing a handful, cutting off the hair that would get in his face. To where it was a short cut, the size and skin tone alone would make him out as an Orc no one would mistake him as nothing else. A few scars from past fights in the wilds, covered his arms and a bit of his face. Strapping on the rest of the leather, along with the lone metal shoulder guard.

He was ready for what was to come, whatever they through at him he would make sure to survive to see another day. The days he lived weren't given, always another day meant you survived another night. Waiting for that gate to raise, it was like waiting for a wolf to be unleashed to allow it to go after it's prey.