[centre][h2][colour=peru]The Hogtusk Tribe - Turn 2[/colour][/h2][/centre] It was the middle of the day. The wealthiest and stronger of every clan, the shaman and the chieftain formed a tense pentagram in the scarce hills grass next to the sorry excuse for a chieftain’s hut. They sat in glaring suspiciously at one another, the chieftain’s eyes scanning the porky face of Crunch of the Pig Tribe, the goat skull atop Snaglag of the Goat Tribe’s head; the bull horn in Lop of the Ox Tribe’s nose; and the thousand wrinkles covering the face of Wololo. In the centre of the shape laid the odd stick of wood and metal. Rog-mohog gave that thing an especially suspicious glare. A whole day had passed since Goop the scout had brought the stick. Since then, rumours had spread throughout the camp, and Rog-mohog hated rumours. It wasn’t because they could eventually undermine his rule or cause a panic, no, no - when rumours spread throughout the camp, they created factions, factions who were so darn sure their version of the rumour was the right one, and whenever two factions collided, a section of the camp would usually be leveled from the following brawl. Feeling that they had all been glaring enough, Rog-mohog slapped his thigh and said, “Roight! Are yuh’all ready?” [i]Click, click, click...[/i] “Roight… First fhing on the agenduh…” [i]... Click, click, click… Heh, heh, ehehehe.[/i] “... Is…” [i]... Click, click… Eheheheheheh…[/i] “Snaglag, ye git, put the bloomin’ stick down!” The ogress immediately dropped the stick back into the circle and twiddled her thumbs innocently. “Sorry.” The chieftain growled quietly. “...Roight, as I was sayin’... First fhingy on the agenduh is--” “Whassat?” Lop asked. “Wha’s whot?” “Agenduh.” “Yeah, I dunno either,” Crunch backed up in a surly manner. Rog-mohog rubbed his eyes. “Is a list of fhings to do.” “Oh. Roight, why didn’ ye just say that, boss?” Lop complained. Wololo hummed a tune to himself, and it was uncertain whether he truly was mentally present. Rog-mohog picked up a nearby rock and lobbed it at Lop’s head. The giant fell backwards and smacked into the ground. Rog-mohog patted his hands. “ROIGHT! First fhingy on--” “OW! Tha’ hurt, ye git!” “Lop, I swear t’ tha’ Anceste’ Spirit…” “Ye wanna foight, HUHN?! I’ll smack ye shoit, I swear on me mum!” “Did someone say foight?!” Crunch thundered gleefully. “THE BLOOMIN’ STICK, YE GITS!” Rog-mohog thundered back and there was a silence. Lop and Crunch both looked down at the stick. “We foightin’ the stick?” Lop asked. Rog-mohog smacked his forehead so hard the others thought he was going to pass out. “NO, YE BLOOMIN’ GIT! We talkin’ ‘bout the stick! The fhingy that Goop brought in the other day ‘n where in the spirits’ name did it go…” [i]... Ehehehehehehe… Clickclickclick…[/i] Rog-mohog sent a fist like a boulder into Snaglag’s temple and took the stick from her subsequently unconscious hands. “THIS!” He shouted and pointed at it. “This is whot we talkin’ about!” Crunch and Lop looked at one another. “Tha’s no fun. I’d rather foight,” Crunch said. “IswearI’llendallofyouoneday…” Rog-mohog muttered into his palm. “Rooooiiight, whot if I give you a foight, then?” The two snapped their eyes to the chief and made wide grins. “Oooooh, bloomin’ ‘ell, boss! Tha’s generous o’ ye.” “I still owe ye for that punch the other day,” Crunch said proudly. “Crunch always payin’ his debts, he does.” “‘S roight.” Rog-mohog stared longingly at the edge of the fifty metre tall cliff before facing the others again. He sucked in a deep breath and said, “Oi…” Crunch, Lop and the recovering Snaglag all looked at him curiously. “Whot?” “Do ye wanna plunder a bit?” “Plunder?!” they shouted as one and clapped their hands excitedly. “Whot we plunderin’?” Rog-mohog smirked and beckoned them in with a finger. The three leaned in and sharpened their ears. “Accordin’ to Goop, y’know the scout, there’s a bunch’a wood ‘n shoiny, bloomin’ metal somewhere far, far off to the west.” The three tribe leaders straightened up and blinked at one another. “Half the fun o’ plunderin’ is killin’, though,” Crunch muttered disappointedly. Rog-mohog stifled a frustrated roar and beckoned them down to his level again. “Roight, roight, roight… Buuuuuut, roight… There -might- be fhings to kill there.” He gave a shrug and the three leaders looked thoughtfully at one another, if that was possible. “‘E does ‘ave a point,” Snaglag admitted. “Aye, there -could- be fhings there…” Lop agreed. “... How far west, y’say, boss?” Crunch said suspiciously. Rog-mohog pointed frantically in a semi-western direction. “As far as y’can. Just go and go ‘n keep goin’ until ye cannot see the Big Rock anymore. In fact, if ye get lost ‘n don’t come back, that’s means ye found it.” The three ogres once more made their finest attempts to appear ponderous. “Makes sense,” Lop concluded. “Aye,” Snaglag agreed. “We’ll be off, then, boss!” Crunch said happily. “Enjoy bein’ bored back ‘ere, ye git!” The three of them cackled as they walked off. Rog-mohog snickered. “Enjoy dyin’ out there, ye gits.” He turned to Wololo who had fallen asleep. The chieftain pocked the shaman and the old ogre’s manner of waking up simulated rising from the dead. “Whot?! Whot I miss?!” he shouted fraily. “Nothin’ special,” the chieftain muttered. “Whot you say, boss?” “I said, nothin’ special!” “Naffin’ speshul? Whossat mea-- Oh! Nothin’ special, roight…” Rog-mohog once again gave the cliff a thousand yard stare. Would anyone miss him, he pondered for a moment? How did the Ancestor Spirit look upon such an act? Likely not very kindly. “So… Whot we doin’ now?” Wololo asked. Rog-mohog eyed the pile of sticks behind him with a skin draped over the top. “Someone’s fixin’ my hut,” the chieftain thundered and stomped down to the village below. The shaman blinked. “Nixin’ my cut? Who dunnit? Oi! Boss! Who’s nixin’ my cut, HUHN?!” And so, another day passed fruitfully in the camp of Big Rock. [hider=Actions] C) Actually build a hut for the chieftain. E) A group of fifty or so ogres went off due west to find the wreckage of the gnome ship. [/hider]