Grimfang burst through the heavy oaken doors of the guild hall. He strode purposefully into the middle of the chamber and came to an abrupt halt. There he stood, covered in soot and reeking of the fumes from a forge. It seemed as though every piece of his wargear and even his flesh itself was singed by his long hours at the smithy.
He slowly surveyed his surroundings before advancing forward to a table. With a series of heavy clanks, the heavily armored ork came to rest in a chair seemingly much too small for his frame. He again assessed his surroundings slowly and methodically. “If de’re any here, dey hide well,” he thought to himself. Allowing himself to relax slightly, he eased his grip on the hilt of his well-worn battleaxe. Glancing down at his hand, he almost forgot what it looked like without a weapon in it. Catching a glimpse at the damage done to his bracers, he recalled why it was he never really let go of his axe.
“Alliance dogs!” he snarled, “Soon dey’ll get wha’s commin to ‘em.”
His words surprised him. “I don usually speak so much,” he thought to himself. His thoughts drifted back to the time he spent in isolation.
Minutes passed.
He snapped himself back to the task at hand. “De’re be no time for memories now!” he said to himself. Springing to his feet and grabbing his axe, he walked again to the middle of the hall.
“If de’res none here, then they be fightin’ and killin’ for the horde’s sake.” Grimfang thought. “If I’m to make my place among ‘em, I’ll do de same.”
He turned, and walked quickly through the doors and once again into battle.