Thread: No one  will Hear you

Though it might seem counterintuitive at first, most dragons enjoy burrowing. Especially in areas of uneven terrain. When Uroc first bonded with Traeson the orc was surprised to find that the dragon was alarmingly adept at creating little bolt holes in the ground where it was hard to be snuck up on unawares. It gave the large creature the opportunity to fly into the air or bath unwary interlopers in black flecked flame. For his part, Uroc felt a certain kinship with that strategy. Orcs of his tribe were often the same way. While Traeson hid his dark bulk in a hole that had undermined the foundations of a wall, there was only one entrance to what remained of the hewn stone building. One wall a fair thirteen feet, another eight and the third fifteen. All crumbling. All of which Uroc had pasted sharp edges pieces of broken crockery to the top of, then smeared with dirt and loosely covered with debris to hide. Dragons had a nose for blood. Part of their reptilian heritage. Uroc had finished cracking the bones of an ewe Traeson had carried away in his own domicile. He had colonized a tower some forty feet high. Notably, he had colonized the top floor of the round tower. Leaning ever so slightly to the side and with a few holes that looked irregular going around the side, it was quite comfortable. Easy to escape from, rather warm with the furs he had strewn about the walls and floor for insulation. Not to mention it provided a grand view of the area for three hundred and sixty degrees, which had warned him to the approach of an alabaster person. The beastly orc dragged his collapsing looking glass from a half burned burea he had pilfered from the ruins. It was an interesting contraption. When he brought it up to his eye things looked nearer. After blinking through the thing he grunted, put it away, and degressed to the bottom of the tower before scrambling up to the top of a building with simian agility. Opponents tended to underestimate what his strong arms and legs allowed him to do, the speed with which he moved, the quietness he was able to attain on elephantine feet. By the time he had gotten into a roof near to the area she was coming from, Uroc had lost sight of his prey. He hunkered his brown, bestial body near to the roof he was on and waited. It was only a matter of time. He had a net slung across his back and a club in one hand. He needed to take this intruder alive--to find out if this odd little elf was a spy, a scout or what. An assassin. He was clad in buckskin trousers large enough for his body and naught else. His feet lacked the need for boots, it was not particularly cold or wet so he did not need rain and the stiff, bristly hair atop his head did well enough to keep his head warm. At the sound of the clunk of shale hitting the building he was literally standing atop. Oruc crept over and looked down. She was beautiful. Looked pure. Definitely a Snow Elf. He had never had one of those to play with. Perhaps not particularly clever, making a b-line for one of the town squares. Either way, he shrugged, and stepped off the roof while tossing the net onto his prey. Stay! He ordered as his feet hit the ground, smashing rock.