Fisherman's Shack

This tiny room is composed almost entirely of wooden planks, warped and splintering. Gaps between them allow slivers of light from outside to filter in, and drafts of swampy air tousle your hair. Two sturdy hammocks procured from some faraway ship are bolted to the walls in opposite corners of the room, beneath which are a couple of ancient oak sea chests with rusty locks. A similarly rusted lantern is perched on a crate nearby, and a variety of fishing nets are slung like great spiderwebs from the sloped ceiling. Shelves on a nearby wall and a cluttered workbench beneath them support a number of dusty bottles, spools of fishing line, and bits of colored feathers and glittering hooks -- clearly the resident of this humble abode is a fisherman of sorts, whatever else he may be. A set of galoshes stands near a pair of batwing doors opening onto a back porch, and a rickety iron potbellied stove stands nearby, with a heavy black kettle perched atop it.
Contents:
Bunjick
Obvious exits:
Back Door and Front Door

-------------------------------Trollshaws Time--------------------------------
Real time is: Thu Jun 14 16:40:30 2001 - Elendor time is
Mid Morning on a Rainy Summer Sterday, July 17, 3023

Note: It is daytime out, so do not leave the cover of the trees!
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Bunjick
A dark figure passes by clad in black dirty tattered robes. Pulled tightly about the figure, the hood down low covering its face so that only a few red eyes can be seen, the robe bulges strangly at times as it strides on by.
Carrying:
Bow
Studded Leather Armor

Shakhragh Short, broad, and repugnant are three words that adequately sum up this strange individual.

His general build is almost ape-like in appearance: fairly long arms, bowed legs, stout torso. Width-wise, he is about one foot and a half across at the widest; in terms of height, some four and a half. His shoulderblades are broad and bony, jutting out on either side of his almost nonexistant neck, long and thick arms dangling therefrom. His arms are, as noted, long: the elbows bend just below the waist and the hands align closely with the knees. The legs diverge from the abdomen about two feet from the ground and bend at the kees little less than halfway up. His head is roughly square in shape, with a sloping forehead and jutting chin apparent under a hood.

His clothes are best described as rags: a great collection of rags that succeed in covering nearly all his upper body, stitched rudely together with gut of some sort. His arms are clothed by a pair of rudely-constructed sleeves in turn fastened loosely to the collection of rags and furs on his trunk; a pair of leather gloves (possibly stolen, given the rude construct of the rest of his garb) cover his hands. A skirt covers the individual's legs to just below the knees and a pair of untanned leather boots conceals the remainder of his limbs to his pair of large, broad feet. The aforementioned hood conceals all his head and face save a wide, weak, swarthy-skinned chin with patches of thin, black hair showing here and there.

Now this person's bearing is hunched, bringing his height at his shoulders down about half a foot. Arms dangle as though fastened rather loosely at his side, while his legs are bent and bowed. At any given time the odd smell of stale urine and body odor emanates from his general direction.

~~~

The door of the shack is tossed open and a small hunched over figure saunters in. Covered in dirty tattered robes, with a hood pulled down low over its head, its nearly impossible to make out what this thing is. In the hand of the robed creature swings a small bow, while the back of the robe there is a bulge that strangly resembles a quiver.

Looking up from his seat on a stool by a pile of boxes and other supplies in a corner of the shack, an orc looks over his grimy shoulder, shading his eyes. "Ug, that you?" he asks. "Little too bright for me to see... you find him yet?"

As the light streams in behind the figure, leaving only a dark shadow to be seen, the bow is set to the side of the room and the arms raise up to lift up the hood. As soon as the hood falls back, the figure shuts the door returing the room to darkness allowing the form of Bunjick the orc to be seen. As the eyes adjust, the orc looks about the room and grunts, "No, I am Bunjick. I've just recently made the trek, and saw no signs of others."

The other orc stands up and nods to Bunjick. "Ah, aye... Shakhragh is me. Uggy and I got 'ere a couple days ago an' set up camp in this place. He went off just yesterday inter the woods off west to look fer yer, he says, an' I stayed behind to hold down the fort, check inventory, all that." He gestures to the goods in the corner. "Help yerself to some grub, just don't touch none of our gear."

Bunjick grunts and snears after looking at the gear, "Bah, I got what I need." Moving into the room, the orc takes of his robe and tosses it in the corner. Turning about to examine everything in the shack the orc licks his lips, "So, what's the deal on this area? Any good takins?"

"Aye," nods Shakhragh. "Good pickin's so far. There's fish and bugs in the marsh, an' it tain't a day's march to the road south or the Breelands west." He sits back down on his stool and picks a dead Neekerbreeker out of a bucket. "They don't make bugs like this back east..." he mutters as he bites off the incect's abdomen. "Ith wath mah ide... cush mah..." he swallows his mouthful then goes on. "My idea t'was to set up camp 'ere... Ug an' I're thinkin' of makin' it a permanent residence, least 'til food an' booty gets scarce."

Bunjick chuckles mockingly, 'Bugs? Bugs? You have tightened your belt too much if you enjoy the taste of bugs.' Turning about and throwing his arms wide he continues, his voice rising, 'Goblin, bugs don't bleed. They don't scream out when you bite into them. You grow weak if you settle on bugs.' Reaching up to remove the quiver from his back he tosses it down, a few arrows scattering. 'Why at least with my bow I can bring down a deer, if not a tasty hobbit.' Turning back to look towards the covered window Bunjick lowers his head and mumbles to himself, "..., ... ... for ..., ... ... .... ... ... ... ... of ...? ... .... Orcs ... ... ..., ... ... ... .... Not .... Weak,"

Sneering, Shakhragh snorts. "Bah... it's good stuff when yer can't get nothin' better. I likes manflesh just as much as any other orc, it just ain't ready to get in the marshes, not without travellin'. An' I ain't leavin' the hut 'til Ug gets back." He pops the insect's thorax in his mouth and swallows without much chewing. "'Sides, they makes a good squealin' noise when yer kills 'em. If lots o' blood's what yer want, yer can 'ave some fish, or else go out an' shoot down a duck fer yerself."

Bunjick continues to shake his head, "..., ... maggots. What ... ... ... ... orcs.." Turning about he grows, 'I will when I hunger. I will also be looking to take down some 2 legged game when the chance arrives.' Glancing about the room he spits on the floor, 'I will not be staying long here. I will go back to the hills and the forests. There we have food, real food, and two leggers cut through.'

The other snorts again. 'Fine, if yer goin' to be that way, yer can just leave.' He turns back to the food and stuffs an earthworm into his maw, grumbling silently. "Garn. Levhin... nuhn ter shuhn... inghrahte..."

The orc takes a few steps towards the other, "You mean you like this life? You don't miss the hunt, the taste of warm blood, the darkness of the wood or cave? What has..." Bunjick throws his hands up in frustration

"Garn..." spits Shakhragh. "I never said that! Course I like huntin' the manspawn, I just ain't got the time right now. I'm jest waitin' 'til Ug gets back to go hunt. The bugs are jest the appetiser, I'll get me a good meal o' manflesh soon enough, or horse at the least."

Calming down slightly Bunjick nods, 'Ok, as long as we have that going. You would be willing to go back to the Troll shaws, where there is real food?' Bunjick's eyes slowly drift off in thought as he turns about to look out the window. " We ... ... ... in ... ..., ... ... ... ... take ... the ... .... ... control ... ... ... band, and ... ... ... kingdom ... ... ... ... those goblins ... ... ... holes."

"Aye," nods Shakhragh. "I'll bring it up with Uggy... can't guarantee he'll like the idea so much, though. He's a lot bigger 'an me, if a little dumb, so's I can't argue with 'im an' 'spect to win." He leans back in his seat. "Anyways, I'll tell 'im yer we're 'ere, if yer goin' out agin to hunt."

Bunjick nods, "Aye, I'll go out and at least brng back something with blood." With that the orc gathers up his stuff, donning his robe and quiver. Then with a nod towards Shakhragh and picking his bow up, the orc opens the door and slips out into the fading light.