http://www.iwakuroleplay.com/showthread.php?t=11823 (Plot Description and Bios.) Surma Gra Burick The harrowing sight of mangled corpses decaying due to the touch of time. Served as a reminder of the battles lost during these trying years. A testament that though at first swarthy by nature; could be viewed in a far less morbid light. For through their sacrifice and giving of the ghost, many have been granted a second chance to turn the tide of extinction. Far from the encased space and marvelous stones which adorn their home. A small group of Orcs found themselves staring at the remains of a once fruitful tribe. The berries ripe and grass healthy despite all the blood slain which stained their roots. The lush array of wild flowers and the spices which decorated the air; seemed to conceal the corpses yet to be claimed by nature. The intoxicating potent aroma of rotting flesh, over powered by springs perfume. Yet despite the weeks which have passed, the massacre still remained fresh in their minds. The cries of the lost echoing like the sirens of old, luring them into madness. The insipid urge, that is vengeance; seeping into their very moral fibers; as they sought to prevent such emotion from taking hold. The purpose of their mission atrophy by the emotions which plucked at the strings of their hearts. Playing a chord which reverberated from one soul to the next. A mutual venom being injected by the fangs of temptation. However they would remain vigilant, warding off such a toxin and recalling the purpose of their mission. They ventured into the surface not to draw needless blood. Rather to prevent the inevitable war. Even now, far from the safety of their home. The sound of war drums beating still seemed to disturb the air. Weighing heavily on their hearts. For though orc's were known for craving battle. Even the most bloodlust creature can find it's self sedated after suffering enough loss. "Fret not for the dead; rather those which still live. Let us press onward." A woman spoke, clad in leather attire which clung to her frame tightly. Flattering her finer features as if it were but another layer of skin. This woman was their leader, an ambassador who went by the name of Surma Gra Burick. One many held in high regard due to the power which coursed through her. A unique signature which till this moment like a wave could be found influencing everything around her. As soon as those words parted from her lips. Her arches would remain unmoved despite the gruesome sight. The group of Orcs would hearken to her command. Reluctantly leaving the dead behind unburied. For time was a factor not on their side. Many might wonder how such a once masculine and war driven culture could find themselves led by a woman? This was but one of many signs hinting toward a more progressive and liberal change. The lot would take the narrow dirt road west. Crossing through a large body of tree's before making their way through the rolling hills and vast fields. Windmills decorated the serene landscape. Various butterflies and winged beast circled and fluttered through the scene and heavens. Despite this peaceful view the Orcs would remain on guard. For they knew all too well how hostile the universe truly was. And that tranquility was but an ever fleeting delusion. Much like the seasons under going a constant metamorphosis. Shifting to a complete contrast of the image it once sought to project. After a long and lonesome road filled with silence as their minds and hearts reflected over their purpose and role in the coming events. The band of Orcs found themselves within line of sight of a small town. Farmland decorated it's outskirts as several mills proclaimed their greatest resource for trade. The town had no guards and no real military force could be spotted occupying it. Still caution would be exercised as they entered. Their entry created a disturbance; disrupting the once deafen aura as the folk went about their daily routines. Women hide their children from sight as several of the local populace sought shelter within their thatched homes. A few farmers could be seen rushing their chickens and cattle into the barn as they slammed the door shut behind them. "I think we scared them?" One of the berserkers stated the obvious. A man who went by the name of Grushick. "Such things are to be expected. People despite race or upbringing usually fear the unknown. And as sentient beings we tend to instinctively and self destructively cling to rumors. That is until someone or something shatters the misconception for us. That is part of the reason we are here after all." Surma replied. Reassuring those under her charge. "I do not hold it against them Lady Surma. But how can we alter our image if no one can stand to look us in the face without cowarding or unsheathing their blades?" Grushick brought out a good point. Something that has been troubling Surma and the others. And though such a thought crossed all of their minds. He was the only one to express it. A deathly silence gripped the atmosphere as Surma struggled for a retort. "Then we'll have to be a shining beacon. Everyone looks toward the light; it's instinct. We will combat instinct with instinct. And when they look at us we may hopefully sow the seeds of change. And in the end...getting them to second guess their previous perspectives is enough in my eyes. Wouldn't you agree Grushick?" There was something hypnotic and prophetical about the way Surma spoke and posed her words. It generated a radiant and welcome warmth in a world they once knew metaphorically as ice and stone. "Aye." He replied, nodding his head toward Surma. "Let us wait for the locals to make the first move. If they should attack flee; we needn't tarnish our mission." Sternly the order was issued. Like a Matriarch scolding her children but in a loving and endearing fashion.