The Forbidden Land of Sundara: Insurgency IC

[Plushie Arz]

BAKU, KATRIA

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As Baku forced his way downstairs into the main antechamber of the Steel Pit, Katria followed and was immediately barraged by the dizzying farrago of spilt wine, roasted meats and sweaty bodies, all combined with the smoky heat of the pit fire smouldering at the centre of the room. It was a massive circular chamber, almost eighty feet wide in diameter and the walls were adorned with pelts and vernacular paintings of Jagon's razor sigil. All around the room, Katria could see orcs, goblins, gnolls and humans sitting and laying in varying states of undress and consciousness. It was at the far end of the room that Horgarth sat on a wooden throne crudely chiselled to evoke a sense of raw and brutal power.

He was a large orc, his dark hair tied in braids and adorned with golden rings. Under his black spiked armour, his muscled arms bulged and one hand was rested on the cruel hilt of a massive greatsword. His bloodshot eyes passed over Baku and feasted on Katria's body. She felt incredibly uncomfortable, as though the Warlord was prying under her modest clothes. A woman with sharp, savage features stood next to Horgarth, her bare body adorned with dark red warpaint. She had a necklace of severed fingers around her throat and a stained loincloth covered her parts.

"Zargen-tesh saw you in her vision." Horgarth gave a wet chuckle and his spare hand caressed the woman's body. The musty stench of the spiced wine hung around him. "And you know what else I smell? Elf and human ****. You fight with our enemies, the enemies of Jagon. Look around. We'll fight them all and feast!"*
*Orcish

It was clear the Harbringers as a whole are in no condition to fight. From the passed out orcs to the coupling humans under the furs, Baku could find in his estimate perhaps twenty to thirty capable fighters at most. Few would be as strong or seasoned as Gulbeck and none would be remotely close as a match. There were perhaps a couple of goblins who were part of the Redcaps, a unit of archers who may have been formidable shots if they weren't so drunk. Even Six, the usually reserved priestess stood teetering by the fire, her robes half undone with a stupefied smile on her lips.