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| - A cold, dead, winter wind howled through the peaks of the Blade's Edge Mountains. A hunched, cloaked figure stomped through the drifts of snow and fought back against the harsh winds and blinding, falling snow. A thick, meaty, brown hand reached out of the fur cloak and tugged at the pack hanging off the figure's shoulder.
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| abstract
| - A cold, dead, winter wind howled through the peaks of the Blade's Edge Mountains. A hunched, cloaked figure stomped through the drifts of snow and fought back against the harsh winds and blinding, falling snow. A thick, meaty, brown hand reached out of the fur cloak and tugged at the pack hanging off the figure's shoulder. The orc knew he was far from the home, or the rest his clan. He was already two days separated from his hunting party, and at least four more since they'd left their village. After three long days hiking though the hills and finding no sign of any game, the orc decided to venture higher into the mountains, deep into the territory of ogres, to find suitable food for his new family. He had just reached maturity and already had a new mate, which was rather rare in his clan. As was the custom, the young orc was allowed to go on his first hunting expedition. This honor would give him a chance to prove himself. Now he would truly prove his strength and worth, he thought, to many who would see him as little more than an annoying whelp. The burly orc sighed deeply, the cold, dry air froze his lungs, but he kept moving. For the past day, he'd been following a faint scent he picked up that could possible be food. He wasn't going to turn back until he had a kill. The orc stopped and sniffed the thin air. The cold wind burned his nostrils. Despite the bitter sting, he found the scent of warm flesh growing stronger. He knew he was finally getting close, as his thick fist emerged from his clock, tightly gripping a tarnished, short hatchet. He was quite adept at using this throwing weapon, and he kept his larger axe strapped to his pack for use in close combat. That's when he spotted a large form moving through the snow. He couldn't immediately recognize it through the blinding blizzard, though the stench was more overwhelming than he expected. He suspected it could be a stray clefthoof, probably an older one who had wandered into the mountains. He could throw his hatchet to startle and possible wound the beast long enough to grab his axe for a final blow. The orc widened his stance and steadied himself against the attacking wind. Carefully he took aim. His arm extended and he released. The hatched sliced gracefully though the blowing snow. The orc suddenly heard a deep and terrible bellow. It was unlike any animal he'd ever heard, and it made him pause from grabbing his weapon right away. The figure picked itself up and approached through the snow. What emerged from the fog made the bristles on the orc's neck stand on edge, more than the cold itself.
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![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)