Dear Troll,
Fear not, Troll! I am still alive - and kicking ass I might add! I have to tell you my story - I've told everybody else I've met so far - including that tree. Yes, the tree is quite the man actually; he listened to my adventure in awe, and even agreed to buy me a drink. Okay so he didn't fit inside the tavern and was a little nervous in the presence of the panda brew master (Who likes eating his kind) but I think I've made a new comrade. He even called me retarded. So yes, I think I do believe that it means sexy now. The rest of the folk in the tavern agreed that I was retarded too! Boy, I never doubted the fact, but its nice to get some recognition for a change. "Orcinalus the Retarded!" It has a nice little ring to it, doesn't it?
Anyway - back to my story. It all started shortly after I sent my last letter. I was trying to tell the wife some of the adventures I had back when I was a simple gruntling, and how good I was at everything - of course she must have been in so much awe as she hastily ran outside to get a breath of fresh air. Unfortunately, she was instantly scooped up by a wyvern that had been waiting outside. Ha - some could say she attempting suicide because of my stories. Ridiculous idea, she was just a clumsy old fool. It was lucky for her that they scooped her up and flew away with her rather than munching on her like they did with the peons. Of course this was a lucky break for me. Now that all the wyverns had flown off I could go for a pint or two without the little problem of being eaten. Excellent!
Now you can probably imagine my anger when I discovered that the bar had been closed. For what reason, you ask? It had been closed because of the bloody new batch of peons that had been employed. No, they weren't being as violent as the last lot, they were being worse. They were streaking.
Knowing your sexual preferences, you may have found this arousing, but I nearly threw up. When they all started to run around me in all their glory, shaking their peonhood in my direction whilst singing some dreadful peon song I broke down completely. If anything could bring a grown Orc to tears (or madness) - that was it. Of course, according to the all so mighty Blademaster-Juebi that excuse was not good enough for slaughtering the entire base's workforce. The bastard sentenced me to two weeks working on the goldmine. I'm sorry if you think this punishment is just, Troll, but I didn't. I did the only thing I could think of. I, er, accidentally stuck my axe up somewhere that made the blademaster squeal. Now I've been on the run since, not only from the wyverns, but from the orc base, yes, the orc base I was LOYAL to, which is now being led by a slightly distressed Blademaster.
Looking back, I'm fairly proud of my actions. The Blademaster was an ass anyway. I haven't stopped boasting since.
Yours Proudly
Orcinalus Grunt.
P.S Note that I now have employed a proper messenger man. If it is not too much trouble, please do not eat, torture, abuse, have sex with or tease this messenger man; as he cost a lot of money. Thank you.
^Freaking important.
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