Drums thunder, and laughs are echoed. Burning flames dance around the wilders. Men and women with masks of death and grins of insanity, they mimic the movements of the flame, drumming to the embers. Their skin is gray, scarred and deformed. Their masks represent their madness and minds.
The orcs of the Laughing Skull clan celebrated their victory against a mighty Magnaron. Ale and cheers spattered across the the village of Deadgrin, the orcs merry and glad. They exchanged blows of companionship and happy complementarities.
The flames spewed out flying embers and skin sheddings, the merry orcs burning the bodies of their fallen. Thirty bodies were burning, and the chief of the clan wore a necklace of their skulls. Laughing Skull orcs care not for their dead, but for their skulls. No one even mentioned the death of their brethren, all they did was cheer and laugh for the clan's first victory in several years against a Magnaron.
The young orclings were busy fighting a mongst themselves, proving their strength against one another. The young orcs bit and smashed, tore and punched, each orcling thinking themselves the strongest. Yet one lone orc sat in a corner near the giant Grom skull that landmarked his village. The young orcling looked with hatred and disdain at the other orclings, the others having wronged in a hateful way.
"Traitor! Pig! Scum!", they had spat at him, shoving the weight of his father's crimes against the clan onto his shoulders. The acts only filled the young orc with hatred, and he never participated in the brawls his brethren had due to their lack of honor, and he was contempt with that mindset. Yet on this rowdy eve, he knew he would have to step up.
"I challenge your honor, Scum!", the new champion of the orclings hissed. Scum, the name we'll give to the hateful orcling, gave the other orcling a stare of hatred and anger, rising up to the challenge. The two wandered off to a bit outside the village walls, the other orclings circling them and hooting.
"Kill 'im! Spill 'is guts, Raggy! Hope you die in pain, Scum!", the other orcs cheered in the Champion's favor. Yet Scum remained focused, hardly disheartened. With a cackle of lust and pride, the Champion leaped at Scum, aiming to shove him to the ground and pound his face, yet Scum laughed right back at him, charging at the Champion with a fist raised.
The two orclings struck at each other time and time again, trying to dominate the other. The Champion was clearly bigger, faster and stronger than Scum, yet Scum had much more fortitude of mind. Though Scum was clearly being beaten badly, he forced himself to not feel the pain, only focusing on crushing his foe. While Scum was bruised and had broken teeth littering the floor, the Champion had grown tired and started to feel the pain from Scum's own blows coming at him.
Scum was not particularly smart, yet he knew this was a good chance. He leaped at his opponent, beating at his tired body mercilessly. He would break the nose, break the arms, break the legs. He would tear at his foe's eyes so that they would go blind and he would bite off the ears. The blood haze had taken him, and he ravaged his foe's almost lifeless body. He shoved his fingers beneath the skin of his opponent's back, gripping the spine and tearing it out, spattering blood al over Scum and the circle of shocked faces.
At last, Scum had broken his opponent. His opponent did all he could to laugh before he died, yet the pain he felt had broken his Laughing Skull spirit and his self confidence. Scum limped over to his foes head, grabbing it and booting his feet against his foe's shoulders. With his anger and a laughing roar, he tore off the Champion's head, holding it up to the circle of fear.
Scum laughed madly, shoving the immense weight of fear upon his fellows. His muscles tense, his breathing gone heavy, his clutch on the head of his fellow laughing skull tightened. He bellowed out the words of power he felt now, the power that drove him unto a new light.
"Who's next?!"