The afternoon sun was purpling the bellies of the clouds. Dusk beetles, flies and myriad other creatures emerged as the heat of the day waned in the dying light. The grassy field rustled in the gentle breeze and the babbling brook meandered its way southeast.
“OOOF!!!” grunted Gorsbak, slamming into the soft earth, dropping both the bladderball and his club. With a howl of frustration, he scrambled back to his feet, club in hand, and gave chase to the orc that flattened him. Catching the big lug as he rumbled down the field, Gorsbak jumped up and whacked him in the head with his club. The bigger orc stopped running and turned, anger on his face.
“‘oo ‘it Lunk,” he bellowed. “Lunk’ll smash you,” he raged, swinging a massive fist at Gorsbak’s head.
Ducking, Gorsbak yelled, “Stoopit Lunk!” as Moftoof crouched behind Lunk’s knees and Roksmash charged in. Gorsbak dropped to his knee and arched his back. Roksmash jumped onto Gorsbak and leapt into the big orc, smashing into his face and chest, knocking him back a step, causing Lunk to trip over Moftoof. As he started to fall, Gorsbak snatched the bladderball back and sprinted off down the field.