Gruk's Journal

Day 1:

We set out today, the three of us, bound for the lands of the humans. The air smells different here, less like earth and more like something sharp and busy. I saw a contraption today that spins round and round—it's something Mugmug would love. I plan to bring it back for Lifemate Khala and our cub when we return as heroes. This is just the beginning, and spirits are high. We will find the shaman, ScreamingSkull, and bring him home.

Day 7:

It's been a week on these strange paths. The humans have too many rules and too many stones piled on top of each other. Their food is odd but filling. I tried something they call "bread." It's soft and not like meat at all. No sign of ScreamingSkull yet, but we found traces of his cloak near a river crossing. The bright knights must have taken him this way. We press on.

Day 15:

We found the shaman's Dire Wolf today, lying by the roadside, wounded and barely breathing. We did what we could, but it was not enough. The poor beast, loyal to the end. This is a bad omen. Mugmug would have cried to see such a sight. My heart grows heavier with worry, but we cannot turn back now. We must find ScreamingSkull. He would have the power to heal his faithful companion. 

Day 23:

Every night, the same dream haunts me. I see ScreamingSkull calling to us from a great distance, his voice echoing like thunder, but we cannot reach him. The bright knights are shadows that flit just beyond the edge of sight. Today, we spoke with a human who saw the knights heading towards the mountains three days ago. We're so close, yet it feels like we are chasing ghosts.

Day 30:

Food is scarce, and the humans here are not friendly to orcs. We tried to barter, but they look at us with fear and hate. We are far from home, and each day seems longer than the last. I thought this journey would make heroes of us, but now I am not so sure. I hope only to return home with our shaman, to see Khala and Mugmug again.

Day 38:

No sign of ScreamingSkull. The trail has gone cold. The mountains are unforgiving, and the nights bring chills that seep into my bones. I miss the warmth of our tent and the laughter of Mugmug. What are we doing here? Why did the bright knights take him? Each day I pray to our ancestors for strength, but the silence that answers becomes harder to bear.

Day 45:

Hope is a fragile thing. Today, we found the broken staff of ScreamingSkull, splintered and discarded by the side of a frozen stream. It is all that remains of our shaman, our guide, our friend. The journey back looms before us, longer and more sorrowful than our march here. I fear what I will say to Khala; the empty hands with which I will lift Mugmug. We came for glory but return with grief. The world has indeed risen up around us, not to celebrate, but to swallow us whole.