Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-12599067-20140119184840/@comment-12599067-20140125034815

The colossal doors of the stronghold swung open, letting a ray of piercing sunlight shoot through the darkness of the keep. Before them sat one of the biggest throne rooms either of them had ever seen. Mighty pillars of carved stone held up the roughly sculpted ceiling, and crude staircases led up onto the second floor of the keep, although it was quite clear that the fortress had changed dramatically since the orcs' takeover. Braziers with depictions of dragons and great orc warriors dimly lit the room, and a giant iron chandelier hung from the ceiling, suspended by a metal chain. Before either of them could finish their marveling, however, Narzhal ushered them forward, leading them towards the opposite end of the room.

As they neared the end of the hall, it became evident that this place was built to last for years after it's tenants were gone. Not a single thing would be able to bring this stronghold to it's knees, save the dragon that had razed the town eras before. They ended up finally bringing their attention to the throne itself, a great chair carved from the earth and adorned with bones and hides. Behind it sat a gargantuan statue to Malacath, who was frozen in time with a huge hammer hefted over his head, face contorted into a snarl that seemed so realistic they could practically hear it. An orc wearing wicked armor of ebony, orichalcum, and steel sat on the throne, lounging about and using the butt of his greatsword as an arm rest.

"Hmph. I expected better from you Narzhal, bringing outlanders into my stronghold. We may not be a proper fortress yet, but the Code of Malacath still applies. Tell me outlanders, who are you and what do you want? What is Narzhal's reason for bringing you to me?" the orc sneered, laying the greatsword against the arm of his chair and leaning forward, a malicious fire kindling in his eyes.