Busy dictator

In case you're wondering what I'm doing right now (well, not exactly right now, as I am blogging this very moment), but by the time you'll be reading this:
I am a dictator.
Yes, that does not come unexpected, does it. But the good news end here.
I am dictating. Words. To my human.
I know, I know.
Could anything be more pathetic?
I don't think so.
So take my advice: If you ever consider becoming a dictator, do it the proper way, not the book-writing-way. As I have no other options at the moment, I just dream of better days.
The thing I dictate is a story of adventure, of treasures, a shrunken head, and of course my comrades are in it too. Oh, what fun we had.
Those were the days.
Now I am miserable.
Thanks.
:-(

P.S. Ha! She-human feels compelled to console me a bit and offers to cook a nice meal. Always works with these compassionate humans. They'll never learn. Good for me. Grinning from ear to ear now. Oh, must put miserable face back on. Hehe.

Sentimental Orc

She-human is reading a book about orcs in space. Looks fantastic, I'd like to do that myself. On the other hand, it probably means, I need to get inside more tin cans. Not a very pleasant thought.
Anyway, some of the pictures in the book show orcs in their battle outfit and it reminds so much of my fellow comrades that I'm getting really sentimental right now. The heads of his slain enemies that Slaag would wear on a pole over his own head as trophies, that's a real looker. I miss him and his stubborn ignorance. I even miss my son in  law and his unpredictable usage of fireballs. Frankly, I would give a lot to be hit by one of them for once. I would cheerfully bear the noises Groisch makes when he jumps his wife. I would even go so far as to say I'd like to see and hear my family. Yes, I admit it. I miss the whole bunch. And now I will give in to that sentimental notion and have some drink. Copious quantities of alcohol are always an answer and solution to an orc's sentiment. Cheers,

Re: the golden-poo-year

I thought you might want to hear how that incredibly exciting adventure began, when five dragons were threatening our world and yet the year was named after metallic excrements. One day I might tell you the whole tale but today only the beginning. If you are wondering who the guys are that are having this chat, go back to older posts and do some proper reading.

Slaag: "This is NOT a dragon!"
Me: "But it is."
Groisch: "No way! It's tiny. I feel betrayed."
Vorn: "Now you know how your wife always feels."
Noden: "And it IS a dragon."
"A toddler - at most."
"Then stay away from it. It just hatched. I don't want it to follow us because it thinks you are its mom."
"Baby dragons are harmless."
"Then why are your pants on fire?"
"Hehe. Have you been talking to my wife?"
"Seriously. Your pants are burning."
"I'm not wearing any pants - just a loin cloth."
"Too much information !!!"

Winter isn't coming

Winter in kraut-land is lame. Seriously, I don’t think it deserves the word winter at all. There might be other parts of this land where things are different, but right here in East-Westphalia it does nothing but rain. I went out into the woods to find some entertainment, maybe a monster to hunt, but there wasn’t any. Some rabbits, that’s it. Got wet and muddy feet and consequently into trouble when I came home.

Like I promised (or threatened), this is a short description of my comrades:

Noden the Sorcerer
He is tiny for an orc. But he is also my son-in-law, so you better not say anything about his height. By the way, the phrase "son-in-law" just proves that the human language is entirely inadequate to explain orc matters.
Noden is quite clever and has a slightly unhealthy (i.e. unorcish) sense of fashion. I mean, he wears a shiny golden belt, braids his hair and wears a tattoo of his wife's name on his back (which is my daughter, just in case you forgot as I do occasionally).
He also has the unfortunate tendency to throw his fireballs towards his comrades, but that is a story for another day. And don't, I mean DON'T assume "fireballs" is a euphemism. It isn't. Like I said, he's tiny.