By the campfire

The fire cackled.

Those who were not used to its wicked laugh would stand and wonder about the blazing humour. But not Barax, not this evening.

He sat cross-legged neatly folding the tribes newly acquired banner. It was his responsibility when it was unfurled and it was his responsibility to ensure its near perfect condition when they were not in battle.

He worked each corner more slowly than normal, his thoughts and his shame draining him of his ability to move at his normal speed.

Barax winced and then winced again as he reminded himself of the blows that felled him recently; The half orc woman, the half orc warrior, the tribal leader and the dragon. Each one cutting deeper than the previous assailant.

Boss Tam had tried to help ease his qualms and his fears by restoring him as tribal warrior of the Bearclaw tribe and proud holder of the tribes standard but that did not take away the fears that permeated through his mind.

The tribes ranks had swelled with the merging of the two tribes. Boss Tam had warriors to pick and choose from to carry the banner into battle; warriors who were perhaps more successful in combat than he was. Barax had been beaten time and time again and this could not be allowed to continue if only to save the face and respect of the boss. Boss Tam could not have a warrior who was beaten by fe-males or were felled after only a couple of blows.

Barax shook his head, erupting his dreadlocks into life. He would try and face his next foe one on one and show to his boss and the rest of the tribe that Barax was a half orc to fear.