The acrid smell of burnt Bufas fruit hung heavy in the air, a cloying sweetness mixed with the stench of charred flesh. Khao'khen, his serious face grim, surveyed the erected orcish camp.
A month trapped in the Narrow Pass, a month of simmering discontent, a month that had yielded little more than frustration. The goblins, thankfully, had returned with a substantial harvest of the incendiary fruit – a far cry from the powerful Thunder Makers that he wanted to arm his warriors with.
Zul'jinn's "boomsticks," crude imitations of the Threian muskets, remained unreliable, more likely to maim their wielders than their enemies.
"They're dangerous, Zul'jinn," Khao'khen stated flatly, his tone was soft but carried a lot of weight. He gestured to a pile of broken weapons, splintered wood and twisted metal. Two orcish warriors lay nearby, their limbs grotesquely contorted, victims of the boomsticks' erratic nature, and were being treated by Rakh'ash'ta and the shamans.
