Nbox blinked, gazing dubiously at the farmer's sharp pitchfork- The crude tool pretty much a pointy stick in the farmer's hands. Of course, even sheathed in steel as he was, the orc didn't entirely disregard him; Sometimes, amateurs get *lucky*, as First Cousin Eekle had said, after he'd been stabbed in the back...With a club. A lot more painful than it sounds, really.<br/><br/>The orc spread his hands in an almost delicate shrug, an almost<em>oh, well, what can you do?</em><br/><br/>"Bugger off, little man," the orc growled, a low rumble in his throat. "Nbox not *want* homeland. It stinky." Of course, beneath all the 'Orc Dumb!" speech, his hand was clasping his holy symbol, looped readily around his wrist...<br/><br/>"Little man...<em>Run</em>." Nbox boomed, the will of Grummsh backing up his words, the staring eye of his ramshackle symbol pulsing darkly.<br/><br/><br/>(Casting 1st-Level Spell 'Command', DC 10 + 4 + 2 = 16, if I'm not wrong.  :))