The Ork and the scout
A rather cool day in early fall. Slight drizzle. Grey skies all around promising an absolute lack of sunshine.
In other words, perfect weather for a LARP.

Having chosen to provide services to the GMs as an NPC or, as others would say, whoring myself out to receive cheaper accomodations, I found myself overlooking a farm track along a woodline in the guise of an ork. As the plan went I was a lookout for a group of other orks tasked with alerting them to approaching players in order to initiate an ambush. As reality went, the other orks were busy drying wet socks around the campfire, making an ambush unlikely ay best.
Before assuming my post I had chosen to forego the clamminess of a jerkin over the warmth of a bare torso equipped with permanent insulation in the form of subcutaeneous fatty tissue. Suitably dressed in a kiltlike device with matching boots the lack of covered skin meant the illusion of orkish appearance had to be provided by a generous coat of camo greasepaint.
Giving up on trying to determine the location of the sun to gauge the time of day I snuck a glance at the digital temporal demon I had painstakingly concealed in my sock and found I had yet another hour to wait. Dragging my weary gaze down the muddy track once more a human scout caught my attention. This bedraggled creature seemed completely unaware of the danger it was walking into. Like a deer it made its shy way down the track looking about furtively and completely missing the poorly concealed personification of chaos until the last moment. From no more than ten steps away the ork launched himself at him who, with a girly squeal, bolted into the woods. Giving chase I immediately realized the utter hopelessness of my pursuit as I heaved my overweight frame around the trees trying in vain to match the others nimble moves through the trees.
I was close to giving up the chase when the circumnavigation of a rather large fallen oak slowed his progress. Upon seeing the amount of broken limbs lying scattered about it and judging the level of decay of the tree to be sufficient a course was plotted through the main part of the trees crown. Several loud crunching and snapping noises later my prey turned around to view the source of the sounds only to be confronted by what I like to think of as myself, looking fearsome in my getup, exploding through this fallen tree, a cloud of smashed deadwood spreading in slow motion before my path of titanic destruction. In any case he turned and accelerated as I slowed down, knowing in my straining heart that further pursuit was a waste of energy.
Proudly I stood surveying the damage to the old rotten oak, satisfied in the knowledge that on this day I had put THE FEAR into a fellow LARPer. Smiling to myself on the short walk back into camp I decided to berate my comrads in arms for their failure to show at my shout before retiring to my tent for a well deserved nap.
(Singularity was tiny but amazingly dense on, Fri 6 Aug 2010, 6:43, Reply)