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Many of the young orclings find odd and interesting ways to entertain themselves. A small, chubby orcling scrawls lines in the mud. When the big green things come to visit they seem very excited by this, rewarding the orcling with a shiny rock.

Through consumptive experimentation, you soon learn which bits of grub result in the your most pungent offerings to the world. So thick is the stink, that the play-sty often reverberates with the wails of suffering orclings. It is a truly great feat of digestion to craft a smell so foul. The roundest big orcs, who jiggle when they walk, nod knowingly. "This one's destined to be a big belly," says one.

You've been in the play-sty for a while now- all your waking life in fact. By Krog, you are bored. Life in the play-sty is repetitive, with the same sights, sounds and faces every day. The cloth door to the outside has been left unbuttoned. Hmmm… possible adventure awaits. Do you dare to have a gander?

The cold light of day stings your eyes. Everything is noise and bustle. Dirty tents, decorated with bone and scrap metal crafted into spiky faces, line the perimeter. Orcs ride their boars, revving them into snorting fury as they propel themselves from makeshift ramps.

In one corner of the camp, big green things fight. In another, fat green things eat. Between them, a bent-back ancient orc tinkers with bright liquids.