The We that made He.

Fire smoldered in the center of the camp. With only desert land ahead and the remains of brick and mortar behinds.

The Silence was deafening as Grog sat there.

All that he could hear where flames and the snarled of a beast devouring its prey.

Grog sat there hands placed in the soil, knees droven into them to ensure they'd be numb and his one good eye facing the blade he had drove into the blood and mud infront of his pose.

His placement to the flame is felt as it's pulsing burns into the aged scar across his face and upper body.

Behind him posed Crennith and Gregoral both on the hands and knees they had left. Crennith missing the potion of her leg just naled in bronze as a replacement. Gregoral missing his right arm. While Grog could not see such he knew it was all the tribe, thosands of thosands positioned as such.

It was the mandate for all when the Cheiftan stops moving.

There was no timing such or knowing when he'd choose to settle but when he did all positions themselves the same. The Cheiftan the sole being in this world that was free to move. Failer to comply was promptly handled. The advise everyone adhered to,

"Do not be where the cheif can see you if his rampage ceases"

Grog had failed to heed this waring it was simply a fire that separated him and the chief.

It was if he a beast, one that came from the shadows; as the battle had ended it sat there resting amongst the mound of the dead.

The sounds of snarls and flesh ripping continued as the cheif sat there in respis.

His hands reach down to grab a skull and all that was connected. A chain of virtibrate and muscles attached to what was once a nervice system... yet no skin, he placed the heap into a snarling snout.

The skull just gave, pulverized as if chewing water it's juices dripping down his fangs.

Grogs stomach sat there turning trying not to think of the raw flesh. Brotheran and foe alike the dead we're all treated to this fate.

It reminded Grog how long it had been since his last meal; poultry from the village they just waged through three days past.

It was Sickly Grang who had given him majority of the bird, as he never did eat much.

Grang often states it's because of his -tribute-

a massive wound that had taken the right side of his stomach. This hole in his gut was the fee he paid in -Krangra- as for Grog it was his left eye and the skin that had burnt off.

Grog had been fighting beside Sickly Grang when the cheifs respis had started meaning his position mustve been close by?

Sickly Grang was massive a towering 3m yet his tribute often left him in lack of breath and weezing even during battle.

He'd long since passed his battle axe to Gregoral instead opting to support and carry supplies.

It had been hours since the tribe had took there position. Yet its order would fall all in a single second. The silence of flame and food had been broken. It was a sound Grog had known well; a simple,

"Cough"

Just a release of pressure in the chest... it was already too much. In the same instant the flame split and Grog was airborne his sword forced back into his face throwing him into those behind.

He lay there eye focusing to see Crennith and Gregoral be thrown to the side as well.

The massive Sickly Grang looked as if a enfant lifted by the mouth that had coughed.

The cheif adjusted his hands and pressed his thumbs into Grangs eye sockets. Once there depth was as far as they'd reach the cheif snarled riping the skull in two.

Puting the side of the skull no longer connected in his mouth he then turned back to the spot he was sitting draging what was left of Grang to the temporary throne of bodies he had been enhabiting for dinner.

All whoes position had been scattered shuffled back into place and continued on in the silence not even time to morn there own.

In his new position Grog was more brassen mostly symptom of his anger this time he did not look down instead watching the monster that they called cheif.

It took the cheif the amount of time one uses to eat a chiken to dismantle what was once Grang all while smiling yellow and red fangs.

Rest for all the others in the tribe came as normal after the fire and cheif had stoped eating and flickered to sleep they can do the same.

None dare to move instead using the blades they planted infront of them to lay there heads as a wedge to stay in the same position.

Grog boiled both from the heat on his scars and the pain of watching how easily his own had been taken.

He stayed watching eyes glued to the chief a beast a metter taller then Grang (4m), as black as night and crimson hair.

His thoughts focused on sickly Grang who most considered massive and yet the Cheiftan had townered him, demolished him, and devoured him.

Grogs eyes didn't as much as blink, and so he had full view as Craw slithered forward.

The now widow to Grang had many reached out to stop her but there hands unusable to preform do to the pressure of there knees that had been placed onto them.

She drew her blade and at the flicker of the moon she drove it down on a sleeping cheif.

His eyes not opening just his grin as the blade passed through the palm of his hand.

It clenched close crushing the wrist of Craw.

She wenched screaming in a whale.

The giant stood holding her into the air, sniffing he spoke with a dark growling voice,

"Tor stench... It's of grim... Mmmm and the meattt. The meattt..." his grin grew larger as he pulled her face to his.

She screeched through the pain,

"Grang, his name be Grang and hed been mine you took him"

Craw drew her other hand scratching at the cheifs face only for him to catch her other arm.

"NO"

He boomed

"you all be mine...".

There was no reponce as he didn't not give time for such.

He just pulled the arms of Craw to the width of his own.

She fell to the ground no longer with upper limbs sputtering and gaging on her own blood.

Squatting down he started to chew on the arms he'd taken gazing into her eyes until there was not as much as a flicker.

All while smiling he drew the blade she'd plunged into his hand out throwing it. With his other hand he then drove his claws into the bodies stomach pulling out a child? A baby?

Holding it by a leg he used his claws to cut the childes face marking it with an X deep enough the scare will never fade.

He looked among the masses all hiding or avoiding the gaze and announced

"MINEEEE."

As the ground shook he then threw the baby at Zeen a alchemist that was bizzarly keen to work with the Cheiftan. He sat at the base of the cheifs make shift thrown.

The cheif bent down and started to eat the fresh corps.

The bady was silent as silent as one born still and yet Grog saw as the small things hands reached, reached out to a mother and father who would never be there.