You run towards the table in the corner, making sure to avoid being trampled by any orcs along the way. The stench of sweat and dirt fills the air as their feet pass over you. After many close calls, you make it to the table and the stool that accompanies it, thankful for the short moment to catch your breath. The stench of feet is slowly replaced by the aroma of meat. On top of the table was a meal waiting just for you.
But first you had to make it to the table. You grip the legs of the stool and start climbing. The cracks in the wood provide good handholds for you. After a long and arduous climb, you finally make it on top of the wooden stool. The seat was still warm and gave off a slight odor. You wonder what that may mean when you hear footsteps approaching from a distance. You turn towards the source to see an orc, stomping towards his stool, the very same one that you happen to be standing on. The orc definitely seems like the uncaring type, wearing nothing but a loincloth to cover himself.
You gulp in fear. You needed to get up to the table quickly or else. But with the speed the orc was approaching, it may already be too late. But that doesn't mean you can't try.
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