“Great." Gregory felt some of the tension in his shoulders relax. He really didn't want to have to go one on one with ULf. "Ok, well next up is Frun. I figured you could use this."

He lifted a much Larger weapon up before the stout orc.

“It's a modified poleaxe. Instead of a typical point at the top, I had Torren cap it with a smooth mace head. Below that you've got a blunt hook and a shallow hammer. This thing is designed to keep opponents away from you, and it can do some serious damage when it's wielded by a guy with your strength. It's also pretty versatile, which I'm hoping might make you consider some more options than just head-smashing."

“But head smashing works," Frun argued, although he took the weapon with a contemplative expression.

"Yeah, but if your enemy knows that's all you do then you're an easy mark.”

ULf turned to look at Frun with no small amount of sympathy. Gregory caught the look and confirmed what he'd suspected. Ulf had known exactly what Frun's issue was, but hadn't brought it up in the hopes his friend would figure it out for himself. Perhaps he just didn't want to hurt his feelings, especially with morale already at a consistent low.

Gregory didn't exactly have the time to wait. More time not winning out there meant more time to get himself killed. Better to dish out some tough love than receive some tougher grievous bodily harm.

To Ulf's surprise, Frun didn't seem bothered by the comment at all. He just frowned at the new weapon for a moment before giving a small nod.

“And that brings me to you." Gregory shifted his gaze to Wrut.

“This is going to be a tough one to swallow."

"You wish me to eat something?" Wrut glowered at him.

“Huh? Um. No. I just mean that your weapon isn't going to be something you'll like." Gregory turned back to lift it from the pile.

Wrut's jaw fell open. He hadn't quite noticed the weapon that Gregory had brought for him because he'd thought it was some sort of shallow bowl in which to store the weapons whilst they practiced. As it turned out, the young human hoisted it up to reveal a perfectly round shield.

“I will not fight with that," Wrut growled.

"Ok, well that's fine. Can I just ask you something though? Because I think I might be the only one here that's noticed. When you get up in the morning do you feel a little off balance? Like you're a little Lighter on one side than the other?"

Wrut let out a Low warning growl at the human, which was pretty fucking terrifying since he stood at a height that was almost two feet clear of the top of Gregory's head.

"I mean, I'm just putting this as nicely as I possibly can." The human continued, apparently not intimidated. "It's just that before we go into battle again, you really have to understand that you only have one fucking arm!"

Wrut let out a bellowing roar and launched himself at Gregory. At his back he carried a weapon of his own. It was not from the training grounds, but a true weapon of war. An orc-forged warhammer that was black as the night and thunderously powerful. It came crushing down where the wiseass had been only a moment before. Except instead of pulling back, Gregory danced off to Wrut's unprotected flank. Just as he'd seen the packs do a thousand times before, he easily clobbered the big orc across the jaw with the blunt edge of the shield and sent him sprawling back into the dirt. The warhammer remained stuck in the ground.

Gregory stood beside the massive weapon and looked down over it.

“I know that a weapon can mean a lot to a warrior. This one is finely made." Gregory set the shield down and reached over with two hands to hoist the warhammer out of the dirt. He walked over and handed it back to Wrut who snatched it away almost protectively.

“But you can't wield it anymore. You can't defend yourself. With the shield, you can. It won't get stuck in the dirt. It won't unbalance you. I think you might be able to do a lot of damage with it. Put the hammer where it belongs, Wrut. Give it a place of honour in your home and fight with something that will give you a chance."

Wrut looked at the hammer. The anger in him had faded away and only a deep and silent sadness remained as he looked over the runes etched into the heavy weapon.

“Torren told me that orc weapons are passed on from parent to child. He said that the old weapons often help the wielder in battle, for they hold in their hands the memory of all the ancestors that have come before them." Gregory crouched down to look at Wrut eye-to-eye. "I didn't know your ancestors, but I do know that they would want their memory to help you. They wouldn't want you to carry something that could get you killed."

Wrut was quiet for a long moment. Then he walked over to the sack and cleaned the dirt from the hammer before slowly setting it down on the cloth and turning to take up the shield. Without saying a word, he walked back into line and gave Gregory a small nod before Looking over the tops of everyone's heads.

“Thank you." Gregory gave Wrut a Little bow of gratitude before turning to Ulf.