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Description

    The ogres existed in a state of childlike oblivion beyond conventional morality. They understood pain and could feel it, and when they felt pain, they did not enjoy it. At the same time, they thought nothing of causing pain to others. If they were hit, they would hit back. If they were hungry, they would kill. Violence was as much a fact of life for them as the rain and snow, not something to be fought or resisted but simply to be accepted. They saw absolutely nothing wrong with ripping some hapless animal apart for food or striking a sibling simply because they felt like it. This was not born of innate malice or cruelty but rather a differing perception of violence and pain. They did not abhor it or consider it evil, no more than they did drinking and eating. In intelligence they had just barely enough to comprehend it and not enough to understand it was wrong, their motives more toddler than tyrant.

    Despite the apparent brutishness ogres were social creatures, and deeply bonded ones at that. They relied on cooperation and close communication to survive. When one saw a potential threat, it would let the others know and if they did too, they would respond accordingly. If they did not, the alert going ignored, the ogre would think that either they were in great and unheeded danger or that something regarding themselves was simply wrong. If the latter was true, that meant that they were not functioning properly and thus a threat to their group. If the former was true, it meant that whatever monstrous danger approaching could possibly wipe out those they held dear.

    Repeated over the millennia, this instilled a deep and primal fear in ogres of being ignored. They needed the conformation of their companions to be sure of anything, and they needed to be recognized. Having something they said go unheeded was in fact a far greater offense than being hit or having feces tossed at their face. To ignore an ogre was far worse than striking one or taking their food, at least if you were an ogre yourself.

  Of course, they never pondered things like that. They spoke very shortly and briefly, a word or three at a time, and only when they really had to say something. Their words were an art unto themselves, birthed with an intricate combination of flickering streams of biolights, low, whooshing sounds, and rumbling gurgles. At times, though far exceeded by Bouillon’s, this speech was downright orchestral.

  To the ogres the world was a dreamlike playground. They busied themselves over small wonders, mystified by stacks of rocks their comrades made and enthralled by some small worm-thing that chanced to wander in their cave during a rainstorm.

    As the rains flooded the land and turned the marshes into shallow lakes the ogres sat on the water-surrounded boulders and hills, screeching and splashing at the air. They were caught up in some odd game only they could understand and loved it. It was rare that they understood anything beyond that which they needed to survive, content with their sticks and stones and drawing in the mud.

  Speaking music and dancing in primal savagery, there was an art to their lives one could never fully describe nor appreciate. It was the months underneath the abyssal sky, flickering the multicolored runes of light along their ivory hides, making odd noises in semblance of song, every bit as peaceful as when they bore upon some degenerate elephant or rhino and tore its limbs from its body. All was a game, an ecstatic delight in the warmth of sun and the wet of rain and the vibrant sensations of battle-born pain and food-derived pleasure. They embraced their bestial existence and enjoyed it fully.

Description

    The ogres existed in a state of childlike oblivion beyond conventional morality. They understood pain and could feel it, and when they felt pain, they did not enjoy it. At the same time, they thought nothing of causing pain to others. If they were hit, they would hit back. If they were hungry, they would kill. Violence was as much a fact of life for them as the rain and snow, not something to be fought or resisted but simply to be accepted. They saw absolutely nothing wrong with ripping some hapless animal apart for food or striking a sibling simply because they felt like it. This was not born of innate malice or cruelty but rather a differing perception of violence and pain. They did not abhor it or consider it evil, no more than they did drinking and eating. In intelligence they had just barely enough to comprehend it and not enough to understand it was wrong, their motives more toddler than tyrant.

    Despite the apparent brutishness ogres were social creatures, and deeply bonded ones at that. They relied on cooperation and close communication to survive. When one saw a potential threat, it would let the others know and if they did too, they would respond accordingly. If they did not, the alert going ignored, the ogre would think that either they were in great and unheeded danger or that something regarding themselves was simply wrong. If the latter was true, that meant that they were not functioning properly and thus a threat to their group. If the former was true, it meant that whatever monstrous danger approaching could possibly wipe out those they held dear.

    Repeated over the millennia, this instilled a deep and primal fear in ogres of being ignored. They needed the conformation of their companions to be sure of anything, and they needed to be recognized. Having something they said go unheeded was in fact a far greater offense than being hit or having feces tossed at their face. To ignore an ogre was far worse than striking one or taking their food, at least if you were an ogre yourself.

  Of course, they never pondered things like that. They spoke very shortly and briefly, a word or three at a time, and only when they really had to say something. Their words were an art unto themselves, birthed with an intricate combination of flickering streams of biolights, low, whooshing sounds, and rumbling gurgles. At times, though far exceeded by Bouillon’s, this speech was downright orchestral.

  To the ogres the world was a dreamlike playground. They busied themselves over small wonders, mystified by stacks of rocks their comrades made and enthralled by some small worm-thing that chanced to wander in their cave during a rainstorm.

    As the rains flooded the land and turned the marshes into shallow lakes the ogres sat on the water-surrounded boulders and hills, screeching and splashing at the air. They were caught up in some odd game only they could understand and loved it. It was rare that they understood anything beyond that which they needed to survive, content with their sticks and stones and drawing in the mud.

  Speaking music and dancing in primal savagery, there was an art to their lives one could never fully describe nor appreciate. It was the months underneath the abyssal sky, flickering the multicolored runes of light along their ivory hides, making odd noises in semblance of song, every bit as peaceful as when they bore upon some degenerate elephant or rhino and tore its limbs from its body. All was a game, an ecstatic delight in the warmth of sun and the wet of rain and the vibrant sensations of battle-born pain and food-derived pleasure. They embraced their bestial existence and enjoyed it fully.