We were crossing a ridge when Corgan was lifted off the ground by something. "Shoot it! Shoot the tyrannosaur!" he screamed as blood streamed from the puncture wounds that had opened up in belly. I fired into the empty space above him to no effect. Then Corgan's ragged corpse dropped to the forest floor, and I was alone. Utterly alone. There was no dinosaur. There was nothing.
The Orcish Mustang - a semi-wild horse tamed and domesticated by orcs to serve as their mounts. Large, strong bodied, and fearless as they live among orcs. On the other hand, bad tempered, with teeth problems, sometimes have hoof problems, and agressive. In lean times, or when an animal dies, the orcs suddenly have a dearth of meat, and hide to work with.