"The Arm" had always been a good thrower. Better than that two timing goblin lover Squig Tosser thats for sure. That didn't stop the head coach of his favorite team, The Teef Knockers from passing him over and hiring "Squiggy" though.
He was furious. He resolved to get back at Squig Tosser in the only way orcs know how. To use their natural strength to utterly and completely destroy him. He wouldnt be particularly opposed to killing him either.
It became obsession. He just couldnt seem to get close enough to do anything to "Squiggy". He went to all the Teef Knocker games. He watched with disgust as "Squiggy" ran around and did NOTHING for the team against the Dwarven team, the Broken Sword. He knew that if he had been out there the team would have beaten those pesky elves the Seventh Brigade, instead of losing 3 to 1. He felt the rage welling up inside of him when he saw the imposter perform in a very non-orclike fashion when faced up against the Khemri team The Pharoh's Playthings.
The time had come. And he knew it. He had to bury the grot or bury himself. It was a matter of his pride and honor... his very being an orc. He found the biggest rock he could find, that he could still throw a fair distance, around 25 pounds, altogether.
He knew the next game would be his day. He would prove to the onlookers and himself just how talented he is. He went to the game... and waited for the perfect oportunity. He waited... and waited... At half time he saw his oppertunity to fell the villain. The cheerleaders did a final cheer and a wave began. He stood. He aimed. He threw. The rock spun once. Twice. Thrice.
As the rock curved into Squig Thrower's head, a smile formed itself on his green maw. Every tooth in his head showed. He was completely and utterly satisfied as the crunch resounded through the stadium and the orcish thrower went down. Blood made a pillow around his head, and the team's staff came out to claim him. He tried to shrink into the crowd, but one of the Teef's assistant coaches spotted him.
He only vaguely heard the announcer say that Squig Thrower was dead with no hope of suddenly being alive again. Then he felt a hand clamp down on his back. The assistant coach, a large (even for a black orc) orc, turned him around. The smile still had not left "The Arm"'s face as he prepared to be dismembered.
"You got nice arm. How you like to be new throw orc?"