Editing Stranded in fantasy (section)

===Journal Entry 100===

So, we've spent a few days moving from camp to camp with the Orc patrol. We finally got dumped off in some larger war camp. There must be a few thousand Orcs, some Goblins, Hobgoblins and even some half orcs here. We're the only humans here. We were introduced to the High command. Battle experienced warlords, a few wise old shaman, an orc paladin of some warrior god and even a druid. Every smile is a mouthful of bad dentistry. The first thing they told us was that deserters get tortured, then killed. After that, they got our skills down and then we got assigned a tent and told to stay out the way, they'll call us when they need us. No pinkskin jokes so far, so that's a plus I guess. The place doesn't smell as bad as I thought it would. Sure, orcs have a different smell to humans, all the races do, some are horrible like kobolds or goblins. Orcs, orcs smell like war. Things were kind of grim until Marcus broke out his guitar and started playing. They allowed it. After awhile they liked it. Sure, he didn't know any traditional orcish songs, but he lightened the mood. Food on the other hand is another matter. Hard tack and raw meat. We had to cook ours. They don't cook theirs. This is going to take some getting used to.