Scattered Embers: Flames Rekindled (story)

[Magrus]

Snirf rolled about in the bed in misery. The pounding headache just wouldn't go away. The stuff they'd served him must have been poison! Evil stuff that, nothing like back home. After hours of waiting and hoping it would go away he grew frustrated and attempted to use his powers to heal himself again. He reached down within himself, and this time, he could grasp onto that energy. Grinning, he pulled more of it and tried bending it to his will. Thats when things went bad.

The energy fled from his control and spun wildly into a vision of trees and fire. Reveling in the majesty of the fires beauty, he then saw death in the flames. A whole forest burning, with strangely dressed humans running rampant through the flames and trees. The vision shifted and he saw orcs, crawling all over in that same armor again, firing flaming arrows into the forest.

Groaning and shoving the pillow over his head, images flashed through his mind rapidly of orcs moving across plains to the west, a massive force spread out across them. He noticed small groups among the masses seemed quite different than the other orcs. Disciplined and intelligent, they didn't revel in the chaos the other orcs did. That was frightening, the one thing you could count on with orcs was a breakdown in order to use against them.

More flashed on, wolves attacking orcs and a young woman riding with a small boy. Strange darkness blanketed his vision in a mountain, where he did not know. The void there...hurt. He shuddered and the vision moved on.

He saw Setanta stalking through town and heading out of the gates, and then a creeping force of orcs coming towards Windhaven from the south. Grunting, he estimated 3 days before they were in the vicinity. Clutching his head he passed out, assaulted by visions beyond what his senses could take in their frazzled state.

Night surrounded him as he woke up hours later, the visions and headache receding. He stared at his hands, still tiger paws and growled as he willed them back to his normal gnomish hands. Sighing, he stared around the room. The walls charred and the water pitcher broken on the floor. Shaking his head, he stood up, changed and went downstairs.

The innkeeper was charging straight for him and demanding to know what had happened up in his room all day. Snirf sighed and handed him his pouch full of coins and told him he was sorry. Then he set out to find Setanta and tell him what was headed this way.

[Yshania]

As she predicted, the party were on the move as the sun rose to the sound of barking orders and resulting whines and squabbles. They numbered more than she had originally estimated as they set off eastwards in a disorderly march, the lines soon beaten into a more uniformed and disciplined pace. She followed them cautiously from a distance until noon, when the skirts of Shilmista became distantly visible across the plain. She realised that the party were on a direct route to the forest, as she observed them rest briefly, and her love of the land would afford this group of unruly city vagabonds neither purpose nor shelter beneath Shilmistas blessed canopy. If she were to accompany their trail and ward off any danger to the forest, it was time for a tactical change.

“Githra, my friend, I call you from your slumber!” and dutifully, to the twist of the onyx ring and his mistress’ call, the energy of the blackest shadow pulsated before its giant feline form began to coalesce, his beautifully intense eyes regarding her quizzically for a moment whilst his senses awakened. “I know, my friend, I know” she whispered soothingly, kneeling to receive his tired greeting “I spend your energy on your companionship, and now I call you back prematurely to aid my cause” She sighed.

The band were on the move again as she carefully instructed her friend, then they touched foreheads silently for a moment before backing away. Githra began to hiss and snarl uneasily as his mistress’ eyes took on a vibrant emerald glow, her face a frame of deepening shadows, her mouth twitching and grimacing in anticipation, then as he turned and flew westwards to bring up the rear of the party the druid fell to the ground, her body twisting in silent torture.

The agonising transformation finally complete, a second mighty feline bounded away from the place where the druid had fallen, adrenalin pumping through every muscle and sinew in her body, every stretching leap releasing pent up energy in her powerful limbs. The living atoms of her flesh and bone had combined with the lifeless atoms of her armour, weapons and supplies to create a tireless and formidable foe. One considered usual to her surroundings…

[Bloodstalker]

Bloodstalker rose from his bed and moved sluggishly to the desk on the opposite side of his room, still trying to shake off the last tendrils of sleep that clung to his mind. The long road out of Icewind Dale had taken more out of him than he had realized, and the few quiet days he'd been counting on spending in Windhaven before hitting the trail again seemed to be out of the question. Not that it should have been a surprise he mused to himself. If there was one thing he'd come to terms with over the past few years, it was that he had the uncanny ability to arrive anywhere just as things were about to go all to hell.

Leaning over the washbasin, he splashed the cold liquid onto his face, letting the sudden chill cut through his drowsiness. Wiping his face on a handtowel, he raised his gaze to the mirror. It always amazed him that he didn't look older than his thirty-one years. Save for a few lines around the eyes, he still looked like he always had, sharp blue eyes peering back at him from a tanned and weatherbeaten face that was framed by his long dark hair. Taking into consideration the turmoil that had accompanied his life up until a few years ago, it seemed almost out of place to see the visage that stared back at him.

Shaking his head to clear such thoughts from his mind, he walked toward the door that lead to the balcony, stepping through it and into the bright morning sun. A gentle breeze played at the fabric of his open shirt, rippling across his skin as a complement to the morning sun bathing him in it's warm comfort. He closed his eyes, for a moment forgetting the dark shadows of gathering orcs, or the lingering spectres of a past that he had already come to terms with and letting the sounds of a town coming to life settle into his hearing. It wasn't often that he had the opportunity to bask in such things, and for a long time had purposly avoided any exposure to civilization, but now he found content in the ordinary sounds that greeted him. For most he supposed it would seem odd, but the sounds of such mundane things as a broom sweeping the walkway below him, the occasional horse and carriage winding it's way down the street, the cries of protest as some child was chased out of some type of mischief by an incensed adult, along with a miriad of others melded into a peaceful calm that belied the ouside circumstances that were fast gathering on the horizen.

The thought was enough to break his reverie and force him back into the problems of the day. While he may no longer be captive to the hold of his past as he once was, the present demanded his attention, and for all his outward complaining about his ill luck in arriving, BS knew that this was what he was made for. He didn't view his past in the same dark light as he once had, preferring to focus on the way it had prepared him for his current life. While he had no desire to ever revist it, he also accepted that circumstance had forged him into the person he was today. Mistakes, tragedy, all of it had given him unique talents with which to work, and while he would never be comfortable with the way fate had chosen to bestow those gifts, he was able now to be grateful for the opportunity to put them to good use.

Turning back into the room, he began to buckle on his leather armor. Many warriors would frown on leather in place of plate, but BS preferred the greater range of motion and freedom of movement it provided. Besides, Plate mail was simply hot, and being from the Spine, he preferred not to have to deal with the added discomfort. He still wasn't totally adjusted to the warmer climate after his last extended stay in the Dale, so he saw no reason to change his opinion at the moment.

Armored, he turned his attention to his weapons, first inspecting each of the two throwing daggers for wear before attaching them to his bracers. While they weren't his primary means of defense, in a pinch they had served him well at times in the past, and he wanted to be sure they were in condition to do so should the need arise again.

Satisfied, he turnined his attention to the bastard sword that lay in it's sheath across the foot of the bed. Pulling Striker from it's encasing, he took great care in inspecting the blade. While enchanted, and as such the edge would never dull, he took his time inspecting the blade just in case. He'd never been overly trustful of magic, and every morning and night made sure the blade showed no signs of anything that could result in rust or a crack in the pomell jewel that housed it's true power. While he seldom employed the jewel as it had a very disconcerting effect, and the normal enchantments allowed the blade to breach a few protective spells on it's own with each strike, there were times that the ability to cast Spellstrike had saved his life regardless of the pain it induced, not to mention the three day recharge time spent to ready for another cast.

Satisfied with his equipment, BS slung the sheath across his back and stepped out the door. He wanted to catch Delin before the day was too far gone, and was interested to see if any of the information he'd gleaned from Setanta and Snirf the night before would help put things in a better light.

[Sytze]

“Shht.”

“What is it?” Amara inquired softly. Sytze had covered his lips with his forefinger and gestured the druid to stop and stay low. He gazed in the distance and brought his hands above his eyes, squinting. The setting sun shone brightly upon the forest and troubled the archer’s vision heavily, though it did not make it an impossible view. In the far distance he could see a few distinct figures, the shining sun on their dirt covered armour giving them away.

“For as far as I can make anything of it, I am guessing a couple of orcs,” he replied, breathing heavily. Yesterday, they had left the druid grove with all haste and had only taken the utmost necessary supplies, including food and water. Although it had replenished some of his energy, he still felt exhausted. The last days were an endless run and sleep had not come easily to the hunted rogue. Now, after travelling more than an entire night, his legs felt heavier and heavier, occasionally getting cramps. He had tried to cover his pains by stopping and then acting as if he saw something suspicious, turning his face away from Amara’s. Whether or not it had fooled her, he did not know. She hadn’t made any comments at any rate.

“I thought you knew where all the orcs where camping at?” Sytze muttered irritated. He really couldn’t contemplate the possibility of a fight right now: it would only weaken him further.

“I… I am not sure where they came from,” Amara answered, a slight surprised tone apparent in her voice. “They weren’t camping there when I came past here a while ago. They could have possibly branched from the major sector to the East, or maybe even…” Sytze finally tuned her ramblings out. She continued on even without his attention, utterly baffled, for when she had come upon this place a few days ago while on her way to inform Faldorn of the events going on farther south, there were no traces of orcs camping or moving around in this part of the woods.

When she was able to conclude she had no idea where the orcs had originated, she returned her mind to the present. “How many are there? What are your intentions? Do you want to fight them?” she asked inquisitively, throwing a wide arsenal of unanswerable questions at the young man.

Sytze turned around swiftly, eyes wide open. Amara didn’t know the rogue very well, but she could’ve sworn traces of panic were showing on his face. “No way!” he replied, almost screaming. “I’ve no idea how many there are. Besides…,” he moved around again to face to orcs, “the less attention drawn to us, the better. For both your goal and mine,’ he murmured as an afterthought, suddenly all too aware his last sentence was quite audible in the quiet.

Amara, noticing the surprised look his face, decided to make a mental note of that last piece of information he had so carelessly tossed her way. She was intrigued by this mysterious man who had appeared out of nowhere yesterday and whose goals where, for the most part, a mystery. While she was so preoccupied with her own thoughts Sytze drew his cloak tightly around his body and slipped his hood over his head, walking away from the druid.

“Where are you going?” Amara asked abruptly when she saw the rogue slowly move away from her, her big blue eyes looking at him, questioningly.

“To scout the surroundings. I need to know how many there are and if we can easily avoid these creatures,” he declared as if it were obvious. He then stepped towards a large bush, finding his way trough the branches and twigs remarkably easy. Amara tentatively watched him leave, not really sure if she should stop him or allow him to do as he wished. Finally, she decided to let him go, doubtful she’d be able to stop him anyway. The man had a mind of his own.

It was only a few moments later that she heard him again, though the sounds of his voice were all she received from his presence. She hadn’t an idea of whether he was near her or not because the rogue himself was nowhere in sight.

“Just stay here, alright? You’ll be safe where you are,” Sytze whispered, a little haughtily. He had come back, afraid as he was that he hadn’t left clear enough instructions.

Amara threw a suspicious glance at the direction she though the voice was coming from. “I had no intention of moving from here,” she returned, somewhat indignantly, “But in the future I would ask you to address me more like if you were my guardian, not my baby sitter.”

Sytze grinned inwardly. “As you will have it, milady. I am simply concerned about your well-being.”

You just had to add that last part, didn’t you? Amara thought at him in response to his smug demeanour.

“As it should be,” she said simply, “That is, after all, why you’re my escort. Should I define the word?”

Sytze opened his mouth to snap something back at her, but saw a slight smile luring in the corners of Amara’s mouth and decided to let it go. There would be opportunities enough for discussions and matches of quick wit. Amara, meanwhile, waited for a reaction but got nothing but silence as an answer. The wind and the trees were her only listeners. Sytze had already left.

Only a few minutes later did she hear the sounds of footsteps and branches being tugged aside, followed by Sytze’s heavy breathing. “I’ve found a safe route,” he gasped, his chest heaving greatly.

“From your state it sure doesn’t seem ‘safe’,” Amara replied worriedly, her eyes moving over his body evaluating, looking for possible injuries. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” he nodded a little hesitantly, but he knew perfectly well that he wouldn’t be fine. The scouting and hiding had cost him more energy than he’d expected. His body was burning up from the inside, and his mind was racing to keep hold of its concentration. Oh, how he wished he could simply lie down and not get up for the next couple of hours. But that was unrealistic at best. He couldn’t rest here and he knew that perfectly well. Resting this close to an orc camp was asking for trouble. Sytze took a deep breath and tried to focus his energy. They needed to walk for at least another two hours; they needed to get away from this place. He grabbed his pack and gestured Amara to follow him, slowly and silently.

The druid watched him suspiciously. Amara had eyed the rogue cautiously ever since he had come back from his little scouting trip. He looked like hell when he’d returned and she feared he was ready to collapse on the spot. Grabbing her leather bag of maps – on which she had encircled certain parts, indicating orcish presence -, she silently followed him, keeping her comments to herself. For now.

****

[Sytze]

What she feared came to fruition not long after. They had walked a little more than two hours when Sytze had suddenly halted and fell down on his knees. He was breathing heavily and was frantically gasping for air. “I…I am sorry,” he gasped. “I can go on no longer...” his voice trailed off as he was trying to get a hold of himself.

Amara, not in the least surprised about his current situation, nodded silently. She gently took his pack off his back, which Sytze reluctantly allowed her to do, and did the same with hers. She then searched for some food and drinks and put them near the tired rogue. “Here, eat these,” she offered helpfully. “I’ll go look around to see if it is safe here. It should be, though, for the orcish lines are still a long walk from here.” She stood up and gave the rogue a short glance before setting out.

When she came back, Sytze looked a bit better. He was sitting nonchalantly against a large tree, his right arm resting on his right leg. While eating an apple, he shifted uncomfortable as he saw Amara approach. He felt kind of ashamed by his signs of weakness.

“So, traveller, how long has it been since you’ve last slept?” Amara started as she squatted down in front of the archer. As she saw the confused and surprised expression on his face, she continued speaking, smiling warmly. “There’s no need to look at me like that. I don’t have to be a druid to conclude you’re obviously very tired. Your eyes give more away than you might think.”

Sytze somewhat regained his composure. “Truth be told, the last time I rested was yesterday, just before I decided to involve myself in the battle between your friends and the orcs. Although I only slept for an hour, then,” he answered, still unsure of what or what not to tell his new companion.

Amara frowned at him, her brow furrowed. “And before that?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Sytze mumbled, casting his eyes to the ground. “It must’ve been a couple of days, probably.” The rogue couldn’t precisely recall when he had left Athkatla; his mind seemed to play tricks on him in his fatigued state.

“I see,” Amara mused. “And what, exactly, have you been doing these past few days?” she continued, hoping to pry information out of the rogue, who hadn’t really been loose-lipped since she had met him.

Sytze gave her a suspicious glance. “I’ve been on the move,” he answered tactically. Even though Amara looked like the trusted sort, he decided not to tell her too much – not yet anyway. It was better this way, both for her sake and for his own protection, or so he reasoned.

He let out an extensive yawn, albeit a bit too dramatically, hoping to either change or end the way their current conversation was going.

Amara noticed he was exaggerating his tiredness, and decided to change the subject of their discussion. “I am guessing that, by now, you regret not taking a horse along the ride?” she smirked, a little too cheerful.

Sytze raised an eyebrow at the druid. “No, you guessed that quite wrong. I thought I told you when we left the grove that I was quite unprepared to travel by horse?” he reminded her, putting an annoyingly disdainful tone in his voice.

Amara rolled her eyes in an exaggerating manner. “You were quite clear in your objection towards horses, yes. Your loud ‘hell no!’ was indication enough when I arrived with the creatures. However, you never told me why you didn’t want to go by animal.” She eyed the rogue intensely, hoping to get a truthful answer.

“It’s not like I dislike horses,” Sytze started, folding his arms behind his head to gaze skywards. “Well, no, that’s a lie. I do dislike horses.” he jested, not looking directly at Amara.

“Stop beating around the bush and get to the point,’ Amara sighed, still urging him on for a straight answer.

Sytze chuckled inwardly. “Very well then, impatient one. Reason number one – and this is actually the most important reason - is that I can’t ride a horse. It’s as simple as that.”

Amara’s mouth fell open, and she was ready to retort. Everyone could learn to ride a horse.

“And before you ask why I’ve never learnt to ride,” Sytze continued. “I do not like how horses smell. They have this remaining, penetrating scent hanging around them that makes one need to bathe two or three times before that smell is finally gone.” He unceremoniously grabbed his pack and put it behind his head, lying himself flat on the ground.

Amara’s jaws fell open even further, her face a mixture of disbelief, confusion and absolute indignation.

“Thirdly, and more seriously,” Sytze interjected in a hurry, grinning calmly. “I prefer to walk, above riding an animal. Always have and always will. Besides, sneaking and scouting is so much more effective alone than with a horse by your side.” He shifted again, slightly uncomfortable, trying to manoeuvre himself in the right sleeping position.

“Do you really think that?” Amara asked, baffled by this city-born archer.

“Yes, I do,” Sytze answered, still in a serious tone. “And don’t tell me we would’ve travelled through this woods undetected by horse, because I refuse to believe that.”

Silence was his part, for he didn’t receive an answer from the druid.

He let out a loud yawn once more, though this time is was truthfully caused by his fatigue. “If you don’t mind, I really need to get me some rest,” he murmured, closing his eyes while trying to ignore the sounds of the breathing forest.

“Yes, try to get some sleep,” Amara declared dryly after a short while. “The surroundings seemed safe enough to get some rest a minute ago. I will keep watch for now.” She went through her belongings and for the second time today she took a couple of maps out, looking at them intensely while her hand was hovering above them, holding a pencil. Sytze opened his eyes for the last time and looked at the frail women, her long, braided hair lying peacefully upon her shoulders. As he saw her examining with incredible concentration at the maps, with the tip of her tongue sticking out between her lips, a giggle escaped his mouth, luckily inaudible to Amara herself. He swallowed the rest of his amusement and closed his eyes, allowing the midday sun to gently touch his skin.

Just as he was about to succumb to slumber he was stirred by the woman once more.

“You should have said something,” Amara growled, not angrily, but more in an exasperated way.

“What?” he asked, only half awake.

“What kind of man can’t ride a horse?” she complained. Her hand went to clutch a wooden carving hanging off her belt to ease her tension. “I would have called a couple of deer. They’re faster and almost trackless in the thick of the forest. And no, smart one, they don’t cause their riders to stink!”

She stood and began to walk back to the woods, probably to recheck the area. All along the way she continued on like that. “We could have been out of these monster-infested woods hours ago, but no. The city-boy never learned how to keep his balance on the back of an animal!”

Sytze watched her wander away until she was gone, both from sight and hearing. He hadn’t any idea how to reply to her musings, and at that point he was much too tired to bother with it. He threw one last glance at the blue sky, the foliage of the tree he was laying under blocking the brightest of sunrays, and then closed his eyes once again. Within seconds he had dozed off to the land of dreams he so craved for.

[The Z]

“Run as if Gruumsh himself were chasing you! Tell Erudish that my party has found and is engaging the blasted mage who stopped our advances on the southeastern front. Tell him that we are being overrun by lupines and do not know who is leading them. Speed is the most important thing. Now GO you maggot-bellied codpiece!” barked Zadrk.

The runner sped off into the woods, fearful of being beaten by either of his superiors for ineptitude as well as becoming a wolf’s next meal. The Black Orc watched him clamber off without subtlety, armor rattling, and crushing branches then turned to face his current crisis.

Mentally, he berated himself for not acting upon his suspicion of the rogue ‘orc’ that now appeared to be leading half of his men to the slaughter like a butcher and his cattle, but at least he had eventually figured it out, unlike his comrades who were either complaining about the vast amount of wolves that had materialized from the shadows or about to be blown to pieces by a few well-placed fireballs. They were not just wolves; they were assassins that leapt from the dark and ripped the limbs from their enemies.

But fear never entered his mind, not for a second. Black Orcs feared nothing as they only knew two things and were only good at those same two things: how to make war and how to die in the heat of battle. They were the quintessential children of chaos and if the Drow wanted to contest that title they would have to fight for it. As he readied his now extremely underhanded party to flank the imposter and whatever surprise that lay in the clearing, the combat began – orcish cries of surprise were lost beneath the reckless sound of a roaring fireball.

Despite his troops’ training, they still couldn’t grasp some of the simplest concepts in the game of war. Clearings were always traps and any idiot who decided to wander through one either deserved to die or was setting up an ambush. Not that a common orc understood the term ambush, but then again, most orcs never lived past the age of thirty – usually they were killed by an enemy or by a stronger orc. But Zadrk didn’t care. His job was to keep the troops from fighting – one of the strengths of Black Orcs. With their savvy, strength, and smarts, most of their less intelligent brothers were fiercely loyal. Whether they were loyal through fear, or loyal through respect, he didn’t know. But again, he didn’t care.

He was still fuming at how mindless his comrades had been to follow the rogue ‘orc’ despite the fact that he, himself, had taken awhile to see through the disguise. Though the imposter may have looked, smelled, and sounded like an orc, it certainly didn’t act like one – especially one in Erudish’s clan. The half-orc had explicitly stated that unless a retreat was ordered, any fool who chose to run would be hunted down and flayed like a rabbit. Regular orcs were dumb, but they knew not to cross their warboss, especially one of his prestige. Even though he’d only been alive for a few short months, Zadrk had been briefed on the Erudish’s background and it had earned his respect - but not his fear.

Times like these made him glad to be a Black Orc and not a common one. He had enough sway to hold groups together without fear of mutiny and he was not one to blunder into avoidable mistakes because of boneheaded thinking that came all to easily to his cousins. The thought of returning to the mage with a two-handed sword in hand was an appealing one indeed. Zadrk had been created to tear the cities of Man to the ground and he ached to prove to his enigmatic makers that he was well worth the price. To him, nothing else existed but savage, brutal war and it had been far too long since he'd reaped its bitter fruits.

The party soon had rounded the clearing and was at the northern edge. The scything sound of an ice storm greeted his ears and he grimly knew that few if any orcs would leave the battlefield with their lives. As long as they died in battle and not in weakness there was no wrongdoing in being slain. At the moment, all Zadrk wanted to do before he was killed was clutch the deceiver by the throat and choke him until his blood tainted the ground. If he succeeded, he could die knowing that one less pathetic being of the upper races existed. The time to strike was ripe and with all the cruelty he could summon to his body, he rallied the party to charge.

“Do not fear death! Da’Nogra awaits our corpses in the afterlife! Fight the humans! Tear their skulls from their faces! Chaarrge!!! RAAAAGGH!!”

[Aegis]

The gentle breeze rocked the branch slowly, as a mother would rock her babe to sleep, the added weight of the full grown man doing little to dissuede the subtle movement. Around him, leaves rustled softly, accompanied by the calm chirping of song birds. His form sprawled across the length of the branch, one leg hanging over the edge, dangling just above the ground, the other bent at the knee. He had leaned back against the thick trunk before dozing off to the serene call of nature, his arms folded behind his head as though they were his pillow. In his mind, they were just that. In fact, in his mind, he was not even in the wilderness, rather he dreamt of a soft bed, with a plush down covering, with matching pillows. In his dream, he was in bliss. Tucked between his legs, propped up along his body, and shoulder, a long polearm rested, the instrument measured his body, and then some, with a large, flattened blade sidling up against the trunk, balancing itself, almost precociously.

The woman looked at the man sleep, his hands resting firmly on her hips, a common stance when she was forced to deal with her travelling companion. She gave a quite hmph, and stamped her foot against the ground, kicking up bits of dust, and sending a lock of her thick, curly black her across jade green eyes. After a moment, one of her olive coloured hands brushed the thick lock out of her sight, and she stepped closer to the sleeping man, a malicious, if playful, grin crawling across his lips. She may have been his travelling companion, but nothing in that title required her to be gentle towards him. In fact, she often saught after excuses to test the limits of his patience. This would be one such instance.

She playfully ran one of her hands along the man's calf, then thigh. She watched a small, satisfied smile begin to form on the sleeping man's lips. She was obviously getting the reaction she desired, as her own smile seemed to widen. As she encroached upon his waist, she gently lifted her hand, so that only her finger tip brushed along his body. She watched as his leg gave a gentle twitch. Now was the time, she thought to herself. With a single catlike movement, her small hand shot towards his belt, and gave it a violent tug. The man's eyes flew open as he came crashing towards, thankfully, nearby ground. The woman took a step back, making sure he didn't land on her feet in the process, and a satisfied look crossing her exotic lips, and her arms folding neatly across her chest.

The man lay on the ground a moment, looking towards the canopy of trees over head, wondering what had just happened. After coming to the conclusion that the tree must've suddenly become sentient, and displeased with his choice location to nap, he sat up, idly rubbing the small of his back before running a gloved hand through his shoulder length brown hair.

"'Bout damn time you woke up." the woman said, a slight snap her tone.

The voice garnered his attention, and he glanced behind him, where the woman now stood. So much for the tree conclusion, he thought to himself. He pushed himself from the ground, dusting his clothing off in the process, and looked towards the woman, the corner of his lip twisted up in a happy little grin. "And as always, it's always a pleasure to wake up to your cheery disposition." He gave a mock bow to the woman.

This was a game played constantly between the two, a game she refused to lose, and one he was more than willing to concede.

She c0cked her head slightly in response, her arms unfolding, and returning to their place on her hips. She took a step towards the man, who was now standing at his full height, more than half a foot taller than her, yet not nearly as intimidating as she could be if she so chose.

"Don't forget what we're doing out her, Aegis." she gave him a gentle nudge on the wrymling-skull paldroon he wore on his left shoulder. "Indulging in nature aside, we're supposed to see what all this talk of Orcs is about."

Aegis nodded, and bent over to retrieve the glaive that fell to the ground next to him. Giving it a quick examination, and being satisfied with the results, he lifted across his shoulders, his arms streched out, and hanging over the polearm at the elbows. "You really do take things a bit seriously, Gypsy." He flashed a small smile her way, before adding "and to think, I thought that letting you tag along with me would finally get you to relax."

The next thing Aegis knew, Gyspy had stomped forcefully down on his foot, causing the larger man to shuffle slightly onto his other foot, and lose balance, only to be caught by the smaller woman, who drew him into a friendly hug.

"It had hun, it really has." She turned towards the path she had come from. "If it hadn't, you would've hit the ground already."

Aegis rose an eyebrow at the statement. "So, that wasn't dirt I was just lying in?" Playing along with her somewhat brash, and impulsive behaviour was his subtle way of handing her a victory in their on-going game. he didn't mind, as it was a game he never really tired off. Returning the butt of his glaive to the ground, he went to stand next to Gypsy. "So, what did you find?"

"Well, from what I could gather, a large Orc force is active in the Tethyr region. Though, I've never seen these kind's before."

"And which kind would that be?" Aegis glanced towards Gypsy.

"Black one's." the response was sombre.

"Well, black, green, purple or pink, I don't think they should be too much trouble to us." Aegis looked back towards the forest ceiling. "Providing we don't walk into their encampment by accident."

"You suggesting we do a bit of sport hunting there, babe?" Gypsy flashed a playful smile towards Aegis, who returned it with a wink and a nod. "Thought you'd never suggest it." In a flash of light, Gyspy was holding a small dagger in each hand, the blade angled along her forearms. "First one to five, loser treats the other?"

Aegis grinned. "I'd have it no other way."

With that, the two companions shot into the thick of the woods, heading towards the middle of the forest, towards where the rumours of the throng of orcs were.

[The Z]

The fire had brought pure havoc to the once serene forest, obliterating nature's creations as if the Nine Hells had ascended into the world of light. There was no escaping the wrath of the legion, whether man, woman, elf, or child. Screams of the damned echoed in Erudish’s ears and the howls of battle-crazed orcs complemented them in wondrous cacophony – a symphony of agony directed by a maestro of chaos.

War was not something to be feared, the half-orc noted from his perch away from the battle as he surveyed the gruesome scene, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. War was a way of living; there was no honor in striving for an unattainable goal such as peace. There was no point in shying away from the inevitable pain that all creatures noble and evil eventually experience; there was no reason to deny the vipers of conquest their prey.

Orogs with broken bones continued to struggle violently, blood caking their maws and weapons while druids cried incantations in a desperate attempt to stave off their foes. Even those of Erudish’s clan who faced inevitable death on the forest floor with festering fatal wounds bit into the calves of their enemies – facing their fate with all the intensity and insanity of their god, Da’Nogra, accepting death as a chance to fight in the deity's greater, less material conquests. By now the smoke was so thick that many on both sides coughed to death, hacking blood that frothed from the sides of their lips, their lungs charred and black.

The battlefield was a thankless array of devastation. Druids fought like dervishes of Silvanus, summoning spiders from the ground to slice limbs from the orcs while harnessing the elements to create a whirlwind of thunder and earthquakes amidst the raging unnatural fires that surrounded them. Many of the attackers were caught helplessly in entanglement spells, but their fellow soldiers ignored them, carrying out orders in a machine-like fashion. Those that were caught in the vines were burnt beside those they sought to destroy.

Finally the dam broke and the invading army was forced to give ground, repelled by showers of lightning and corpses. Slowly, the orcs lurched backwards, baiting the defenders to counterattack. Those that obliged were immediately beaten back with a flurry of spears and eventually, the invaders had nearly backed completely out of the battlefield. Yet, the cannon fodder had served its purpose: suppressing and suffocating the defenders for as long as the sappers needed.

Erudish didn’t know if the second phase of his plan surprised the druids. What he did know was that they couldn’t have been pleased with just how much his army had actually corrupted their lands – not only by burning it to ashes, but by tunneling underneath it and removing the soil. The scene was one the half-orc relished. After all, it was not everyday he had the opportunity to watch dozens of druids blown to the sky by a well-placed barrel of explosive powder and laugh gleefully as the bodies crashed to the earth in a gory mountain of arms, heads, torsos, and innards. More troops poured from the now gaping crater into an already frenzied fray, swallowing the few druids that evaded the blast.

Sensing that their grove was taking its last gasps, reinforcements rushed from the throne room to take the places of their fallen kin. Erudish growled with fangs bared. The great axe now rested in his hands, ready to send even more humans to the grave. He turned to his smaller raiding party and motioned silently that the time to strike was now. The flank that lead to the grove's now underhanded heart lay bare before them.

[Aegis]

Gypsy motioned her hand in a series of complex gestures across the forest path, her green eyes looking determinedly inwards of the woods. She didn't make eye contact with Aegis, nor did she have too. The two companions had learned long ago how to function without the need to make eye contact. She made a couple of quick motions with her nimble hands. Aegis nodded, more to himself, then to acknowledge what she had to report.

Five orcs, Aegis thought to himself, moving slowly. A patrol, more than likely. He shifted his weight in the tree slightly, following Gypsy's line of sight. For a second, he heard nothing beyond the sounds of nature. It wasn't long, however, that the sound of armour rattling was heard, accompanied by the deep, gutteral voices. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lip. As long as he hadn't misread Gypsy's signal's, five orcs were hardly a match for the two of them, especially when they had the element of surprise. He balanced along the thick branch, one hand propping himself up against the trunk of the oak tree, the other hand wringing the polished shaft of his glaive anxiously.

Neither Aegis or Gypsy were particularly bloodthirsty, but to them, orcs, no matter their actions, were a blight on the land. Even then, they would only hunt them if they had a reason of sorts. Actions borne from both boredom, and their good, if self-guided ideals. Across the way, Aegis saw Gypsy balancing deftly on her branch, both hands gripping her Dragonfang daggers tightly, the curved blades glinting menacingly off the scattered rays of light shining through the canopy of trees. The same eager look shone in her eyes.

The sound of a twig snapping brought Aegis' attention back to the forest path where a large, blackened orc was dicing his way through the underbrush with a great cleaver. The blade was notched in several places, obviously having seen its fair share of combat. Also, where polished metal would be on a professional soldier's weapon, scattered blood stains were seeped into the steel. It held a perpetual scowl on its face, its lower jaw sticking out, two large fangs protruding from the bottom lip. Its skin was ebon black. Aegis shifted slightly at this sight. Never had he seen a black one before. Following the lead orc, came an additional five orcs, with the same ebon skin, each with their own wicked looked weapons.

Aegis flashed a glare at Gypsy across the way. She simply responded with an innocent shrug, and shot him a wink back. Aegis shook his head. It didn't matter much. One more orc wouldn't cause too much difficulty. All they had to do was wait for the six ebon skinned orcs to walk past them, then they would strike. The lead orc passed them by, followed quickly by the second, then the third. It was time!

Aegis flashed a quick glance to Gypsy, the two sprang into action. Aegis launched himself from the branch, his glaive swinging in a deadly arc in his wake. In a move as quick as his momentum, the glaive swept around his body, the vicious blade cutting a swath through the fourth ebon orc in the line. The brute never had a chance to react, the keen blade slicing through both skin and armour. The first blood had been spilt. Before any of the orcs could raise their weapons, Aegis followed through his attack. As he and the butt of his glaive touched the ground, he kicked his left foot along the dirt path, knocking the shaft of his weapon into the air, sending it into the jowls of the next orc in line. He heard a loud snapping noise as the beasts jaw shattered. Aegis gave a satisfied smile.

Gypsy was just as quick. Leaping from her vantage point in the tree, her arms cross across her chest, the edges of her Dragonfang blade poised to strike. It took only a second for her weapons to taste orc blood. As she closed in on the first orc, she whipped her weapons before her, leaving a trail of black blood as it tore through her enemy. As soon as she hit the ground, her tight leg muscles pushed her small body back into motion, her blades cutting a vicious path through the orcs, none deep enough to kill, but leaving a trail of wounds and orc blood in her wake. She stopped only when coming within proximity of Aegis. She grinned, and quickly kicked herself around, ready to face the rallying orcs.

Aegis took a slight step back, only to feel the slender figure of Gypsy behind him. Three of the orcs had rallied, and were forming a circle around the two companions, with a forth pushing itself from the ground, spitting out a mouth full of blood and teeth.

The two sprang in action. Aegis leapt forward, swing the haft of his glaive in an over-head arc, the polished wood snapping down on the recovering black orc, another loud crack sounding through the small path, followed by a thud as the orc hit the ground, its skull shattered. Using the momenteum of his attack, he brought the edge portion of his glaive about, just in time to deflect an incoming orc battle axe. Aegis felt his arm quiver slightly under the strength behind the attack, but not enough to shake his spirit. He ran his glaive edge down the notched axe blade, sending a wash of sparks in its wake. With a quick flick of his wrist, he snapped his wrist quickly, knocking the axe away from him, and sending the orc back a step, and leaving Aegis enough time to charge forward. Gripping the haft of his polearm with both hands, rushed the orc, bashing him firmly in the chest, knocking the beast back further. He continued his attack relentlessly, flipping his grip on his weapon, and sending the edge of his glaive across the orc's throat, cutting cleaning through. As the weapon decapitated the orc, Aegis let the force of his attack carry him around, spinning on his heel, so that he was facing Gypsy on the two remaining orcs.

Gypsy's movements were fluid and swift, metallic arcs flashing around her body, her body twirling and twisting amongst the two orcs in a deadly dance. Though powerful weapons, her dragonfang daggers were hard pressed to cut through the orc armour, or even wound deeply enough to halt the ebon skinned orcs. Occasionally, the orcs would work their weapons around, to what they perceived as an openning, only to be sent flying away by one of Gypsy's swirling blades. Though her attacks alone caused merely a small annoyance to the large orcs, the cuts and slices began to add up, flecks of black orc blood spraying through the air. Though, combined with the attacks of the orcs, and the gradual loss of blood, the orcs movements began to slow, their attacks becoming even more cumbresome and slow. After a minute of the stalemate, Gypsy's openning was their. With two quick flicks of her wrists, she swept her daggers along the throats of both orcs. With the same gracful motion, she spung the daggers in her hand, and neatly into the sheathes around her waist.

After a moment, she stood up straight, turned to Aegis, who was watching quietly, his glaive resting across his shoulders. She flashed him another playful wink.

"I'm up by one, hun." He returned her wink with a smile of his own, one that only grew in size as he watched Gypsy's playful responding pout. The game was on, he thought to himself.

[dragon wench]

Orcs seemed to swarm towards the tree. From her high vantage point, they resembled overgrown black ants marching towards a half rotted animal carcass. Tashara repressed a shudder of revulsion. She had often tried to understand, or empathise, with an enemy. But the orcs... everything about them had always seemed so utterly wanton and brutish... as evidenced by the many half-orcs that existed, so clearly the result of savage rape. Tashara's eyes narrowed, the bile of anger rising up... She watched the hulking black figures, her lips curled in cold loathing.

A sudden flash came from the direction of a single orc... Tashara looked more closely; it was Pharis. Despite her earlier sense of irritation, she was relieved to see him. For one, at least now she knew where to aim her magic. More movement below her tree revealed the wolves; she would need to take care with her casting.

The soft murmurings of an incantation began from her lips, and her hands flowed in a graceful dance. She always found the beauty of casting a paradoxical prelude to the sheer destructive horror her magic so often wrought. Within moments, some twenty feet to her left, where a cluster of orcs was grouped, a crimson gold orb coalesced and shimmered, expanding outward, reaching to meet iridescent cobalts and mauves and the remaining embers of a setting sun. Finally, pregnant with gathered force and energy it detonated over the orcs. In an instant, searing flesh and gutteral screams pierced the muted lavenders of advancing dusk.

Deciding to add to the confusion below, Tashara wove a second spell, this time.. Chaos.. Numerous previously ordered orcs began to mill about with no apparent purpose. Growls and snaps below informed her that the wolves were, in their particular way, helping the orcs to find new purpose.

Yet still, fresh contingents of orcs seemed to advance. "Where are they all coming from?" She muttered, both worried and perplexed. Tashara realised she needed to cast a spell that would do significant mass damage without hurting either Pharis or the wolves. Again, her hands wove the air about her, it seemed as though her very fingers were pulling barely glimmering tendrils of energy from the surrounding gloam.

And then, in a wide, powerful arc, Tashara moved her hands outwards and upwards. Below, a greenish fog crept over a large body of orcs, sapping away every drop of moisture they possessed. For a brief instant each orc, before falling to a heap on the ground, appeared to give up its life essence, an illuminated white glow that hovered momentarily above every corpse.

A guttural shout penetrated across the clearing. "Tha mage is in the tree over there, we must try to bring her down with arrows!"

Tashara swore to herself as the first wave of arrows rained down upon her. She was also puzzled, the gutteral voice was clearly orcish in origin, but the speech suggested an intelligence well beyond that of the orcs she was used to. The enchanted mail she wore offered protection from the worst of their damage, but attempting to concentrate on casting was nearly futile.

[dragon wench]

Ariennia, barely fourteen summers old, followed her quarry into a copse of trees. Bow at the ready, she was eager, eager to bring home fresh vennison, eager to prove her worth as a hunter. So eager, that she did not notice the trampled brush, the rancid stench of sweat, the heavy breath of a nearby orcish raiding party....

Before she was even aware of danger they were upon her. Course, guttural frenzied cries rent the air, crushing and drowning out the terrified screams of the young girl. The orcs panted and grunted about her, each taking their turn, one after the other, and then again and again..

Perhaps her goddess was present, for mercifully, she passed out. And the orcs continued for hours to take their cruel, mindless pleasure upon the limp, blood-soaked body sprawled, legs akimbo, upon the ground....

When she awoke.. it was dark. Every movement hurt deep inside... she moaned and sobbed... desperately wanting to die..

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the searchers discovered her.

At the sight of her friend on the ground, Tashara screamed, alerting those in the group of what she had found. Failing to check for any lingering enemies, Tashara ran towards Ariennia, pulling her into trembling arms. Though barely a woman, one glance... the way blood had pooled downward from her friend's legs... the torn apart clothing.. told Tashara exactly what had taken place.

Lips dry, hardly able to speak, Ariennia uttered the one word.. "Orcs."

Ariennia had lain in her bed for months, only rousing herself to attend to the most basic of needs. Her previously glossy hair grew dull and course. Eyes that had once thrilled at the passing of a butterfly or the rustle of rabbits within a thicket of undergrowth, became listless... unseeing.

It was, by cruel irony, only the stirring of life in her womb that rekindled an interest in the world surrounding her. But she had not seen the harsh, pained look in her father's expression every time he saw her swelling belly.


.... Once more Ariennia's screams shattered the world about her in agony at giving birth to a head too large for her tiny body. Her labour continued... for days it seemed. She faded in and out of awareness, trying urgently to push... to expel the half-orcish child from her depths. Finally, one dawn, drawing from a last reserve of strength, Ariennia bore down.. and her son emerged, wailing in anger and protest. Ariennia's brief burst of energy left her... as did her blood from the wounds of childbirth. Every healer in the village attempted to staunch its flow... but to no avail.

.......Tashara heard the infant scream again, yet the sound was quickly snuffed out. Extinguished by Ariennia's father, in his rage, incomprehension, blindness and wrenching grief.....

[dragon wench]

Tashara swore again as yet another spell failed. She would have to descend the tree and use her sword; there was no other choice. From what she could tell, approximately ten orcs were in the immediate vicinity of the tree. The wolves were worrying and snapping at them, but the orcs fought back with grim determination. For the moment, Tashara could not see Pharis. Fervently, she hoped he was nearby. Although Tashara was an able fighter, and could handle her finely crafted longsword with ease, even with the aid of the pack, she was significantly outnumbered.

Sending a prayer to whatever deity might be listening, Tashara carefully eased her way down the tree. One hand grasped at branches, the other rested upon the hilt of her sword, ready to withdraw it from its sheath the moment her feet touched the ground.

Three orcs were waiting at the base of the tree and they engaged her in battle immediately. Upon seeing her, two more jogged to join their party.
Noticing that she was down from the tree, the pack leader, Kael, loped to her side, fangs bared, a low growl rumbling from his throat. Tashara glanced at him, gratitude clearly visible in her expression.

An orc lunged, aiming directly for her belly. Deft, Tashara dodged and deflected the heavy mace with a quick parry of her sword. The orc, momentarily unbalanced, had left himself unguarded. Tashara seized her advantage. Her sword, glowing with a faint inner light, appeared to dance of its own accord. Tashara, her grip firm, yet lightly in control, thrust the blade directly towards the kidney. For Ariennia...
She met steel and cloth... and then simply muscle and soft flesh. The orc gave out an anguished grunt before collapsing on the ground at her feet.
Kael had been worrying and snapping at another orc; Tashara spun on her heels and thrust the shimmering blade through its armor. The orc began to fall, Kael leapt upon the orc, pushing it to the earth. Once the orc was down, the huge wolf opened his jaws a little wider and sank his fangs into the struggling humanoid's throat. Blood spurted from the ruptured artery in a wide arc, spraying Tashara and several of the wolves.

Yet more orcs materialised. Tashara turned to face one, taking note of the twisted malice in its eyes that suggested an intelligence beyond what was more common to its species. It sneered at her, and without removing his hand from the blood-stained battle axe he carried, made several suggestive gestures.
Rage erupted from every conscious thought that Tashara held. Screaming a half-frenzied snarl she lunged at him, burying her sword deeply into his side. Yet, to her shock, he did not fall, instead bringing his axe down upon her shoulder. Tashara winced, hearing the splinter of mail, and then..experienced excruciating pain... she drew in her breath sharply, wrestling for control, determined not to show her enemy she had been affected by the blow.

Kael whined.... clearly anxious. Then, fangs once more bared, he rose up and pushed the orc down. As the wolf's jaws closed about the orc's throat, Tashara brought the sword up and drove it downwards, burying it deep into the orc's pelvis. Blind anger still coursed through her; without thinking, she brought down the sword once more, even though the orc was dead, and, frenzied, slashed repeatedly at the orc's cod piece...only stopping when she saw blood seeping from the interlacing steel.

A movement behind her alerted Tashara to the presence of another orc. Again she turned, but lacked readiness. The keen edge of a heavy two-handed sword drove into her rib cage. She gasped, and just had time to down a healing potion before she was struck again.
Wildly, Tashara looked about; the wolves were grouping and attacking the orcs systematically. She saw that several of them were injured also.
Perhaps somewhere, her skyward sent request for aid was answered. The orc, unaware of a tree root behind his foot, tripped backwards. Not wasting time, Tashara thrust her sword into metal and gut...nearly collapsing from pain as she did.

The orcs immediately around her were dead, the wolves were battling those that remained, several of the pack seemed badly