Location: Road North of Salarn, Camp

Interacting With: 7 - Orc: Fighter, 7:45 (corpse of), Sona, Cremwise

An arrow, originating from points unknown, appeared quivering in the skull of the Orc assisting the horizontally mounted Five Thirty. This led Keystone's train of thought toward more questions. Sadly, these questions could not be asked nor answered in the meantime. He was paid to protect a wagon and its owner, and that's precisely what he intended to do. Two targets left alive and/or conscious, only one standing. This last one standing was wearing one of his favorite knives in his kidney.

The actions of the Bard, Sona, did not go unnoticed. She was spry, that one. Then again, it seemed that most of her people were. The delicate musician was eager enough to hurl herself into a particularly vorpal piggy-back ride with Seven Forty-Five, though it came at a cost. The one standing Orc, Seven, was right next to her, clawing at Keystone's kunai in his lower back. It was a short matter of time before he got the blade free and turned his aggressive intentions on either Cremwise or the unconscious Bard. It was quite literally his job to make sure that did not happen.

Keystone's left hand was still ringing and numbish from his bracers deflecting that swordfall from Five Thirty. He needed every advantage in with his range attack if he was to close the distance before it was too late. The bulging Pugilist reached back with his steadier right, unsheathing his large, bone handled seax knife. It was a truly masterful piece of steel, catching the cold morning light as he flipped it in his hand to grasp it by the blade. He exhaled sharply and stepped his right foot forward, twisting slightly to involve as many muscle groups into the throw as he could.

While his form was not perfect, it was an adequate and powerful hurl of a lightly magicked blade, constructed for, among other things, just this purpose. It seemed to sing as it parted the air in front of it, traveling in a swift and direct path terminating in the ribcage of the Axe wielding Orc known to him as Seven. Blood gurgled through Seven's mouth, his hands reflexively grasping at the knife as his own weapon slipped from his hand. The Orc was slowing, winding down like some giant, greygreen fleshy clockwork. He collapsed, and embraced the eventual outcome of mortality. Goodnight, Seven.

Keystone ran after his blade full tilt, hopping over another fallen Orc along the way. The large man paused before retrieving his knives to roll Sona's kill, the Archer (Seven Forty-Five), off of her. Satisfied that she was still breathing, Keystone removed his knives from their present resting place and put them away. "Cremwise," he started, "You stay hid 'till we can sort this out, right? Not over just yet. Yeah, Sona ain't dead, by the by."

Cyneburg

Location: The campsite, 8 o' clock
Interacting with: Orc pinned under a horse. I think he was 5 o' Clock but it might be 5:30

Cyneburg pulled her walking stick/axe from the neck of the mage and looked up to find all the other orcs had more or less been dealt with except for one sap unarmed stuck under his deceased horse. Wiping the blood off of her axe head on the ground, the druid walked over to the downed man and planted the tip of her staff into the ground, putting her weight down on the axe head/handle. Truth be told, she wasn't feeling very great, being covered in burns of varying severity and the pain of being stabbed and blasted with lightning still fresh despite having it processed through 3 different shapechanges in rapid succession. She wasn't mad, however. Fed up and irritable? Yeah, but there was no real malice against these orcs who probably thought themselves as protecting their homeland as misguided a thought like that is. The lancer looked up at her face and scowled.

"Balaaklat," he spit out in the orcish tongue. "Bashuga Ogh-hai. Brogbogh amub Uruk-hailatub?" It was more of an accusation than a question, but Cyneburg didn't really react much in any visible fashion.

"Dorozg. Zughishklatubûk matûrzu. Ulu-ogh azat hursarz uruk-lat." She replied, her accent noticeably much different from the cavalryman she was addressing. The orc looked around at the carnage and after a few moments nodded raising his hands up in defeat. Cyneburg turned around to the rest of the camp.

"This one surrendered. I believe that resolves the bloodshed, right?" Cyneburg scratched her cheek after this announcement and then realized she had stopped covering her face with her hand. The veil had been burned up in the fireball, which wasn't much of an issue. She carried many spares, but in a fight like this, she didn't have the time to do this replacing. So now everyone could plainly see he tusks and squashed nose, proof that she was indeed a Half-Orc. This could end badly.
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OOC Translation for that conversation.

It roughly comes out to him saying "Half-breed! You side with the human. Do you prefer them over Orcs your own kind?"

To which Cyneburg says "Surrender. All your friends are dead. Maybe they (the humans) won't kill you."

Satilla Valen

After those intense few minutes of combat, now over the body of the mage, Satilla was leaning tiredly on her staff. She was glad Cyneburg delivered the finishing blow on the orc mage with her axe stick… thing. It didn’t matter what the weapon was, the results were the important part and it was that the enemy was dead. It wasn’t that the witch had no seen death before, quite the opposite, but she never got completely used to battles. They were a place that was both scary and unsuitable for her. She felt most at home at the campsites, healing the injured. That was what she was best for… that said she threw a look around and panicked when she was the elf bard from earlier, Sona. She was under the body of an Orc… was under the body of an orc, at least until Keystone rolled him off her. Still she seemed unconscious!

Taking a heavy breath, Satilla started to run over towards Sona, giving the man a nod, before she kneeled next to the injured elf. That was a again a nasty injury, but not as bad as Cyneburg’s earlier. Taking another deep breath, she placed a hand on Sona’s leg next to the wound. Right away she used Cure Moderate Wounds on Sona, to start fixing the big injury on her leg. She seemed to miss a lot of blood, judging from the blood around… hopefully that was mostly her enemy’s blood.

Location: Road North of Salarn, Camp

Interacting With: Cyneburg, Satilla, Downed attackers (dead and unconscious)

While roughly cleaning and putting away his knives, Keystone listened to Cyneburg's chatter with the Orc, Five Thirty. He didn't speak Orc, never really cared to learn. But considering their greater situation (out in hostile territory in the middle of an Orc/Human war) he wished he had taken some time to learn at least a few phrases. At word that the last living/conscious adversary had agreed to surrender, Keystone decided to put his two coppers in.

"Oi, ask that pisser wha..." Keystone paused for a second, his glance in Cyneburg's direction now a fully formed double-take. He stared at her more obvious features, telltale signs of her mixed blood. Keystone gave her a shrug, continuing, "Ask that pisser what assurance we got, him and his ain't followin' us to finish the job, eh?"

Keystone had not used lethal force, except on the one with the axe going after Cremwise. Granted, that Goblin might wish he was dead after he woke, not to mention speak in a glaring falsetto until the 'nad swelling went down, but he would live. If you call that living. After a few minutes, they would regain themselves and have a decision to make. The large man was not fond of executions. He had killed, granted, but he was no killer. Perhaps it was stupid, naive, what have you, but Keystone really hoped there was a third, feasible option.

Well, regardless of their status (living or dead), the decision-torn Pugilist didn't want them armed or provisioned. Further, he had no desire for others to come across the scene and re-equip, before running full tilt up the road and stomping roughshod upon them as they slept. With this in mind, Keystone began looting the bodies.

He started with the two he took out first; Alchemist and Monk types (Six and Six Fifteen). He had his eyes on the spikey gloves, his large hands the equal of most Orc's. Either as a weapon or souvenir, he didn't have anything Orc-craft in his Monkly equipment. While Keystone poured over their equipment, he heard a strange sound coming from Six. It sounded like the groan of a man waking with a colossal hangover, except it was pitched more like a Halfling child with its fingers caught in an oven door.

With a stunning act of mercy, Keystone rolled the poor bastard to its side and delivered a quick jab to the base of its skull. It went ragdoll and lasped into silence yet again.

"Right then, he'll be out a while. I recommend we see what these buggers've got, tie up the ones that're still suckin' air, and be on our merry."

As if an afterthought, "And um... White Lady?" he began, clearly forgetting Satilla's name, "If'n you have any more of that healin' left after the ones what're really bad off get theirs, I got some ouchies might need some attention, if ya would."

It was true; ragged slashes opened the side of his head and part of his face, making him even prettier, there were holes in the side of his thick, hide coat, slowly oozing blood, and it looked like he was favoring his right hand, occasionally shaking his left as if it were numb and tingly. He wasn't in the best shape, not by far, but nothing was immediately life-threatening. Triage might put him on second tier. Regular drops of his blood fell upon the ground and more horizontal forms of his former adversaries, as he rummaged through their belongings for anything of note.

With the final orc dealt with, Malkus felt his body ease off. He put his weapons away and was content to just watch when his stomach made a rather loud growl. He hasn't eaten real food in a while, and now that the rush was over his body was feeling sore all over. He hasn't slept well recently, he was hungry, and now he could feel that stab wound in his arm festering. He was in bad shape. Logic told him he needed to find help, and honestly, help was right in front of him. Everything he could have ever wanted was right here, all he needed to do was step out and ask. But fear got the better of him. Right now he was weak. And he just saw what these people would do to an orc, orcs who might be stronger than Malkus is. How can he expect mercy from them in a situation like this? He couldn't, and now he had to do what he did best: Run away and take care of himself.

Malkus left the camp and arrived closer to the main road. He didn't see anyone, but in his current state he wasn't at his sharpest. While mostly uninjured he unwrapped the bandages on his arm and noticed that it was infected. He cursed himself; stabbing his arm was a stupid thing to do just to break out of a spell. Infection wasn't going to be a quick death either. He'd suffer from hunger pangs, hallucinations, restlessness, and other nasty psychological stuff before his body simply starts falling apart, metaphorically and possibly literally. While not his first time suffering from this sort of thing, Malkus didn't exactly build an immunity towards getting infected wounds. Normally what he'd do is a rudimentary patch up, like pouring alcohol over his wounds to clean it of infections or, if he had the money and was desperate, went to go see a healer. But there wasn't a healer around here who'd help him and Malkus was broke anyways.

Eventually Malkus just found a spot next to the road to sit against. He tore off a strip from Sona's poncho to make into a new, slightly cleaner bandage. He didn't know what else he could do. He couldn't just go to the group. He doubts anyone was going to save him. He was hungry, starving, and in all likelihood dying. But he's been doing this same old song and dance for so long that at this point he just didn't care. Right now it didn't really matter what happened to him anymore. Maybe some wolves find him and tear him apart. Maybe orcs get to him first and kill him for shits and giggles. Maybe he gets sniped by some human scouts for being an orc. In the end, there was nothing else for Malkus to do but sit here and play his flute.

Though he could feel his arm to his fingers getting weaker, Malkus could still play his flute. He started off by whistling a few random notes. Nothing of particular interest. Once he got his lips wet and had an idea of what he was going to play he just started to play his flute. Softly at first, as he didn't have much breath left in him. As he played his mindless melody, a memory came to him. It wasn't a very important one. It was about a play he once saw. It was in Neverwinter, just wandering the streets at night. In the distance he could see some performers doing a play. He stayed to watch, not remembering the story, but remembering the music. There was so much music in that play and little spoken words. He could hear the music in his head, and then he started to play along with his flute. The song felt sad, likes... Likes a mother waiting at home for her children. But they never came back.

It made Malkus wonder; would anyone miss him if he never came back? He thought of Sona, but she barely knew him. If he was gone one day, Malkus was certain that she would forget him in a heartbeat. Then Malkus thought of Noxus, his guild leader. Would he even care? He had so much more things to worry about than the fate of a single thief. He thought of Velanna. Sweet Velanna. Of course she'd make Malkus care for her, that seductress. But he started to wonder if she even knew he was gone. It's not as if Malkus was special to her. To the elf, Malkus was just another customer. Get paid for what she needs to do and move onto the next. If he comes back then great, but if he doesn't then there are plenty of others. No, Malkus had no one to go back to. No one who's expecting him. Maybe that's why he didn't care if he died anymore. It's not like he has any responsibilities to take care of. His own life, he felt, wasn't worth the effort to keep it up. By all rights he should have died in the streets of Neverwinter as a child. It's only because he was willing to steal from the success of others that he made it this far. He hasn't done anything to earn his keep. And now it was time for life to collect.

Malkus kept playing his song over and over, until eventually his fingers just stopped and the flute slowly fell from his mouth. He stared blankly at the dirt in front of him. He felt the breeze pass through his body, and slowly his eyes closed until there was nothing but darkness. All he could hear now was the forest and the wind, and even that too began to die away unto an audible silence. Malkus drifted to sleep, and only time would tell if he'd ever wake back up again.

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Season: Late Fall/Early Winter
Time Of Day: Mid Morning on the 2nd day
Weather: Storm is setting in
General Ambiance: Quiet outside of the storm
Location: North of Salarn in the region of Gorlf. South west of the Orc Settlement of Yzewz
Setting: Gorlf Northern Territory

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What is listed next to each fallen is the "loot"

5 - Orc: Priest - War Hammer
5:30 - Orc: Lancer - Long sword, basic - horse is dead.
6 - Goblin: Alchemist - All Flasks broken, nothing retrievable
6:15 - Orc: Monk - Basic Spiked Gloves
7 - Orc: Fighter - Great Axe, two handed wield
7:45 - Orc: Archer - Quiver of broken arrows, one bow, string broke
8 - Orc: Mage - 20 silver coins
8:05 - Orc: Fighter - 10 copper coins
9 - Goblin: Thief - Two daggers, basic steel
10 - Goblin: Fighter - Whip
11 - Orc: Beastmaster - Mounted on Horse - Two jackals at his side - Two Battle axes, jackal meat if you chose to, fur is ruined.

@Lucius Cypher Dude, you still didn't put it in your header which you were attacking. ><! I will let it slide this one time but from now on if you do not denote who you are attacking in your header like the rest of the groups and then denote them in your post as well it will be a null and voided post again. You have to follow the rules laid out both in OOC and IC. Check the others posts how they are doing it. If yours is not following suit, chances are you missed something. You have already had one nullified post, don't want to make this a habit. It is a waste of your time to write it and ours to read it if it is nullified.

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Krya sheathed her sword as the fight came to an end, giving a quick whistle and Ash ran to the mud where she had dropped her bow, retrieving it for her and darting to her side. Taking the bow she cleaned it off using the bottom hem of her tunic and shook her head. The place was a mess, the storm was setting in and there were still a couple alive. They needed to move and move quickly. Hearing Cyneburg she glanced over at the one that had given up. Trudging through the mud she stepped over to the Orc and tilted her head to the side. She could see the hate in his eyes as she looked at him.

"Why did you attack?" she asked flatly as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"We are at war, we will kill all who trespass into our territory," he said, spatting at her. Kyra could not help but roll her eyes at him.

"You started this war, why?"

"We did not! Your kind sent the undead to attack us!" he bellowed as he tried to grab at her ankles. Krya was having none of that, and it wasn't a split moment later before an arrow flew from a quickly knocked bow and drove into his eye socket. She wasn't putting up with any shit at that point.

"Grab what you can and get moving, we need to get out of here, fast," she said to the group at hand. "Those of you that showed up over night, you are welcome to stay but know if you do things are only going to get worse," she added as she lung her bow over her shoulder and glanced towards Cyneburg. The look didn't bother her nor did the fact she was a half orc. "You might want to climb into the back of the wagon and get some rest."

Turning she began to go through some of the fallen ones clothing; nothing of interest for her and she let it be, only stopping long enough to put the horse out of its misery and finish off the job with 6. Once she had she moved over towards Sona and picked her up slowly. Grunting a little before she had a good grasp on the woman and hefting her over to the cart, dropping her unceremoniously in the back and Ash padding over, nudging Kyra a bit. He had the woman's harp. "Stay close to her," Kyra instructed; Ash leaping up and curling around the woman as he let the harp drop from his jowels in the back of the wagon.

"We ready to move now?"

Location: Road North of Salarn, Camp

Interacting With: Kyra, Cremwise, Sona, Corpses

The first thing Keystone went for was the pair of Orcy Spiked Gloves. It would be an interesting addition to his more pugilistic equipment and attire; besides that, he didn't own anything Orc-Craft. The intimidation factor alone would be worth it. Even if he were more effective bareknuckle. Unfortunately, the pragmatic Beater of Wholesale Arse ran into a difficulty that, quite frankly, he really hadn't before: The gloves were too large. He quietly marveled over it in a manner that was decidedly his own.

"Well, ain't that a spoonfulla damnit..."

No matter. They would just be put in the pile, sold off as soon as they could. He continued looting the corpses, taking whatever he thought may make a silver or two. Weapons, mostly. He motioned for others to help, but did not pause his quick and dirty roll of the dead Orcs.

It wasn't until Kyra began questioning the Orc pinned under his horse that Keystone began to pay serious attention. The bastard spoke the language of Men perfectly! Well, if not perfectly, then well enough to hold an in-depth conversation about the Whys and Wherefores of the situation. The answer to the Ranger's second question definitely got his rapt attention:

"We did not! Your kind sent the undead to attack us!"

And there it was. Keystone felt the hair on the back of his next stand up, and a chill pass over his extremities. Of course it was the Undead, and if some bastard sent them, then it was likely the lower end, mindless sort. Meaning there were a LOT more tricks to come. Meaning that every death would provide reinforcements to whoever did this, if they so desired.

Keystone had fought against the Undead before. Several times. It was practically a career for him, to the point that he actually traveled out this way to take a vacation from it all. His thoughts drifted back, over months and years of time. Things he had done to stay alive. Friends he had lost. And the sudden mental break needed to wade into an army of corpses, plying his trade against an untiring assault of once living flesh. Or even more dangerously, the tête-à-tête with the Undead that retained their spark of intelligence and power. He still wasn't sure how he emerged victorious - parts of his memory were blurry as it came to that, but the fact remained that he had clocked more hours fighting back hordes of dead things than most people had in military service, period. If there was a situation starting up here, it needed to be dealt with swiftly or they needed to get far, far away.

Deep down inside, Keystone knew he wasn't going to choose the latter. But he really wanted to.

His memory tarried a little too long with these thoughts. He had questions for the Orc that spoke the Common tongue, questions that would not be answered this hour. He voiced his counsel way too late, as Kyra's arrow was fully pulled back and her fingers were loose on the string as he began, "Wai..." He sighed, figuring that his protest would be as respected and regarded as his advice concerning travel times from last night, anyway. Even if he were quick enough just then for it to matter.

It wasn't just the need for answers, either. Killing an incapacitated opponent did not suit his sense of morality, such as it was. Maybe he was being naive about the whole thing. He was an enemy that attacked him directly, he and his buddies approaching en masse, hoping to kill them all and possibly defile the corpses. Or defile them and make them corpses. Either way, there were elements of both corpses and defiling involved in the hypothetical plan. It was likely the smarter choice to end them.

Still, if this really was shaping up to be an Undead Horde thing, they would need all the help they could get. Humans and Orcs, both.

"Cremmy, we're as good as we're gonna be, just now. Let's get the fonging 'ell out of 'ere."

Keystone's day got a bit darker. Right at the break of dawn, too. If the freshly dead Orc was to be believed, it was as if the Powers That Be had put him exactly in a position he was trying to avoid, but couldn't walk away from. Yeah, it was time to go. It was also time to keep friends, or at least working acquaintances, close.

AND TO HELL WITH THAT FLUTE MUSIC. It seemed to occur just prior to someone running off or an imminent attack.

"Sona. Explain." Maybe she was awake yet. Eh.

Satilla Valen

As her healing of the elf girl ended, Satilla let out a relieved sigh. She was very happy how the healing turned out. Sona already seemed a lot better just after the healing even though she was not yet awake. When Kyra came and scooped the elf, carrying her over to the wagon, Satilla reached an arm over trying to get the Archer's attention.” Careful with her...” She said softly.” I healed her, but she will feel not too great for a while...”

Now that the elf was out the trap, Satilla actually turned her attention to Keystone too. As the man seemed in a very... very bad condition actually. The witch was very surprised he was able to move around and talk like that. Most people would be rolling on the ground, screaming in pain if they had his injuries.

When Sona actually woke up from his talking, Satilla ran over and placed a hand on the elf's shoulder.” You rest, I healed you, but healing only heals wounds. You've lost a lot of blood. It will take a while for it to be restored even after the healing.” She reassured the elf, before turning to Keystone.

“Just a moment, lady Kyra.” The witch said to the archer and turned to Keystone.” I need to heal you too. Your state is even worse than Sona's.” She stated and touched his shoulder. Skittles the cat showing his head from her bag as she activated her last spell for the day. A witch's spells were dependent on 2 things mostly. First was direct physical contact with the target and the second was the presence of the familiar. Also the witch's own energy. Each spell was tiring... and she basically had ran all her spells in such a short notice that she was already feeling tired.

The moment she touched Keystone, she activated her 'Life pact' spell on herself. Being a spell that transferred health from a person to an injured ally, it was clearly a very uncomfortable spell to use. Keystone injuries were grave and the moment Sat's health began transferring to the injured man, the witch's legs turned weak, but she kept it long enough for the spell to finish. She probably didn't have enough health to heal him completely, but most likely enough to at least stabilize the wounds and stop any bleeding. The rest could be covered by her healing patches with herbs.

As the spell ended, she nearly crumbled on the ground, her body feeling week and hurting from all the health she transferred.

Cyneburg

Location: The campsite
Interacting with: Keystone, Kyra

There was a lot of information to process quickly here, some good, a lot less so. First it was that nobody seemed to mind her mixed heritage, which was a relief, if one that she had half-expected given Lob's previous presence. Still, not everyone everywhere was so accepting, so she would have to pick up a new veil or fashion a new one out of some improvised material. She'd been wearing that opaque piece of cloth for so long that it felt off to not have it anymore. That was about the extent of good news.

Although Cyneburg liked people and enjoyed seeing them succeed, she had to keep herself detached from them and recognize that people having to die in war was something that had to necessarily happen to keep the balance in check. It was a tough fact to have to accept, but Kyra killing the orc who had just surrendered and any remaining survivors didn't sit well with her, especially as to what set her off on this in the first place. Maybe the humans actually had started this whole affair and Kyra was in on it. Perhaps her first instincts about these people were wrong. She'd have to be careful around them.

What sat worse was the news of undead. War and death were part of the cycle, but Undeath sure wasn't. This was almost certainly a sign of bigger, more dangerous things at work. In any case, she would have to step in and deal with these undead. If it turned out to be something she couldn't handle alone she'd have to contact the Organization about it.

Around now Cyneburg realized she had been standing in one spot for a couple minutes staring at nothing. It seemed like everyone was stating if they were ready to leave.

"Oh, um. I'm good to go." Cyneburg still carried everything on her, so it's not like she had to do a lot of preparation in the first place. And there was that same flute again. At least it wasn't trying to falsely imitated birds anymore. Maybe it was a signal played by a scout relaying a message to other orcs in the distance. Fuck.

Location:The Forest, The Campsite
Interacting with: The Group

"Whatever made these tracks made them recently." he whispered softly, fair hand running lightly over the booted print in the soft earth. Human perhaps, though large if so. Orc probably, or a Half Ogre. Any of the three could be trouble, he knew. His deep, midnight blue eyes lingered on the tracks for a moment longer before turning to Brogach, his truest friend. The beasts ears twitched this way and that as the Elf spoke. "We should go." he said, and retrieved his recurve bow, keeping his shield upon Brogach as they began to move once more.

His bow strung and ready, the ranger moved lightly on his feet, scouting ahead of Brogach by a more than half a dozen strides. The Elk moved lightly as well, natural grace now mixed with practiced traveling, having been Calanon's mount for many years now. He made a small leap over a gnarled root, leaving the barest whisper of a sound as he passed. Through small openings in bushes and past great trees of Birch and Oak, the two companions soon found even more tracks. A group of similarly large creatures. There could be little doubt about it now. Orcs.

Calanon reached for an arrow and let it rest upon his bow, signaling for Brogach to continue to move with him in the same formation. If it came to a battle, he would fire arrow after arrow and then retrieve his shield. His Elven sword was already strapped to his hip, keen edged and clean. His Elven dagger was similarly sheathed and placed alongside the small of his back, ready for quick use. He knew he'd need every advantage against such a large group, even with surprise on their side. Calanon might not be a Way Watcher any longer, but he couldn't help but feel that he should at least investigate what a party of Orcs were up to. Perhaps they had prisoners or were preparing for a raid?

He traversed down a small gulley, and when he poked his head up once more, his pointed ears twitched much like Brogach's had earlier. "Voices," he said quietly, unable to hide his surprise. They weren't brutish or guttural either. He put his arrow back in the quiver, and lifted himself out of the gulley with his right hand, recurve still held in his left. The young Elf was far too curious now, and he made it just to the tree line with Brogach behind him, looking at Calanon questioningly. The Elf turned to Brogach, and gave him a smile. "It's a group of people." he explained softly, and then gazed back at the ragtag team. Many of them looked like hard fighters, but it seemed like a varied group. Orc corpses were strewn around them, he saw. He placed his bow across his chest, letting the string keep it steady. "Stay here. If they're friendly, I'll signal you." he whispered.

The young Elf stepped out of the forest and stepped right into the campsite, his face fair and friendly. "Hi." he announced simply. He saw some of them were wounded, and he held his hands up nonthreateningly to put them at ease. "I mean you no harm, I'm simply traveling through." he said, halting after a few strides. "I saw the Orc tracks and followed them."

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Season: Late Fall/Early Winter
Time Of Day: Mid Morning on the 2nd day
Weather: Storm has hit - Mid winds, heavy rain
General Ambiance: Quiet outside of the storm
Location: North of Salarn in the region of Gorlf. South west of the Orc Settlement of Yzewz
Setting: Gorlf Northern Territory

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The fight is over and what can be taken from the fallen was posted in the last update - time to move out. Ash will be staying behind with the main group and keeping close to Sona after Kyra's instructions.

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Kyra looked at several in the group, they were a bit born out and such after everything. She couldn't exactly blame them. A fight right as one woke up and without a meal was bound to take its toll on some who were not as used to it. Satilla and Sona seemed to be the two with the most weakness after the fight. Kneeling down she wrapped Satilla's arm over her shoulder and helped the woman back to her feet before aiding her in scrambling into the back of the wagon. "You two get some rest. Ash will stay with your two. He can be pretty warm and cozy," she said softly as she grabbed a leather piece and began to tack it in place over the top of the wagon. It wouldn't keep all the rain out but it would at least give them some form of shelter from the rain.

Kyra hated storms, always had. It was just one of those things that made her skin crawl. Luckily this one was more wetness than anger. She hoped that it would remain that way. She would be heading out shortly to scout ahead for the group once again and without her side kick Dire wolf Ash by her side. It was going to be a very long and lonely day. Turning she headed over to Keystone to see how Cremwise and he were fairing after everything. Cremwise seemed a little shook up but nothing horrible.

"You all did wonderful, thank you," Crem stated as he pulled his cloak closer to himself to try keep his clothing dry as the rain fell.

"We did our job and I expect the new comers who helped to be paid as well on our arrival," she stated flatly as she drew her sword from its sheath.

"Hey, no need to be threatening!" he said looking at the blade. Kyra looked at him confused and then shook her head as she began to understand why he seemed so on edge suddenly.

"Arrows don't fly well in the rain," she explained and he nodded, relaxing a bit. "Freaking noncombatants," she muttered under her breath as she pushed her drenched bangs out of her face and looked over towards Keystone. "I'm going to scout ahead. Will see what I can do about finding us somewhere dry to make camp, hopefully earlier today than yesterday. Ash is with Sona and the other woman, he will keep them safe while they rest in the back of the wagon. Stay on the road as much as you all can." With that she turned to go and then stopped, glancing over her shoulder. "Keystone, good job today," she added before she began to make her way once more. Then another new face appeared and Kyra's brows lowered.

"Seems you are a little late to the party. Speak to Keystone, he is the main one currently," was all Kyra said before brushing passed the man as she pulled the hood of her mantle up and darted off into the woods. She should have been gone more than an hour ago to scout but thanks to the ambush she was well behind schedule and needed to get on her way. Quickly making her way through the forest until she was out of sight of the rest of the group she found the line of trees near the edge of the road. Leaping up she gripped onto a branch and swung up into a tree and began to take to the high road as it were further north. She needed to find them somewhere to dry out this evening and rather quickly. The rain was coming down hard and she knew many would be chilled to the bone before long. Travel would be slow today and Kyra hoped rather uneventful.

Location: Road North of Salarn, Camp

Interacting With: Kyra, Cremwise, Calanon

With the spoils of the fallen Orcs secured on the wagon, as well as the presently incapacitated, Keystone felt more than ready to beat a hasty and well executed egress of the location. He wasn't a huge fan of hanging about with dead people; point of fact he had a horrible feeling they'd all be doing a lot of that soon enough. Not the shy, quiet types of dead people that tended to just lie on the ground and turn into fertilizer, no, more in the vein of dead people that enjoyed being dead so much that they forcibly invited others to be dead, too. The impatient Pugilist wasn't having a bit of that, not today.

He nodded as Kyra laid out her plan for the day, and adjusted his mind for the tasks of walking and being alert. Two things he ordinarily did as per a regular day, but today was a touch different. In addition to Cremwise and his cart full of goodies, Keystone had the injured and the unconscious to watch over. The Ranger's words of approval at his performance in the battle came as a surprise. He answered with a quiet grunt and a nod of acknowledgement.

The weather looked to be a mixed blessing, today. Rainfall would make it more difficult to hear them as they traveled, were one inclined to try. Further, while it made the ground soft enough to bear tracks easily, it would also wash them away rather readily. Besides, who actually wanted to be out in this? Hopefully, it would discourage pursuit. Not that Keystone would be counting on that.

The rain fell in thudding drops, quickly turning the ground and leaves around them into a blanket of white noise, cold and heavy. Perhaps that was why he didn't hear the Elf approach from the deeper wood. Keystone raised his hands to chest level, flexing his fingers into fists and then half opening them. True, this guy wasn't an Orc, but it usually paid to be cautious. Armed, armored, and in the middle of nowhere by himself didn't exactly mark him as a door-to-door button salesman.

The simple greeting marked him as being not immediately hostile. This was good. Or at least, not bad. Keystone lowered his hands somewhat. The strange elf gave his reason for being there, but failed to provide introduction. Still not hostile, but irritating. "I saw the Orc tracks and followed them." The strange elf gave his reason for being there, but failed to provide introduction. Still not hostile, but irritating nonetheless.

"Congrats're in order then, Sunshine. There's where the tracks end. Might as well help y'self, fore the meat spoils." Keystone pulled his hood up and glanced at Cremwise, nodding in the direction of the road before returning his full attention to the newcomer. "Be seein' ya around, then."

Malkus was in the middle of a battlefield. But this wasn’t a back-alley brawl or a slaughter. He could tell because unlike usual times, he is wearing armor. Intimidating but masterfully crafted leathers and chainmail, adorned with a helmet with wicked horns as sharp as scimitars. In his hands were two daggers which Malkus knew was crafted from the claws of a dragon. He was slicing through foes as if they were blades of grass, but even in his dream he knew he had overextended and was going to get overwhelmed. But then a warrior arrived with a greatsword, cleaving through the horde and giving Malkus room to retreat. The warrior was another half-orc like himself, yet the more Malkus looked at him, the more he noticed that the warrior was getting bigger. And bigger. And bigger, until eventually the warrior had become a giant, stomping through the battlefield and cutting swathes through the army. Malkus followed this giant, cutting down any survivors in his wake.

And then Malkus woke up. ”Hmph. Just 'nother fantasy I suppose.” Gren looked around his surroundings, immediately noticing that it was raining and he was cold. Deathly so even. His nap was interrupted when he felt his ass getting wet, and sure enough he was sitting in a puddle. Annoying. Weakly he stood up and tried to find a dry spot, but none of the tree’s had wide enough branches to provide any good cover. And bushes weren't’ known to ward off rain very well, so the best Gren could do was tighten the poncho around his body and look for somewhere else to sleep. He had to admit, while he was still very tired, he was just getting comfortable.

Looking down Malkus noticed he still had the flute in his hand. However when he tried to play it, all he could get was a measly few notes before he tired out. He was in no condition to play, so he just shoved the instrument into his waistband and continued onward. Not even attempting stealth Malkus began to whistle his aimless tune, though it was hard to hear it over the raindrops. He wondered if he could use his Sleeves of Many Garments to make himself a suit made of pillows. Once he was out of the rain he would give this a try. He began to shuffle down the road, looking gaunt and thin, like he was a zombie. He picked up his staff and used it to keep himself upright as he lazily looked around for safer shelter.

"Damn, looks like I got unlucky today" he says as he runs his hands through his soaking wet hair. He begins to take some wood out from his pack with his tinderbox and starts a small fire. "Well, it could be worse I guess, at least I have some warmth but now I won't be able to find any girls! Hopefully no one is in any danger out in the storm," He looks off into the storm for a few moments listening to the rain while sitting by his fire. He then grabs one of the bigger sized pieces of wood as a torch as he walks off deeper into the cave hoping it doesn't have any dangerous inhabitants.

Cyneburg

Location: The campsite
Interacting with: Calanon, Keystone

Cyneburg trailed behind the rest of the group, not for any specific strategic or well thought out answer, but simply because she was an outsider and wasn't in bad enough shape to be in the back of the wagon. It wouldn't feel right to walk with the rest of the people, and since she wasn't acting as a guide, the back seemed like the best spot.

The druid glanced up as it started to rain and pulled her burned mantle around her. That was another thing she would need to replace sometime. For now it would have to do. Personally, she wasn't the biggest fan of storms. She knew people who were, and they were always giant weirdos, running out into typhoons laughing and waving their arms around, then they come down with pneumonia for a week. They also tended to have long, wild hair and big crazy eyes. Fun at parties, not so much dealing with on a day to day basis. Still, storms were something she was obligated to respect and they were rather important to the environment, but it still sucked to be caught in the rain. At the very least they soothed the fireball burns that she would need to deal with until the woman in white whose name Cyneburg forgot was well again.

Cyneburg stifled a yawn as another newcomer arrived, an elf male who was quite well armed. He did not state his name, but he claimed to be tracking the orcs. Why he would be doing such a thing was not elaborated on, but he claimed to not mean any harm. Well he didn't have aggressive body language, so she had no reason to disbelieve him, especially as a fellow outsider.

There was one thing however, that was bothering Cyneburg, something that had been wrong since before the fight. Although she hadn't given it too much thought, it was still gnawing at the back of her mind, like a childhood case of lice that isn't caught for half a year. Picking up the pace, the druid approached Keystone, her face wrought with concern.

"Excuse me, but what exactly did you mean by 'my lot doing their business in the woods?'"

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Location: North of Salarn in the region of Gorlf, on the road and at the side of the road (ahead of the current main group)
Actions: Yelling, Arguing, (Intermittent) Cussing, Throwing Shit.
Interacting With: Herself, Herself and what appears to be, you guessed it, herself.

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The day had been fine up until the moment that the sun stopped shining and the clouds rolled in. Valona was huddled beneath her cloak in the crook of a tree in a vain attempt to keep the sodden skies off of her body. It wasn’t working.

“Well this is just a great idea that I’ve had, yes. Absolutely gosh darn fabulous so it is…” Her voice trailed off as she began muttering to herself, her knees curling up towards her chest as she slipped her hands underneath them.

“What the blooming hell do you mean it’s my fault?! YOU ARE THE ONE THAT DECIDED WE HAD TO COME TO SALARN!” Her head poked out from beneath her hood and her face was turning red. Her nose was crinkled in indignation and her eyes glared at an empty spot in the air.

“IT ISN’T MY FAULT THAT THE RAIN CAME AROUND! I’M NOT A BLOOMING DRUID!” A small stone went flying through the air at the spot that Valona had been staring at. Her hair at the front of her hood at become sodden now and she screeched in irritation as she swatted the drenched strands out of her eyes.

Standing upright, she stomped her feet in the mud furiously. The brown ick splashed up her boots and trousers and she muttered under her breath again. Kicking some of the mud into the air, another stone went flying from her hand… straight into nothingness yet again. Anyone travelling along this way that would see her would imagine she was stark raving mad.

“I swear to whatever powers that be, if you come near me I will blast you into ashes!” Her hands rose up as she began swatting away at the sky. She looked as if she was chasing off a fly in her general vicinity but… there was no buzzing noise to be heard. After a solid minute of her hands flailing around her head and body, Valona sighed and rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t have went down that route exactly, but I guess we got the message across.”

Wandering from the crook of the tree, Valona began to try and traverse her way down the embankment towards the main road. Travelling through the trees was going to be much too difficult considering the weather so she unstrapped her trusty quarterstaff and began to use it as a lever to hold while she gently slipped and slid her way down the muddy ridge. That is until her quarterstaff decided it didn’t want to sink into the mud because of some stupid boulder and Valona went tumbling down the small hill like a god damn sausage, her staff rolling down behind her.

Slapping onto the road with a wet thud, she lay on her back with her staff resting beneath her back, the water pouring down onto her muddy face and clothing as she lay dazed from her sudden fall. Her eyebrows knitted together as her face turned scarlet. “This is why you’re fucking supposed to let me take the lead WHEN WE ARE DOING FUCKING PHYSICAL SHIT, YOU DUMB BINT!” Her voice screamed out, breaking as it grew louder at the end. For a small, gentle looking creature she had a set of lungs and a mouth on her.

Any normal functioning creature would want to get up and off of the road, but apparently not this one. Instead she remained flailing, her arms and legs beating on the road. Kicked up puddles and splashes of dirt covered any remaining part of her that was not covered in muck. A shrill scream erupted from her as she began grabbing balls of mud and threw them this way and that at random areas of the sky. “NO YOU CANNOT FUCKING HELP ME FEEL BETTER! I AM PERFECTLY FINE! No you’re not. YES I AM! Says the woman lying in the middle of the road in the pouring rain, amongst the puddles and the mud. I DO WHAT I WANT, WOMAN! DO NOT TEST ME! I SAID NO! GOD. FUCKING. DAMN. IT.” Each punctuated word was met with a thrown handful of grime sprayed in the air again.

Not two seconds later, the screaming woman on the road burst out into laughter. It was a high and melodic sounding laugh that sounded positively joyful. Her hands wrapped around her sides as he laughed more and more, her breathing becoming more difficult as she began to hiccup and gasp for air between each chortle that she made.

If there were any good people around and saw her, they would be very confused and probably concerned for her sanity. Her fists were pounding into the ground now as she continued laughing, her knees sinking into the softened road as she struggled to breathe.

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Satilla Valen

“Thank you...” Satilla said in tired voice when Kyra helped the witch get onto the wagon so she can rest. The witch indeed felt quite tired after using up all her spells and the fact her life pact spell basically sapped her own health so she can aide an ally. Oblivion... now she knew why her teacher only ever used that spell when she had to heal herself. It basically served as drain life...

When the dire wolf climbed up on the wagon to keep her and Sona warm, Satilla suddenly felt her body stiffen as she found herself in touch's distance with a canine. She felt fear from all those creatures... dogs... wolves... this one was not an exception, so she just closed her eyes, turned to the other side, and concentrated only on the warmth that Ash provided.

“Not... exactly, miss Sona. I was lucky and didn't get hurt.” Sat said and looked at the elf, giving Ash a calculating look before she returned to the elf.” I used all my magic spells... they made me tired...” She explained, trying to make herself as comfortable as she can considering she had a wolf at her side.” Especially the one I used on mister Keystone... that one transferred health from me to him to stabilize his wounds.”

“I think I will get a quick nap...” Satilla said finally turning her back to Ash once more, using him to keep her warm and pulled her cat Skittles from her bag and pulled it into a hug." I will... get to preparing bandages after I wake up... yes..." She said and started to drift off to sleep.

Location:The Forest, The Campsite
Interacting with: Sona, Ash, Satilla, Keystone, Cyneburg

His brows raised lightly as Kyra explained who to talk to, and he could tell by the way she moved that she must be a ranger as he was. Or at least an experienced woodswoman. "Congrats're in order then, Sunshine. There's where the tracks end. Might as well help y'self, fore the meat spoils." he heard the burly man say. He must be Keystone. Well, he knew by his rude manner that he wasn't an enemy. An enemy would attack on sight or try to appear friendly. There was a female Half Orc there as well, it seemed, regarding him. He gave her a bow, and was just about to turn around and wade back into the forest as he often did before he noticed a large Wolf up ahead.

The Wolf was a pleasing sight, but his Elven eyes spotted a few people in the wagon, and his curiosity got the better of them. Were they harmed from the battle? "Brogach." he called. The large Elk stepped out of the tree line at the ready. Calanon stepped back, and with a single leap, mounted the Elk and lead him up past Keystone and Cyneburg. He made his way over to the great Wolf and the two injured women. "Hi," he said, dismounting, doing his best to sound friendly. "I couldn't help but-oh, I apologize. I thought you were wounded." He gave a bow, hands at his sides.

Calanon wasn't sure if Keystone or whoever else fancied themselves the leader would be mad at him tagging along for a moment. He supposed he might just head on for now, but he was admiring the Wolf and would ask questions. Plus, he was interested in the layout of this part of the forest. He had never been here before.