[hr][hr][h1][b][i][color=6ecff6][center]Updates[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[b][color=6ecff6]Season:[/color][/b] Late Fall/Early Winter
[b][color=6ecff6]Time Of Day:[/color][/b] Night, middle of
[b][color=6ecff6]Weather:[/color][/b] Cool and damp, with a clear, open sky
[b][color=6ecff6]General Ambiance:[/color][/b] AAAAAAAHHH!!!
[b][color=6ecff6]Location:[/color][/b] Front lines, defending the Orc Cave

	The clouds had long parted, allowing the cool, comforting light of a large, gibbous moon to dimly illuminate the patch of ground nearest the cave entrance. The stars added their own comforting twinkle to their piece of earth around them, mingling with the warmer orange glow of campfire embers. While not the proper lighting to pen one's memoirs, there is barely enough for a reasonably sighted Human to be aware of their surroundings, if not amazingly happy about it. The luckier races, gifted with the ability to see with less restriction in the dim light, have a more favorable vantage in the still night. 

	The serenity of the late evening was pierced by the sound of a familiar female voice, speaking the Common tongue of the continent. Correction, [i]screaming[/i] the Common tongue of the continent. The specifics of what she is saying are lost at first, such was her alarm, but the last sentence comes through loud, clear, and without room for interpretation. 

	[color=bc8dbf]"[b]WAKE UP!!! THE UNDEAD ARE HERE![/b]”[/color]

	And indeed they were. The second that Satilla reached the group's campsite and began her attempt to rouse her companions, the first of them could be seen emerging from the thicker treeline, advancing upon the encampment. At first, all one could detect was a hollow, slithering sound, as if bundles of sticks were being drug through thick leaves, clacking against the ground and each other. As the illumination from the various light sources struck the source of these noises, now in the sparser flora around the cave, the cause was obvious.

	Meatless frames and hollow eyesockets of grey-white bone, assembled and fully articulated, advanced upon the group's position. A great many skeletons, thirty at least (likely more), rattled and stomped forward. Each bore a weapon of some kind, in various states of neglect or disrepair, although a few of them sported something shiny and newer. Those that were humanoid, anyway. Some five of the skeletons were quadrupedal; cattle maybe, judging by the horns. They stay toward the back of the press of bones and steel, but still march forward. The astute observer would note that the bipedal, weapon wielding skeletons do not appear to be of the same race. Some of them appear to be standard Human, while others are broader, with wide set jaws and prominent lower tusks common to the group's present hosts. Though they advance more or less evenly, ten of them seem to take decided interest in the group’s campsite. One of the undead bulls is among their number. 

	From the thicker trees, only two things could be readily observed: An odd, reddish mist hovered, glowing slightly in the night, and devious, sourceless laughter sounded from the darkness deeper in. The disconcerting echo aside, it sounded quite human. 

	[color=6ecff6][i]The skeletons are all armed for close combat, and advancing at a march, not a run. They will be within melee range by the beginning of the next round. It can be easily guessed that while they represent the immediate threat, they are not the only threat. Satilla is the only one in the party awake and active, and as such takes initiative.[/i][/color]