Parum had no objection investigating the fire. As long as they were careful and planned, she'd help as much as she could. She followed everyone the three mile trek to the campfire as best as she could, though she had a bit of trouble keeping up with their long strides through the forest. Eventually she caught up, and Parum carefully observed the scene. Four humans, eight kobolds, and all seemed oblivious to their surroundings. Of course they’d be outnumbered. Even if most of their foes were kobolds, they were confident in numbers. Parum debated trying to convince the others to take one prisoner for questioning, though she doubts they'd be any more informative than the prisoner they had captured at the fort. Then again if these were cultist who were left behind for a reason, maybe they could find out why.

Torus stated that while the enemy had numbers, they had skill, but also a small window of opportunity to exploit it. Parum couldn’t agree more. ”Show them power, Torus.” Parum’s words would fill Torus with a warm, hopeful feeling. She wanted to make sure that Torus would have the confidence to take them on. And perhaps just a little, Parum wanted to feel confident too. She still kept having flashbacks of that dragon and how the entire battle at Greenest seemed bleak and miserable. She had tried her best to forget about it, but like a scar she could never truly heal from it. But what she could do is remember, and learn from it.

Soon the other menfolk moved in as Torus transformed into a bear. Not only would this form allow Torus to seemingly be able to fool the cultists that he was a mere wild animal, it would also help Torus fight them once Brannor and Orchid attacked. Thus, Parum’s biggest concern was for Torus himself. She’d have to rely on Kyra and the others to pick off any kobolds who might try to sling arrows and stone at the bear. The halfling would use her spells to target anyone who’d try and attack Torus directly. Parum moved closer, taking advantage of her small size and light feet to not disturb any of the stones as she got within sixty feet of the enemies. It was a bit of a stretch, but this way she could at least target her spells at the four humanoids. Carefully taking out her viol and rapier, Parum waited patiently to cast her spell once hostilities begin.

The Druid began his charge in the shape of a wild animal not all that usual for plains such as these. Bears were animals of the forests, and as soon as he appeared in view of the humans with a mighty roar, the faces of three of them showed more confusion than terror. That would soon change however, as they would both realise that this odd sight was both approaching them and that they were being attacked from multiple angles! The suddenness of the attack bought a few valuable seconds for the attacking party could use before their quarry would retaliate.

The first one to act after the entry of the distraction was the green skinned hunter who went after the smaller prey this time around, firing a shot with their newly acquired shortbow, successfully christening the tool with a kill on the enemy. The arrow hit a tough spot on the kobold's skin in an unfavourable angle, but it managed to cut something important, given how the little creature howled in pain and fell on the ground unconscious, blood slowly pulsing out of the wound. It did seem like they wouldn't be rising from that position.

While the rest of the kobolds spent their time panicking about the bear, the death of their brethren and drawing their weapons, Kyra spent her time scanning for any apparent threats in the enemy lines. None of the men looked particularly proficient in spells, and if it weren't for the fact they were sharing a meal with a bunch of kobolds one could have mistaken a few of them for ordinary hunters. However, once she noticed their little pile of weapons they had foolishly left to the side, there was no longer any doubt of their alignment. The swords there were exactly of the curved sort they had seen earlier in Greenest at the hands of the cultists. This cache was also evident to the charging bear, but they had no way to communicate it to their allies for the time being.

With all this commotion, Brannor found his favoured position, and it was time for them to act. The enemy had not noticed them yet... surely any attempt to strike at them would prove advantageous.

At the sound of the frothing bear preparing to break into the melee, whilst also now on the run and likely to be accompanied in stride by Orchid, the huntsman loosed his arrow from his bow and slung the weapon in the beat of his advancing steps. The shot, likely wild and nowhere near the most eastern man who it had been aimed at, was more to just inflict added terror or injury as their trap was already sprung by the charge; keeping it in as much chaos as they could at this point would only favor them. Still moving, his boots pounded through the tall grass and a hand reached back for his blade.

Not needing to explain everything to his company was a welcome pace the man only dreamt they could keep; even the old druid as it were, or perhaps even some sylvan wizard he might have been, gave into the bear's frenzy. All the wilder knew now was that he was going to meet his enemy and take them off at the head. Both in the literal and figurative sense. The cultists just a night before proved they were, for lack of better words, unquestioning zealots which reasonably worried the knight-aspirant significantly more than a horde of of scaly fiends. This inner fire and rationalization was only further flamed when the half-blood sunk an arrow into one of them; they weren't the worst they were bound to deal with.

Now rushing upon the man who his rogue arrow had struck out at, the spiritual warrior readied himself and surveyed his space with a glance from one side the field to the other, ready to strike and move in or move in and then strike. Whichever the enemy let him do first.


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

Bears can easily be bereaved of their natural cautiousness, being attracted to food sources, such as garbage dumps, litter bins, and even roasted hens. These ursids may even venture into dwellings in search of sustenance, as gatherings of people reciprocally and awkwardly encroached upon and into their habitats.

However, this was not the barreling omnivore’s natural biome, nor was this a jamboree, in revelry of the landscape's vintage.

For the dozen were destined prey.

Due to the length of his forelimbs’ claws more prolonged than those of the hind limbs, the grime amassed on the front of the grizzly’s torso. The talons’ structure were blunt, and in addition to their excessive weight, contributed to their difficulty to climb trees, as well as, compared, to their black cousins. Being the only extant species of bears with a hump upon each shoulder blade, fashioned entirely of muscle, imparted more might in digging, habitual foraging and den construction prior to hibernation. In lieu of this tremulous anatomy, the druid’s wildshape’s scapulae continued to oscillate in succession, intensity and sternness, striving through dirt and silt, to the cache of weapons between the kobolds and humans.

The maxilla and mandibular ridges soon parted, allowing a roar to erupt from the agape jaw as its owner's furry extremities made way, past one of the cultists, to hopefully guard against their potential armament.

If any were brave enough to face Torus, clothed with nature and armed with ferocious hunger, they hopefully would be unarmed.


@Hekazu

The onslaught against the campers continued. One of the unarmed men could only count their blessings as an arrow struck the ground a few centimetres to their right. They took an instinctive step back and turned to the direction the arrow had come from, catching the Paladin that had fired it just before having to turn again due to another threat approaching.

Torus' rush towards the group earned a panicked reaction from them, but none would be foolish enough to attack a bear head on. One of the people just barely stopped themselves from hitting the ground as their instincts attempted to take over. After all, it didn't take much of a hunter to know what the best defence was against a charging bear. Yet they managed to piece together that this was no ordinary bear. The attack of the others was too opportunely timed. And now they were cut from their weapons. Their reaction was pretty much the only sensible option they had: They ran.

With the Druid in their shifted form between them and their weapons and seemingly no trust in their kobold allies, the men began a mad dash South-West, trying to get as far away as possible from the attackers they had noticed. They were having none of it, and one of them even vocalised it in a panicked shout: "They might not have been paying much, but it was better than this!" The kobolds were obviously disgruntled by the sudden abandonment by their 'allies' and some sort of an authoritative figure among them (with no real difference in looks) stood up a little taller and waved their hand to gesture at heading to the other 'free' direction: South-East.

Feeling the arrow release from his finger tips, Orchid smiled as it struck the kobold. Orchid had worried that he had gotten rust with a bow, preferring a more hands-on approach to hunting. But hearing the sweet cries of pain and death from the little lizard folk gave Orchid confidence that this battle would be a short and successful one. It wasn't long before the rest of the party pounced on the foes. Torus lumbered in, his grizzly form too much for the brigands and vermin more accustomed to attacking the weak and defenseless. Orchid did question why Torus went to the weapons instead of attacking one of the cultists, but Orchid didn't have long to ponder when the enemy got to their feet.

Torus's arrival sent the entire camp running. This was going much better than expected. Brannor was quick to come out of cover and cut down any foe too cowardly to fight, and Orchid had to spring upon the opportunity himself. Though his enemies were cowards, they were quick cowards and before Orchid could grab his sword they were already about to escape. So like a tiger lying in wait the half-orc pounced from his hiding spot with arms poised to grapple. He grabbed the nearest foe that neither Brannor or Torus were targeting, grabbing them with both hands. "THIS IS YOUR END!" The orc roared into the man's face and tried to shove him to the ground as he was grabbing him. However Orchid was just a bit too off balanced due to his sudden lunge and while he did his best to force the man to the ground, Orchid had a bad stance. The barbarian did at least pull out his new short sword, ready to stab this foe should he try and resist.

The men attacked the camp as soon as Torus emerged from the bushes. He immediately went to secure the weapons that the cultists had foolishly left in a pile, leaving them with no weapons but their dinner forks. While none of the cultist tried to attack Torus, she was glad that they chose to give up without a fight. While Parum had taken the time to learn a healing spell the less injured everyone is, the better. Brannor and Orchid emerged from the bushes to attack some of the bandits. Parum looked at the enemies and choose to attack the one that Orchid was grappling. They needed a prisoner if the others escaped or died.

"Keep one alive! The rest would get what's coming to them!" Standing up from her hiding place Parum played a vicious note off her viol, sending the psychic energy directly to the cultist's mind. She was trying to shock him into submission, and hopefully the others would try not to kill the prisoner. Parum had some questions she wanted to ask and dead men tell to tales. "This is your once chance to surrender with your life intact. You won't get a second chance." Parum said coldly. If she could scare them into submission she would. After everything she's witnessed these past few days, a few thugs and kobolds were hardly frightening to her anymore.

The scattering of their foes allowed ample opportunities for the heroes of Greenest to capitalise on their own advantage of being the attacking party. The humans chose to take their chances instead of retreating in a more organised manner... and in their minds it made perfect sense. They were more used to escaping from the occasional bigger beast, where if dropping dead was not the option you just ran. But against much more intelligent adversaries, that would prove to be the end for two of them.

While the two further away from the three-man spearhead of their attack made it away, the remaining half was not nearly as lucky. The first of them received some angry feedback toward their careless cowardice in the form of the heavy two-handed blade of Brannor, the overhead strike landing in their shoulder, cutting their arm off as cleanly as an instrument of its form could. The man fell to the ground, at least unconscious. It would not take a medical expert to tell they wouldn't live after such a hit though.

The remaining man was grabbed by the half-orc, but managed to avoid the attempted shove, instead locking themselves into hand-to-hand combat with the Berserker... or at least some variation of it. They knew they would not be able to fight the man down, not with all of his allies around him. Bartering was pretty much the only thing he could do now. To top it off, he could feel magical energies assault his mind, though he could luckily brush it off. "Hey, ceasefire? Ain't keen on tossin' me life away", he proposed while trying to hold off his brawling companion. They had even missed the attack made against them by the bear in the thick of things, probably to their own benefit.

While the heroes were more preoccupied with the humans, the kobolds made themselves scarce. They spoke among themselves in hurried draconic, incomprehensible to those that were within earshot. The apparent authority among them led their retreat, the pack of the little nuisances heading away from the attackers in a straight line. With how things were shaping now, they could pretty much call this fight a finished endeavour unless they desired to chase the fleeing opposition.


@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Norschtalen@Gordian Nought@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher

The enemy began to scatter like leaves in the wind. The kobolds were too small and too far for for Kyra to reliably shoot, but the others humans weren't as difficult. From her hidden cover in the woods Kyra aimed at the lower back of one of the fleeing cultists. She could feel the strength of her father's longbow went into the arrow which shocked Kyra just a bit. She was so used to her own now that she forgot how much strength her father's bow gives. But sure enough it would strike the cultist, the arrow veering down to slice his leg.

Kyra ran out into the opening and drew another arrow. She saw no more enemies who may have been laying in wait, but if she left too many survivors they may come back with reinforcements. Kyra wanted to make sure these cultist never hurt anyone again. "Orchid, keep that one pinned. If we don't take anyone else, he has a lot to awnser for."

The singing edge of the sword leading into the flesh sung, but not before the lance of men turned tail and fled. The cloaked huntsman, with his foe dropping before him and sword leading toward the now bloodied grass, let free the handle of the great blade and allowed it to fall to rest in the thick green carpet. There was no time to delay as their enemy broke into a full on run, abandoning their allies and their arms in the process. Bounding through the grass again and drawing up the bow, the man followed the trail for a tense few moments before an arrow sailed past him, hitting the nearer of the two targets.

He slid to a halt and snapped up his own bow, loosing an arrow at the same victim with a reactionary shot. It was far from the methodical, thoughtful, hunting shot it would regularly have been, but there was no time to be wasted in the heat of battle. Both orc and bear were preoccupied and from the corner of the man's fierce stare, it was clear the scaled vermin were making their break as well. He could not fault such pathetic creatures for their cowardice, but the retreat of the ill hearted men was more a surprise; they willingly abandoned their own to whatever fate was to come.

Shooting a glance across the shoulder, he knocked another arrow after, noticing the last man standing in a muscled brawl with the half-blood savage. As far as he could be concerned, that was handled. Now only to see if they could finish off another enemy, even at this distance. It was not to be unmerciful, but to instead be certain their enemy was quite dead rather than left to wander in injury toward a long death.


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

Orchid continued to growl at the man even though he seemed to have surrendered. Orchid wasn't going to kill him, but he wasn't about to let this man go either. As it looked like Orchid was about to lower his blade he stepped forward, putting his foot behind the cultist and pushed him over onto the ground. When the cultist was laying flat on his back Orchid brought his blade back up, laying the blade flat against the side of the man's neck. Orchid knew where to cut him to make him bleed; he had done this many times to animals in order to bleed them out and skin them. A man was no different. The cold steel pressed against the cultist's neck ought to deter him from fighting any further and allow Orchid to question the man.

"You were with Kobolds. Kobolds who had attacked Greenest. Where is the rest of the army going? Who are your leaders? What are you doing here? And where are the rest of the cultists?" Normally Orchid had a loose grasp of Common, but when it was time to "talk" to people, he could be surprisingly legible. "You will remain alive for as long as you're useful. Pray to your dragon god that you are." As Orchid said these things Torus approached within the bandit's eyesight, just to compound the fact that this man was alone, outnumbered, and surrounded by people who wanted to kill him. While that may have been painfully obvious when his allies were getting killed, hopefully Orchid's actions would show that if he wanted to leave alive, or at least painlessly, he should comply.

The grizzly stood over their prey, foaming with iridescent saliva. The mucus formed helical strings, full of checked fury and restrained rage, a provocation transformed bestiality, reigned by nature’s blessing to the druid. It was a strange power, the reckoning that the Mother bequeathed to her adopted children. Fate engineered his rescue from Chult by Xaron, to arrange his freedom to fight against a much greater threat.

Why?

Nevertheless, the answers to his sole inquiry remained in the back of the bear’s mind, clawing and gnawing at the proverbial bit, hoping to be unleashed. This aspiration relished itself within the sanctity of a feverish fugue of a mind seed, planted by a jealous bard, now presumably banished from recent memory. The pinnacle and valley of the current siege of Greenest, with now their ambush upon this troupe, lead Torus to ask himself the rationale behind his existence, in the form of a horrifying growl.

Orchid, in time, applying the same stringent filter upon the runt left behind by the remnant litter, would yield a bounty, enough to feed his ravenous intellect.

The cultist was forcefully shoved down to the ground and a blade was brought to his throat. The fear in his eyes was very real, but about at the moment Orchid went on to telling him to pray to his dragon god, he opened his mouth again: "Oi, piss off with the Tiamat bullshit, will ya? I ain't nuthin' more than a hired blade as are those guys you are shootin'. We are here 'cause we quit! The rest are prolly back at the base camp, with the excepshion of the rear guard they've set ev'ry time I've been with 'em. Now can ye take that blasted sword off me neck, I ain't interested in brawlin' with ya or helpin' them guys any longa, goddit? I'm just a merc..."

Well, that was something to consider for sure. If one was to believe this man, the army was hardly built out of only devout believers, but also a fair share of hired help. It would make sense, with them collecting loot they could easily pay for more blades, which would bring in more loot. But then again, they'd have to be paid. And that wouldn't be added to the hoard they were amassing. To believe or not to believe? Nonetheless, the remaining person was still booking it as fast as they could, further and further away from their old companions and gear.

---

Next up, @Ryonara
@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Norschtalen@Gordian Nought@Lucius Cypher

The battle came to an end as quickly as it started, leaving no one but a lone survivor that Orchid was taking care of. He interrogated him about the cultists, but it seemed like this wasn't a cultist but a hired sword. It made sense; no mere cult could've had a that many people in their army. Hundreds perhaps, but not thousands. This actually eased Parum's mind a bit. Perhaps they weren't facing a horde of devout madmen willing to destroy the world for their enlightenment, even if those who helped them facilitated that end. Parum could deal with mercenaries. Walking over to the merc Parum put her viol away, though she still had her rapier out just in case there was more fighting. "If you're not loyal to them, then please tell use everything you can. Now if you could answer my green friend's question, that would be helpful for all of us. If you're a hired blade than do you know who your employer is? You also mentioned a rear guard. Do you happen to know where they're at and what they're doing?" Parum's voice was gentle, compared to Orchid, and she even put a hand on the half-orc's shoulder to wordlessly ask him to lower his weapon, though not to let the man go. While Parum wanted to be diplomatic, she wasn't here to make friends.



@Hekazu@Gordian Nought@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen

As Kyra and Brannor shot down the fleeing cultist, Kyra was ready to take another shot when she overheard the man grappling with Orchid that he wasn't a cultist, but a sellsword. Somehow this only made Kyra even more angry. Being driven by divine fervor was one horrible thing, but to lay waste to her home because you sold your principles for coin. Kyra was tempted to shoot this man right now. However she merely took her arrow out, ready to send it through his treacherous skull if he showed any sign of deceit. She was debating to herself if she'll even let him leave this grove alive. On one hand, while her teachings of Chauntea would encourage her to be merciful, Kyra could not forgive this man. And because she could not forgive him, anger filled her heart.

Kyra approached the man, arrow resting on her string, but not drawn nor aimed. She was, however, in the perfect position to execute him once all was said and done. Even if she ultimately doesn't, she wasn't going to give this man even a silver of hope. She wanted him to feel fear that his death would not be the worse thing she could do to him. And she was already thinking of all the horrible things she could do to him. "It is a shame. A cultist would know more about the people he follows. If you don't know anything about them, then you're food for the wolves." Kyra said, spite and hate clear in her voice.

Another arrow free from the leather grasp of his gauntlet, Brannor's eyes watched it sail off into the distance; the target, still fleeing, neither seemed to slow or stop, meaning the shot had likely gone off course. He swept attention then from the man to the fleeing dragon-things. For a moment he had a desire to rain a shot down upon them in the hopes their greater number would catch it, but the call to finish off one of his foes was too great. Granted the man might have been in panicked retreat, but he would have just been wiser to lay down and play dead at this distance. The casually loosed arrows proved to be a sort of amusement at this point for the hunter, almost as though he was toying with the target, just hoping he would be lucky to cinch his grasp around them by sheer chance.

There was some purpose to it. It wasn't malice that drove him, not like the anger that rose from boiling depths to fill the young priestess of Chauntea now, rather the fact that a dead foe proved no threat. Like in nature's domain, other predators were better off made dead than allowed to flee and roam if it were possible. A single man would regularly not survive even here in the wilderness, but these stakes were higher for if he survived, he might just find his other surviving fellows and warn them. For the man, as he adjusted his old chain shirt and drew yet another arrow from the hunting quiver, this was excuse enough.

Angling higher his next arrow, the bow's string withdrawn to the rear, the stern jaw of his face gritted and prepared to fire again. The wildman waited for an added moment, overhearing some of the events unfolding...


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

Torus understood the nature of fear. The misconception of safety, based on the incorrect assumption that money and numbers would accompany the journey alongside the throng that sacked Greenest. Such insecurity was not endorsed; these thoughts of their immediate patrol from the citadel, investigating with backward glances an awkward fire, were not prime upon the sell swords' thoughts.

They honestly believed they had won.

The bear appeared appeased, to those outside his double layered fur, as if struck by a holiday mood in summery weather. This was very far from the truth, as the brown monstrosity was actually judging the distance, between his claws and the cowardice, en masse. The carriage of people had already traversed a great gap, to which he did not want to risk the kobolds potentially gathering wherewithal and stratagems to flank his dashing.

After a few moments of surveying the land, the bronzed omnivore, on all fours, corralled his maw, upside down over their captive, as Kyra, Parum, and Orchid continued their questions. His face hovered above the sniveling prisoner, similar to a toothless great-grandmother over a month-old baby, dangling height and reality like a carrot on a string. Nostrils flared, inhaling the man's putrid sweat effervescing from the dread and panic erupting from overproducing eccrine glands. Each heart beat navigated an erratic rhythm over one-hundred twenty instances in a minute, compared to the auburn beast’s standard forty. In hibernation, the sailor knew that such a patient circadian rhythm can throb a mere eight pulses per sixty seconds, realizing that the natural endurance of this form, even through the twilight of a winter harvests a spring of life and answers.

A crow seemed to plummet quickly from the heavens onto the pirate’s head as the tanned quadruped licked its furry vermillion border, with his lengthy glossal muscle, demonstrating the wide extent of a potential premeditated bite.

Both Judgment and the druid were ravenous.

For truth.

These people just couldn't decide on how to question him it seemed. If he had to guess, the majority was fine with lopping his head off right here and now and an old mercenary, if anyone, would know when the bunch before them was after blood more than anything else. They were still shooting after his friends too, though he thought he had made it clear that none of them had any interest in working for the cut any longer. Well, best not drag it on any longer than need be.

"The rearguard's 'bout a mile from here if they do tha usual. Dunno how many. Was hired by that black haired woman in purple to have more muscle. Man needs to eat. Now go on ahead. Kill me if it makes ye happy! Hypocrites..." he answered the questions given to him and closed his eyes. He was afraid. He was not looking forward to dying. But he was also not looking to prolong his anguish. Give them the knowledge they ask for and pass away. Damn these self-righteous folk, going around doing just what they despise.

---

Next, @Lucius Cypher
@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Norschtalen@Gordian Nought@Ryonara

Kyra wasted no time going up to the man and putting an arrow through his eye. Quick and painless. As much as she wanted for him to suffer... This was the only respite she'd give herself. She knew that perhaps the others, likely Parum, would question Kyra's choice. Indeed after doing the deed Kyra wondered herself if this was befitting of a cleric of Chauntea. Her teachings had always been to protect her people and to avoid wanton destruction. Could she have spared this man? Or would he have simply turned his blade onto other innocents and hide behind the mask of business to justify his actions? Kyra could not truly judge him as much as she wanted to. It was not her place to weigh his actions. But she was not going to allow him to escape justice, no matter how much regret he had. People still died and had their lives destroyed for what he had supported. And whether or not he himself put his blade against others, he did nothing to stop the cult form laying waste.

"Bury him. His body will give new life."

With their prisoner dealt with Kyra pondered about what he had said. There was a rearguard a mile away. They could try to ambush them, though Kyra and the others would likely be outnumbered. He also mentioned a black-haired woman in purple. Not the best description, however it did tell Kyra that not everyone who joined was a devout worshiper. There was a possibility that they could somehow infiltrate, posing as mercenaries. Such deceit almost disgusted Kyra, but she had to admit that it would be the easiest way to infiltrate their ranks and discover how to deal with such a massive cult. The only issue was trying to somehow infiltrate their ranks.

"If what this man said is true, we may be able to infiltrate the cult disguised as mercenaries. We're a motley enough band. What say you?"

@Hekazu@Lucius Cypher@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Gordian Nought@Ryonara

The string of the bow snapped forward, sending an arrow again whistling off into the distance; who knew where it would land now? At best it would plummet into the man and if not, perhaps just to his side or feet ahead of him as one final warning. The huntsman, watching the ever disappearing mark only then lowered the bow and sneered. Perhaps the fleeing man would never trouble them again, the fact he managed to leave with his life maybe kindling a sense of fate in him, but the rugged Brannor had no hopes of this. Reality, at least to him, suggested that the quarry would be off to beg its masters for forgiveness and tell them of coming danger. After all, he had paid no real mind to the capture, or rather the now corpse.

Turning where he stood, slinging the weapon by its string over his chest, he brushed free his gauntlets and stepped through the waving blades of grass to regain his sword; it too was set to its sheath across his back. The fierce eyes paid no mind to the dead men, their prices paid in their blood for their greed. It spoke volumes on these mercenaries, so willing to trade lives and suffering for coin that they would even stoop to being the lackeys of some deranged dragon-cult.

Standing beside Shepherd now, the idle, calm beast of a man looked over her work. He was unsure just when she executed him, but at least cruelty had not become of her descent into the savage. After all, the bear - rather, the apparent druid - and the half blood were all touched by that same or similar ferocity.

"We haven't a spade," Brannor began, looking over then to the furred giant that was the ursine Torus, knowing well he could dig with those tremendous claws, "But in reality, we haven't the time."

"Deception might work, but we would need many more disguises... less bloody ones at that." He continued, kneeling down to the kill's limp body, beginning to rifle it for any added proof; first the weapons, then the pockets, then through and between the armor. Anything and everything that could give the young women added insight, be it the small one or the priestess.

"What did the dead men have to tell?" The golden eyes turned to fall on Shepherd, then to Parum, hands still at work.

Narrowed as they were, a brow of his remained ever so slightly perked. He knew some sort of conversation had been made while he was concentrating elsewhere but he sincerely doubted they would gain anything of use - or what he, a tracker and hunter, would consider of use. He imagined it something inane, given it did not sound like fearful begging or pleading after all, yet what did he know? Perhaps they had gained something as profound as they had with the last prisoner they dealt with...


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen