As Gren went to chop the vine, the moment he brought the stone hatchet down the thing twitched! His blow falling off center as it moved, the hatchet didn’t cleave the thing in half but sank deep into the wood beneath it while tearing through scale and flesh. There was sharp hiss as the axe left behind a shallow wound, and with a noise like angry leather a
Tatzelwurm whipped its head out from behind the tree! Digging its claws into the bark it flew, quick as a squirrel, up the trunk—but this tree wasn’t all that tall to begin with, and it was still within reach of the Orc Runts. From a perch above their heads it bristled with fangs and rage-filled eyes, its wounded tail curling up behind it in an attempt to make it look larger.
A moment later, it spat green, sizzling bile right at Gren’s face!Vola had prepared for this moment, by scratching a “rune” into her weapon!
But as she raised it, a dull throb in her head made her wince.[Rune Scribe] has failed. Error: No [Magic] Skills Available for inscription yet.
Lazash and Grunthor would find no shortage of kindling materials on the forest floor. Though often hidden by scrubby brush, dead leaves from the recent winter seasons and branches brought down by winds and storms over the years covered the ground in a thick layer of detritus. Some particularly dry specimens could be reduced to dusty splinters just by breaking it up with one’s hands, or the leaves could be easily shredded. Both would produce soft starter materials.
However, just fuel and kindling did not a fire make. They needed some way to light their tinder. The sharp rocks they carried weren’t hard enough to produce sparks by striking them—though if they attempted it, they might be able to hone the edges of their impromptu weapons a bit more. Did either of them know how to do the ol’ “rub two sticks together” trick, or some other survival method? A piece of glass to use as a lens? Or…
The Elwets had been able to spit fire somehow, hadn’t they? Did magical skills have anything to do with biology? Should they risk eating one of their captures to attempt to learn such a Skill for themselves? Or further mangling their kills by trying to dissect it for examination?
Meanwhile, Esfir and Akeno pressed through the brush in pursuit of the one bird that had fled the fight. Even though the Elwets had often been described by other Orcs as “aggressive,” it seemed that like any wild creature it would put its own survival over any kind of pride in the face of a clearly insurmountable threat—four Orc Runts with weapons would be more than a match, as they had just proven for themselves.
They heard squawking and rustling up ahead not long after leaving the battleground, however, and as they emerged they saw another Runt from their tribe—
the one called Rik, if they happened to have heard the name—facing off with the very same Elwet they were after! The bird had ruffled up its feathers and was spewing smoke from its nostrils. Rik had weapons in hand. Would he prove an ally? A competitor? No doubt Rik was thinking the very same thing about them—
“[Miasma Bolt!]”
But before this three way stand-off could go any further, a fourth intervened. From off to one side, a projectile made from black, hissing smoke so dark it seemed to eat its way through the air flew like a javelin! The solid vapor struck the Elwet in its meaty chest, spearing it all the way through! But in the same moment the three Runts turned to look for the magic’s source, or froze to process what they’d just seen, clawed feet pounded the dirt and a dark blur charged between them to seize the fallen bird.
It was another Runt. A male. But his skin was a darker, duller shade of green with what seemed like a mottled pattern to it, and his eyes were a fiery, ember orange. Black, almost blue hair with a greased sheen fell around his unusually mature face.
He grinned at them. Swinging the Elwet by its neck over his shoulder like a large sack of potatoes, he let out a cackle.
“Smell ya later, losers!” And he was off like a shot, quickly disappearing into the shadows of the trees, in the direction of the camp.
While Agar and Duram took in everything they’d observed—the life signs Agar had detected with his [Field Scan], the different sounds coming from the environment all around them, and, perhaps most notably, the
double earthquake that had occurred in a ten foot circle in the exact same place—
they would see Ushnekh hurrying away as if he had nothing to do with any of it.
As Ushnekh scurried, he would of course recognize the other two Runts from the Brood Pit. But as he cleared the forest and headed for the camp in the distance, mangled Tatzelwurm clutched in hand,
he would also see another Runt emerge from the brush perhaps a hundred yards or so away from him. It was another male. But his skin was a darker, duller shade of green with what seemed like a mottled pattern to it, and his eyes were a fiery, ember orange. Black, almost blue hair with a greased sheen fell around his unusually mature face. This other Runt had a gleeful grin on his face, showing off a mouthful of sharp teeth, as he carried a large dead bird over his shoulder—one of those creatures called an Elwet, perhaps?
If Ushnekh continued back to camp, he and the other Runt would likely make it back around the same time. Would they be the first ones to report their kills? Also, while he got his breath back after a few moments in a seemingly normal fashion, he still felt "empty," somehow. It was like feeling hungry...in his soul?
But he got the feeling that, with proper rest, he might regain what he had spent thus far.
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