Willow

She smelled something cooking.  Something fatty... like.. bacon.  Images of bacon, eggs, toast, and her aunt's delicate, celadon teacups holding steaming, fragrant green tea flickered across her mind. She shifted, stretched a bit and then flinched as something hurt. Why did she hurt so much? It's not like her aunt's beds were lumpy or... 

Something snapped, then crashed and she startled the rest of the way awake. The creature was still there.. but now sitting in front of the fire, holding a piece of meat, and looking up into the air.  Willow looked up, too... and her bright blue eyes widened. There was a rather ragged half-elven man, hanging by one arm from a tree on the other side of the fire. A bloodstained bandage was tied around one thigh, and he looked rather like she felt... stunned and hurt.

Unsure if moving was such a grand idea, she struggled to sit up and groaned, stiff, and pain shot down her arm from her shoulder. The half-ogre? glanced at her for a second before looking back at the man, and it? he? she? reached over to grab him.  Willow flung out a hand--"No!" She didn't know who was more surprised, the half-elf or the ogre-thing-- they both stared at her, and she swallowed nervously. "Ah... don't hurt him.  Help him down." Willow repeated the phrase in orcish (at least she thought-hoped! that's what she said), and to her own surprise the large one sighed heavily, put down her meat and reached up to pluck the man from the blade he had stuck in the tree trunk and dropped him in a careless pile on the ground by the fire.  Pulling the meat back with a soundless growl of possession with one hand, the creature pulled out a large hammer-like weapon from a pack with the other and pointedly set it down in plain view of them both. 

Willow nodded as if she thought everything was just fine, and looked at the newcomer. Pushing tangled black curls back from her face, she looked over at the man. She tugged her own torn, bloodied tunic, trying to give herself time to think, but her brain was still sluggish.  Finally she gave up, and blurted the words out.  "I have no idea why you're here, or who you are. I'm not even sure how I'm alive, or who... what that is.  But..." she paused, and smiled ruefully, "My name is Willow. And I hope you speak Common... because my orcish is really not that good."

Razg

Seated at the bar on two stools, one to each arse-cheek - the only way he could fit - the massive, bronze-skinned ogre known to most as 'Razg' or 'You Hopeless Goon' listened in contemplative silence to the roaring laughter that shook The Skewered Maiden, chasing seething Chakros out the door. Most assumed Razg was still quite some mental distance away from working out the first joke, and would join in a few hours after it had finished.

After a few more moments of deep thought, Razg rose from his seats with a perilous creak and banged on the bar in friendly fashion to get the cackling innkeeper's attention.

"I buy turn," he rumbled at the orc, pointing back at the booth which Chakros had not quite managed to reach."I pay you ... three coin."

The innkeeper began to protest until he remembered that good old Razg couldn't count to save his life, and that there were actually seven coins lying dwarfed in that enormous palm. Besides, what with all the mirth and mockery still going on, it was likely going to be hard to encourage anyone else to go near a half-orc's leavings - even if he didn't technically get around to leaving her ...

"Okay, Razg," the orc grunted, sniffing and then pocketing the coins (ogres have only a finite number of places to carry things, and even orcs have limits). "Since you're a good customer and all, you can have her for three. But if you break her, you bought her, got it?"

"I got it," decided Razg ponderously, blinking his beady yellow eyes a few more times, and then shuffled around on the spot until he was in no danger of breaking more expensive furniture, thumping his way across the taproom to the curtained alcove where the soft human meat was still waiting.

The human did not move as the hulking, stinking ogre loomed before the curtains, nearly too big to fit through the doorway at all. Her dark eyes were still half-closed, languid and apparently resigned or oblivious to her fate, but closer, more careful attention warned that the deeper glint in those eyes was neither drugged nor truly quiescient: it was alert, watchful, calculating.

"Annieke, it's me," he mouthed at her as he shouldered past the curtain, sketching a quick sign in the air, and she visibly relaxed at the sight of it, unresisting when he 'pushed' her down onto the floor of the booth.

"Thank the Gods," she hissed up at him. "This was a terrible idea. Whoever told you Lok'Saug has a kink for squishy humans might be right, but he hasn't been in here even once - probably gets his own brought to his place."

"Not that I'd be very happy to switch with you, Annieke, but Lok'Saug is giving us all the shits at the moment, trust me. I haven't even got near that paranoid pissdrinker, and Esser was finally too careless - they got him last night."

"Viilse! They got him?"

"Still staked out by the commander's 'office' now, getting picked at by those ugly vultures. Not to mention the birds. Whimper a bit here, could you? I don't want to end up pegged out next to him."

Annieke, ever the consummate actress, struck up a medley of strangled groans and muffled wails of anguish. He'd heard far, far worse in the meagre months he'd been spying here, but at such close range it made all the hairs on his ugly body - gods, when will they finally give me mine back?! - stand on end.

"It's getting too dangerous for any of us to stay here," he whispered to her under her agonised cries. "From what I'm hearing, there's a few more who're going to take Lok'Saug a bit more seriously now that he's actually found one of his ex-imaginary spies. It's only a matter of time before he gets some of his scouts to poke around further afield, and they will find base. I think he'll soon start bringing some mages in to give him a hand here, too. Then we're really screwed."

"I'm screwed if I don't make myself scarce tonight," she muttered back, breaking up her performance with a choked note of despair that made his skin crawl further. "Multiple times, I imagine. I know what you've all been saying behind my back since I volunteered, but I don't actually have a thing for greenskins, and two blushing goblin boys were enough."

He couldn't smile. He knew why she still felt able to joke, and he knew she was wrong. "I brought you a knife, Annieke. I hope it helps ... somehow."

"What do you mean, a knife?" Her dark eyes flared. "I thought you'd come to get me out of here!"

"How?" he asked - a single, blunt, lethal syllable.

For a moment she opened her mouth as if to scream, shout, protest. Then she simply reached out and took the orcish knife he'd removed from his rear loincloth binding and proffered to her. The look in her eyes suggested she was considering using it on him.

"You always were a stone cold monster," she told him in a low, loathing murmur, a voice that trembled not so much with fear as with the suppressed urge to murder. "You belong with these animals."

The smirk that spread across his lips would have been no less twisted on his real face than the ogrish one he wore. "To be honest, Annieke, in all my minglings, I've had a very hard time telling the difference between the people of Gilden before and after the fires from the sky. I'll leave it completely up to you to strike a blow for our monsters or theirs, shall I?"

He climbed off her and left the booth when she didn't stab him, hearing her start sobbing behind him. He couldn't tell whether she was just in character or not. One rarely could with Annieke.

The Skewered Maiden was still full of hooting, jeering laughter for that uppity half-orc weakling who'd been sent out with his tail between his legs. Initially ignored amongst all the general ongoing merriment, Razg stomped across the room from the curtained alcove to pound his meaty, polymorphed fist forcefully down on the bar counter, hard enough this time to split the timber and send mugs flying - making the innkeeper yelp in angry consternation as one landed on his foot, and causing the no-longer-chuckling ogrish bodyguards to hulk up menacingly to him.

"Youse is just sellin rag dollies," he growled across the bar at the innkeeper in the sudden silence, ignoring the other ogres. "Even urd not want dat one. I go Skittikut's place - goblin make more squeak."

Paid for by a half-orc, who were the weakest of the weak; turned down by an ogre, who often made do with convenient livestock if time and needs must. Annieke was getting some seriously bad press for the Skewered Maiden today. Perhaps at this rate they'd just go ahead and kill her.

Let it never be said I don't try to take care of my colleagues, he thought with savage dark humour as he lumbered back out into the essentially unchanged streets of Gilden. He was dying to get out of the city - as Razg the Ragpicker and as Torallen Sallinger alike - but there was still someone else he had to find and have words with first ...

Chakros

The sign outside had proclaimed this particular tavern The Skewered Maiden.  Inside, it was essentially the same tavern Chakros had found anyplace else in the city.  The city was, in Chakros’ estimation, largely the same city as any other city in the Lands, stinking with the refuse of its inhabitants.  He wondered idly if the refuse of orcs, of gnolls, and kobolds stank any less than the refuse of the humans, dwarves, and whatever else had lived here before them.  Sewage was sewage, and most everything smelled the same when it was carrion.  His friend Sarx would attest to that.  

Chakros drained the mug and wiped his mouth, never taking his eyes off of the languid female.  Something about the way the thin linen curtains hung over the opening to her booth, obscuring the lower half of her naked form while leaving the top exposed, had stirred him.  Perhaps it was simply her weakness demanding to be mastered.  Perhaps it was his human half that was attracted to the soft, unhaired flesh.  He decided he didn’t care.  He had slaked his need for food and drink, and he could come up with no reason not to finish the progression.  After all, what was his pay and time off for?

“Is that one drugged, or just passive?” he asked, sliding the mug across the bar.  He swallowed the last mouthful of black that supposedly been the tavern’s best ale, grimacing appreciatively at the aftertaste.

“Does it matter?” the orcish bartender replied with a grin.  “You can have her for ten.”

If Chakros’ mouth had been full, he would have spat out the contents.  “Ten?!  Are you soft?  Two!  She doesn’t even look like she would put up a fight.”  The two ogres at the end of the bar swiveled their heads in unison, regarding Chakros cooly.  They turned back to their oversized mugs indifferently, but Chakros knew that this was no longer a private conversation.  To himself, Chakros snorted.  Ogre guards.  How original.  

The orc cast a forlorn look into the booth and sighed heavily.  “Seven.  If you wanted to fight for it, you wouldn’t be looking at that one.”

Chakros glowered.  “Four.  I can get any woman in the street for three.”

The bartender frowned, clearly unimpressed. “Humans like that are harder to find these days, and they don’t last too long when you do find ‘em.  If you like it soft, you’re going to have to pay.  Seven, or be off to the street with you.” 

Chakros didn’t like the emphasis that the orc had put on the word “soft”, but was used to derision from his stronger kin.  Fortunately he knew how to use it to his advantage.  “If humans are so weak, then I’m not paying top price.  Five is all I’ll pay for a worn-out piece of meat.”

Now it was the bartender’s turn to glower.  The orc nodded -- just once, and sullenly.  Chakros took that as a victory as he began to count out his coins.  Behind him, the door opened and closed.  The bartender turned his attention to his new patron and, presumably, an easier mark.  

Chakros slid his coins across the bar and started toward the alcove when he heard his name called.  He whirled, annoyed at the interruption.  It was Durzu, one of the orcs in his unit.

“There you are, scout,” Durzu stated, sitting down at the bar.  “Commander’s looking for you.  Said for you to report right away.”

“Lok’Saug?  What’s he want?”

Durzu shrugged.  “He just said to find you and for you to get your half-breed ass back to barracks doublequick, and he didn’t give a shit what your half-breed ass was doing and that it was an order.”  The orc’s eyes searched up and to the right as he recited, likely verbatim, what the commander had said.  Chakros didn’t doubt that the commander couldn’t come up with any more creative insult than “half-breed”, and therefore had to use it twice.

Chakros spat.  “I’m supposed to be on leave.  I just came back.”

Durzu snorted derisively.  “Explain that to Lok’Saug when the enforcers come for you.  They’re pretty understanding.”  The orc shrugged again.  “I’m just the messenger, scout.  Do what you want.”

And you’re enjoying the message a bit too much, Chakros thought.  He turned to the bartender.  “Give me my money back, I need to go.”  The bartender met Chakros’ gaze, and then turned away without acknowledgement.  “Hey!  I said, I want my money.”

The fingers that tapped him on the shoulder could only belong to one of the ogres from the end of the bar.  They were both on their feet, crowding him against the bar.  One of the ogres, and Chakros guessed the smellier one, shook its head.  

“Og say no money back,” stated the other ogre.

Chakros’ eyes narrowed.  “I paid for the female, but now I can’t use her.  Your bartender owes me five.”

The ogre called Og shook its head again.

“Og say you can not use her is problem of you, not Master Shazzag.”  Not-Og held one meaty index finger out straight.  “Og say go priest, fix...problem,” it added, letting the finger droop.

Chakros glanced at the bartender, who was absorbed in drawing a mug of black for Durzu, who was himself apparently absorbed in anticipating the sludge.  The shit-eating grins on the orcs’ faces made it clear the absorption was feigned.  

The ogre called Og pointed at the door.  “Og say you go now,” stated the other one.  It paused, and both ogres loomed over Chakros, their matted manes brushing the ceiling beams and making it clear what Chakros’ alternative was.  Not-Og flexed its fists and sneered.

Chakros snarled and turned to leave, the laughter that erupted chasing behind.  I need to get out of this city, he thought.  Out there, I’m the strong one.  The moment it pleased me to do so I’d have your stupid, hulking mass staked to a tree.  You’d beg me to kill you before long.  He pushed the door wide, letting the grey light of the cold, rainy day flood the room behind him.  Chakros squinted briefly at the contrast between the tavern and the outdoors, but his half-breed eyes adjusted quickly.  Behind him, the laughter was cut short by a shout of discomfort.  The tougher they think they are, the sooner they beg for death when Sarx begins working on their soft parts.  

A hollow hiss sounded from the alley next to the tavern, and Chakros immediately turned toward the familiar greeting.  A bone-white bird regarded him with eyes the pale blue of drowned corpseflesh, set in a hairless head of mottled black and red.  The deathly rasp sounded again, and Chakros grinned.  Just because I was interrupted doesn’t mean you have to be.  “No, you finish your feast, Sarx.  Don’t linger there too long, though, someone might try to put you in a stew.”  The vulture emitted a series of short, sibilant noises that Chakros thought might be laughter.  Sarx swallowed another hunk from the maggot-ridden corpse over which he stood, spread his death-black wings and leapt into the air.  Chakros squinted up into the drizzle, momentarily jealous of his longtime companion’s freedom as he watched the bird’s lazy, wheeling climb.  

A rivulet of rain collected at the back of Chakros’ neck and ran down inside his leathers.  He shifted his gaze back to the street, toward the barracks and wondered at the nature of his commander’s urgent need.

(JD)

Tethran

Tethran stared through the forest. It was one of those days. He searched through his mind for an appropriate word, and the best he could come up with was “cloying”.  It was misty, cold, and foggy. Walking through the forest had coated his leathers with a thin sheen of moisture that clung to the surface like conditioning oil. It had been six weeks since he left Lebaunt and all his family behind him, not that he was at all disappointed about that. He was what was affectionately referred to as a “sort of unfortunate squit of a father’s youthful indiscretion” in short, he was a bastard.  He knew it, and he owned it. He gripped the handles of his paired kukri and stared into the mist.

He was sure he had seen a flash of light up this way, even for only a moment. Silently, he gave thanks that his father had been drinking that night he decided to lay with a human merchant’s daughter, even if the worthless being he was supposed to call his father had insisted on bringing his mother to Se’tu’faan and doomed the both of them to living among the leaf-eaters. At least keen eyesight and the ability to see in the dark came with the unwanted part of his parentage.

He crept further along through the woods, keeping his ears open and weapons ready.  Humans had been absent from the lands for a while, and whatever was up here was likely to be less than pleasant. Six weeks of living in holes and the hollows of trees reminded him that whatever it was might have food as well. A twinge in his leg made him look down, at the stained bandage wrapped around his thigh. It was a souvenir from the band of orcs he had met a few days ago. Tethran was fast, but fast only meant the orc’s blade hadn’t chopped his leg clean off. He had managed to steal a few healing draughts from the temple before he left, and the last two had done for most of the gash in his leg, but it shouldn’t be going pain-free this soon. Unfortunately, there was little that was clean and sanitary about sleeping on the forest floor.

Tethran smelled something cooking before he smelled the smoke. Wood fire. A long-forgotten, pointy-eared part of him muttered “The smoke smells sweet. Oak fire.” in the back of his head. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts as he followed the scent. Cook fire probably meant something more civilized than the orcs that seemed to be all he kept meeting. Something was moving up ahead. Something big, by the sound of it. He slid one kukri back into his belt and slid a throwing blade into his hand.

He could hear the crackling of the fire now. It was still a ways off, but he could see a humanoid shape moving through the mist. Whatever it was, it was big. Tethran stared down again at the bandage on his leg. Nothing else for it. If he was getting any nearer to whatever it was, he was going to do so from above eye level.  He gritted his teeth against the pain in his leg and hoisted himself up to a low-hanging branch, wincing as he wrapped his leg around the branch and pulled himself up to the higher branches.

Jumping from one tree to the next was easier in the denser part of the woods, but as he approached the fitfully flickering orange light, the trees started thinning. At the edge of the clearing, Tethran could see the makeshift campsite. What in the hells WAS that thing? A massive, filthy, hulking creature was puttering about a campsite, feeding a fire. There was a disturbingly human-sized bundle of… something under some kind of lean-to, next to a crackling fire. He glanced back at the upright creature.  “Oh, gods. Is that an ARM?”

The creature was gnawing on an ARM. Tethran could see the stub of bone protruding from the end, and see the blood dripping onto the earth. The smell of something cooking came from another arm that was… roasting. On a stick. In the fire. Choking back the bile that rose in his throat, Tethran moved a bit closer around the bole of the tree. The bundle moved, and Tethran saw a girl. Kind of cute one, too. Cursing himself even in the act, he decided this girl wasn’t about to get eaten while he watched from a tree. One short leap, and then he’d be nearly above the creature directly. He lept from one tree branch to another, and then it happened. The wet bark was too slippery. And coupled with the wound suddenly deciding this was the extent of what it was willing to bear, abuse-wise. His leg buckled beneath him, and he was falling.

Branches whipped his face as he fell, and Tethran found himself thinking that “eaten by something after falling out of a tree on a rainy day” was not in his list of ways he had expected it to end. With a crash, he cleared the last of the branches, and there was a few feet of smooth trunk, and then the unforgiving ground. He twisted, jamming a kukri into the tree bole, arresting his fall and sending a jolt of pain through his arm when the kukri brought him up short, about 10 feet from the ground. The creature looked up, it’s strangely hang-dog eyes fixing on him as he dangled from one severely strained arm from a knife jammed into a tree trunk, suspended in the air. The creature seemed to be trying to make up its mind about him. Tethran did the only thing he could think of, under the circumstances. He fixed the thing with what he hoped was a winning smile.

“Hello.” he said.

Firewood

Willow concentrated, and sparks dribbled from her fingertips onto the tinder, and with a small whoosh! it lit, and she fell back into a faint.

Kora blinked.  Perhaps pouring that elixir down this creature's gullet was the best decision she'd made all day... well, second only to leaving her damp spot under that dead oak tree. 

The tinder smoked heavily and Kora hurriedly rummaged through her huge pack until she found a bundle of dried kindling (Darek had thought of everything); the skinny creature had slumped into unconsciousness and there was no telling if or when she'd be awake again to make more fire.  The day had been miserable and damp, and the promise of dry skin and crisply broiled orc meat was more than enough to quell any concerns she might have had about the safety of staying near an unpredictable fire-spouting humanoid creature.  In fact, it put her in such a pleasant mood that she shook out the leather tarpaulin that had covered the kindling and tossed it haphazardly over the dark-haired woman's unconscious form.   Thinking a bit, she rummaged through the pack again and came away with another large bundle of oiled leather, this one she knew how to assemble as Darek had assigned her the prestigious task of setting up their camp each night as they traveled.  Oh Darek... her mouth started to water again.

Once the lean-to was more or less standing and shielding the flame from the worst of the rain, Kora dragged the woman by her ankles until she was under it and closer to the fire.  After studying the campsite a long moment she dragged the pack under the lean-to as well, which pretty much consumed all the remaining sheltered real estate.  Now there was only one more thing that had to be done before she could start making dinner.... finding more wood.  The kindling was doing it's job, perhaps a bit too well, as the small fire blazed.  She cast about, looking for more fuel, but the scraps of wood near the camp were thoroughly wet.  Focusing on the image of her future dinner Kora piled on the driest of what she could find then strode across the field back toward the road, to where she'd seen a dense copse of trees - the most likely spot she could think of for finding something dry enough to burn.  Evening was falling by the time she reached the protective cover of the trees.  The lack of light didn't bother her for finding wood, an ogrillon's vision in the dark was as good or better than an orc's, but night time was the realm of many things with claws and teeth that she would really rather not run into. 

Under a cluster of dense conifers Kora found a large, fallen tree.  Its branches had kept it up off the ground and dry, and it was rotten enough that she was able to break large chunks from its trunk with her feet and hands.  Pausing only to slurp an errant termite that crawled up her arm from the rotten wood, Kora hefted her prize and turned to head back toward the camp.  It was rather dark now, and though she knew the moon was almost full it mattered little for it was hopelessly shrouded in cloud.  The imagined taste of crisp orc steaks was making her mouth water again as she reached the edge of the copse and took one step out into the meadow.

(Pb)

Willow

So with a shrug she reached over and ripped off his other arm and turned to offer it to the creature.

She was on her back, and the ground was wet. She could feel her garments pressing against her, clinging, and they weren't doing much good as the heat in her body leeched away into the dirt.  The sky above her was a pearl grey, rather pretty, with the clouds scudding across like a troop of geese. She blinked, and droplets of moisture rolled down her face. She wasn't quite sure she was alive, she hurt so much, but.. her thoughts paused, and she went blank for a moment, arms flailing.  Then more of the cool, cucumber-melon taste came back, and it rolled sweetly down her throat. Mmm..  tasted like summer drinks on Aunt Helle's back porch. And now things didn't hurt quite so much, and memories, like the geese and the clouds, began to come together in her mind.

It was supposed to have been just a way for her to see if you really could pick a lock with a bit of wire and a knife, like Skelly kept boasting he could do. Willow bit at her lower lip as she concentrated, trying to jigger the lock on the back door of the bakery. The smells from the place were driving her mad, and it didn't help that she could hear the others in the group, murmuring and hushing each other, watching her from through knotholes in the alley fence. If she was able to get in.. just a little more.. and then she heard the snick as the tumblers fell into place and she held her breath. Did it really work?  She tugged gently at the door.. and it opened. She flashed a triumphant grin at the fence, pushing snarled, curly dark hair out of her blue eyes and sneaked inside. She was in luck. Despite the gloom, she spotted the bin where the baked goods that were too "old" to be sold were put, and she darted to it, and started stuffing day-old sweet rolls down her threadbare tunic. She was getting nervous, and her fingers were getting sticky from the icing.  She wiped them off on her bare legs and decided she better scatter, and darted back out the door.  She could hear the others, and she started toward them, and remembered the door. She darted back and eased it shut and then ran, slipping through a gap in the fence boards, flushed with glee and success.  Swarmed by the other kids, basking in their respect, she handing out her swag, and knew her life would never be the same.

"Willow, you're not concentrating." Aunt Helle huffed at her. "If you want to learn how to light a candle, or a torch, and be able put the flames out again, you have to concentrate." A ruler thwacked down suddenly on the table, out of the dimness and Willow cursed and jumped.  "And none of that language, either! Just because my sister let you run around like some guttersnipe doesn't mean I'm going to allow you to use that sort of language in my house!" Aunt Helle's robes whispered behind Willow's chair as she glided off to one side. Willow sighed, tugged her own scratchy, hot robes away from her barely adequate chest and bent her head down so her nose was almost touching the small candle. The sweet scent of the beeswax made her think longingly of the meadows out the back door of Aunt Helle's cottage, the bright flowers under the sun, and the hum of the bees. Her mind drifted, thinking of the warm feeling of the sun beating on the ground and she murmured her trigger word, and jerked back as the flame leaped up from the candle, almost toppling her chair backwards in surprise. "It's about time! I was beginning to despair, child..." her aunt, elegant in her green mage robes, slid back into view and smiled, her perfectly smooth blond hair framing a thin, intelligent face.  "I knew you had our heritage in you, not just that ne'er-do-well of a father." Willow opened her mouth to protest, but at a sharp look from her aunt she subsided, and looked at her own  now manicured fingers, smoothed back hair that wasn't tangled anymore but cut in a sleek, dark bob, and admitted in a small part of her mind that this new life wasn't so bad. She had new clothes, there was plenty to eat, and maybe, now, she'd get to learn some interesting spells.

Her feet hurt. The soles of her boots had worn out in places, and the leather had rubbed her raw along her ankles.  The dead man she'd stolen the boots from certainly hadn't needed them anymore, but they fit poorly at best. At least the dark vest was long, warm wool, and layered over the many pockets of her tunic and pants, concealed her and let her move quickly and quietly in the dark.  Ever since the huge explosion to the south and east, and the raid on her Aunt's farm, she'd been walking steadily northward, toward the mountains. The river was too dangerous, the main roads were too dangerous, and even with her skills, finding things to eat and staying out of the way of the invaders' patrols had become harder the more tired she got. Sleeping under whatever cover she could find, she tossed and turned, hearing the war cries of orcs, the screams of her aunt's servants, and the blasts of her aunt's spells over and over again in her dreams.  She trudged on, head down and weary.  It had begun to rain, and her hair dripped from under the old cap, and she stuck her hands under the vest to keep them warm. Not able to see far in the increasing murk, she wandered onto a path, rather than staying to the woods, and ran into a large, smelly  obstacle that reached out to grab her, and she screamed. Startled, the hairy hands dropped away and she dodged back, quick as a cat, and cast.  Arrows of green acid sprung from her fingers and darted toward the thing, and in the light of magic, she saw a tall, rather brawny orc, snarling and trying to grab at some weapon he wore at his side. She saw the acid bite into him, and drip down and the orc yelped in pain. She cast again, and blue-green sparks spiraled out and grew into balls of magic and slammed into the orc, staggering him backwards and throwing him off balance.  Panicked, Willow whispered the words of an invisibility spell and disappeared, and as the orc spun around, looking for her, she slinked off toward the trees beyond him.  But then she realized, wide-eyed, that she'd never seen an orc by himself.  He was probably a scout, and if she let him get away, he'd bring the rest of his patrol back to look for her.  The only way she'd survive is if she killed him. Whimpering in fear under her breath, she crept back, drawing her dagger, using all the stealth she learned in the back alleys of Gilden.  Closer and closer she got, while the orc cast around where she last was, until she was right behind him, and spotting a rent in his rusted, mismatched armor, she drove the dagger home with all her strength, up and under the arm and into the lung. She felt him stagger, and then he spun, faster than she though he could and grabbed her, blood surging from under his arm, black from his mouth, but he was still strong. Gods!  Snarling, he yanked her forward and tried to bite her face off, but she ducked, and he bit down on her shoulder instead. Now it was her turn to scream, and she stuck her fingers into his eyes and let off that first spell she learned long ago, and flames surged into his eyesockets, even as the orc in turn hit her with a wildly flung club along her head, and she fell, the world turning black with edges of red, as the orc's cries faded.

Willow heard something moving around, now. Shuffling and tearing sounds, and something that sounded like the word 'fire'-- if it was spoken by a dwarf around a mouthful of rocks. Slowly, she turned her head-- it seemed like that it was all she could move at first. There was a large, hairy, shapeless creature bent over the body of the orc.  She'd killed it? And lived? What in the hells was crouched over it? It wasn't an animal.. there was a backpack near it, and it was wearing... something. It was too dirty to tell what it was, or even what gender.. but it was doing something to the orc.  And then it turned around and it had an arm, dripping and showing the white of bone at one end, gnawing at it.. and held out another one toward her. Too shocked to scream, still too hurt to move, Willow shook her head violently and then gulped as pain and nausea rocked through her. She closed her eyes for a moment, not sure what she was going to do, and hoping that she hadn't woken up in a worse situation.  Opening her eyes again, she stared at the thing, and tried to hitch herself back a bit, and turn to her side.  It shook the arm at her again, and gobbets of flesh fell to the ground. Guttural words came from huge jaws-- it sounded like the orcish words for 'eat' and 'fire.'  Keeping her eyes carefully on it, Willow scraped together some twigs and debris, and pointed a trembling finger at it.  She was so tired...biting her lip, Willow concentrated, and sparks dribbled from her fingertips onto the tinder, and with a small whoosh! it lit, and she fell back into a faint.

(AR)

A beginning....

It was overcast.  Again.

The landscape, generally grey and dismal in full daylight was even more bleak today, shrouded in fog and flat light.  The atmosphere seemed perpetually on the verge of rain, Kora was wet even though she'd not felt any actual drops.  She tugged at her tunic, a shapeless shroud of heavy burlap which clung to her uncomfortably.  The makeshift garb was so caked with dirt and grime it likely would have held it's shape were she to take it off, though that was unlikely given that she hadn't removed it in the several months since she'd first pulled it on.  The moisture in the air settled into the fibers of the tunic until it became more supple and further clung to her body.  Small rivulets of grimy water began to trickle down her leg, zig-zagging between the coarse, black hairs that today were not succeeding in providing her any insulating warmth. 

He wasn't going to return.

After having sat on this hill at the base of a jagged, dead oak tree for an indeterminate length of time Kora realized that she was on her own.  She sat for another half hour, unmoving, as she pondered her situation and options.  Darek had promised to return, and in the short time she'd known the orc he'd always done what he said he'd do - that's the main reason she'd left the village to travel with him.  That, and to escape the frequent beatings that the orcs of Bagronk had laid on her when they could find any flimsy reason to do so.  Darek was different from the rest of them, he didn't beat her unless she really deserved it.  And he was smarter than the rest of them too - they looked down on her for being ogrillon and assumed that she didn't understand what was going on, but she knew more than they ever gave her credit for, and Darek had realized that.  He didn't want to work in Bagronk, managing the waste efflux of the great Orc City.  He was an orc with goals, and brains, and he had a Plan.

Squinting her eyes Kora scratched at her tunic again, pulling it away where it clung to her hulking body.  The Plan.  He'd not told her the whole Plan, and she hadn't really cared all that much.  She didn't like the smell in the waste pits, or the beatings, and his Plan meant that she could get away from both.  All she had to do was carry stuff for him, and smash the occasional head.  He'd told her which heads to smash and which things to carry, and the first step of the Plan had gone really well.  They were now days from Bagronk with miles between them and that fetid place, even more miles between them and the Orc City.  They seemed to be heading north and west, skirting along the edge of the mountains.  All had been going well except that now Darek was gone, and she didn't know what the next step of the Plan was.  Did the Plan even matter without Darek?

She shook her head to dislodge the moderate amount of water that had coalesced on her face and coarse, black hair.  A shower of water droplets flew away from her and a nearby crow fluttered and cawed his annoyance at the sudden movement.  Darek was gone and she could not sit here forever in the damp and the cold.  Kora used her unfailing strategy for making decisions, all options could always be narrowed down to two; right now her choices were 'go' or 'stay'.  She chose 'go'.

It took only moments to load the huge pack on her back as she'd not removed much from it when Darek left, stating he'd return in a few hours.  Only the hare carcasses, and that only because she was so hungry and he'd told her not to move from that spot.  He never beat her for eating things, that was one of the reasons she liked him so much.  He said she had to eat to be strong, and had to be strong to be able to carry things for him.  He was very wise.  So she'd eaten the hares with only a little bit of anxiety.  Now the pack was six hares lighter, but still heavy enough.  It creaked and groaned and where the straps lay across her shoulders more muddy water was squeezed from her tunic.  Her massive feet sunk in the soft ground with each step, but the soles of them were thickened and calloused enough to give her some traction.  She made her way from the dead oak tree, down a greasy, ashen hillside toward the cart trail that Darek had followed when he left her.  The walking was easier on the trail, it was even and easy to tell what direction to go - since there were only two options.  She had no idea were Darek had headed, but she did know they were going roughly in the direction of sun-down, with the mountains to the right of them, and so she continued that way. 

She'd walked for two hours or more, seeing no other living thing besides the crows that occasionally flew overhead.  Her belly was starting to grumble and she realized that she'd have to shake off the pleasant monotony of walking and think about the new problems before her; her growing hunger, and the fact that night was falling.  It would be cold, especially being as wet as she was.  She didn't like that.  With her mind more awake she started to pay close attention to everything around her, that's the only reason she spotted, after a bit more trekking, a dark shape off the trail to her right.

She slowly walked toward the shape, spotting another not far away.  They were bodies, one larger than the other.  When she was close enough she recognized the larger of the two - it was Darek.  Easing the heavy pack off her shoulders she walked over to Darek.  He wasn't moving. She knew of only one thing to do - she rummaged through the pack until she found a small chest with numerous glass vials inside.  Carefully she pulled the cork from a vial, tongue between her yellowed teeth as she concentrated on the delicate task.  Once opened she strode over to Darek, unceremoniously rolled him over with her foot and poured the liquid from the vial into his gaping mouth.  She didn't really expect it to work, he looked pretty dead, but he'd instructed her to try if she ever found him this way.  She squatted down next to him and watched for several minutes.  Nothing. 

With a sigh she strode over to the smaller body.  This one wasn't an orc, it was likely a human or maybe an elf, she could never be sure.  There were many kinds of creatures to the west that all had different names but they looked the same to Kora - they were small, with soft, naked skin, they wore layers and layers of cloth and leather and metal over their bodies and some could make fire spring from their hands.  They were fast and really vicious, she knew to stay away from them generally - though the orcs seemed to love seeking them out to try to kill them and take their shiny things.  Kora sniffed the unmoving lump and shrugged, again she was faced with a decision, so many decisions for one day!  This one was tougher though - 'eat it' or 'heal it'.  She pondered the options for awhile then for reasons even she could likely not have named she pulled another vial from the chest and dumped it down the creatures throat.  This one was still warm so she thought it might work, but it looked pretty injured so if it attacked her she probably could fight it off, or at least run away from it.  And if it didn't attack her maybe it would make fire from it's hands on some of the dry tinder in the pack, then she could be warm.  It was worth a shot. 

Sitting on her haunches she watched and waited.  Her placid patience was rewarded with a flutter of the thing's eyelids and eventually some movement.  She got a second vial and poured it down the creature's gullet - easily fending off its weak blows.  She understood that it was afraid but she really couldn't do anything to help that.  As the second dose of healing fluid did it's job she settled back and watched again.  She could see the panic in its eyes, but also something of intelligence as it became more conscious and alert.  It had lost a lot of blood fighting with Darek.  She knew what it was like to be unconscious from your wounds, and how disorienting those first moments were when you came to again.  Her stomach growled and the creature visibly twitched.  Kora held up her hands in a gesture she knew to mean 'peace' and spoke, the first words that had left her throat in several days, he voice was gravelly and deep.

"You.. make fyre?"

She wasn't sure if the creature understood her.  Her stomach growled again and she once more was faced with a choice, this one was easy though as she was hungry and the creature didn't seem like it was really understanding her.  She ignored its flinch as she strode toward and past it, hunkering down next to Darek's body a few feet beyond.  She kept one eye on the creature, she certainly wasn't about to trust that it wouldn't stab her or lob a fireball at her turned back, and carefully peeled Darek's tunic off then yanked his arm free from his torso with one good tug.  He hadn't been dead terribly long, and so the meat at the deepest part of the arm was still a bit warm.  'Sorry Darek' she thought to herself.  She knew it wasn't honorable for an orc to be eaten by an ogrillon after he was dead, but she was hungry and the other creature seemed like it had decided to be alive and so wasn't really just meat anymore.  In fact, it was probably hungry - the other thing Kora remembered from being injured is that one needed nutrition to recover quickly.  Darek had been a big orc with a lot of muscle, and she had no idea how to prepare meat so that it kept fresh for travel.  So with a shrug she reached over and ripped off his other arm and turned to offer it to the creature.

(Pb)