Fallen Feathers

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Irah didn't think she could get more insulted after being called a devil, but apparently she could. She knew now that a simple beating wouldn't do. To speak of exterminating a race...This uncivil creature would have to lose some sort of bodily function if he were to ever learn his lesson. Irah rolled her neck to one side, then the other, loosening up the kinks and knots.
And without further ado, the she evil charged forward, and grabbed the noble. "You should have stopped at 'she devil'." She snarled, bringing him about two inches away from her face before, slamming him down onto the ground.
 
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Ruthgar's curiosity was steadily dwindling. This walled city had none of the comforts of home.Thick trees had been replaced with cold stone structures. And rather than build up high, they, for the life of him, built so close to the ground. Again where were the trees? He was used to walking through columns of huge evergreen--not spacious lots and crowded streets. They had seemingly built this place in a clearing, don't they know that makes them that much more visible?

Of course, he was one to talk. Even if he weren't a seven foot monster--of course that always tended to add to that "Oh fuck!" factor--Ruthgar was as most Orc generally are, a very blatant fellow. Ruthgar though, tended to be downright violent though. He wasn't one for holding back.Not that he even knew what that meant. He had quartered a man on behest of his chieftain. For those that didn't know what quartering meant--It was the subsequent tearing off the limbs, the head, the arms and legs. This was usually done by tying the limbs to horses who were timely sent in opposite directions. But this wasn't the case with Ruthgar, he had the actual strength to rip a man limb-from-limb.

There was a reason why Ruthgar had "ruth" in his name. It was taken from the word "ruthless". And he was ruthless when he was in a true enough fight. Every bit of the word savage came to mind. If the fact the bear pelt draping his massive, muscled silhouette still bleeding wasn't notice enough that this Orc was anything but "civilized", then the bloody gashes to his abdominal, and the bite marks from the bear whose skin he now wore like a mantle piece should have really given it away.

He came across a commotion. A elven man and what looked like--holy hell! That was an Orcish woman! He hadn't seen a fellow Orc in ages! Well, a couple weeks really.Wow, she looked pissed! That must mean a fight! He threw of the bear pelt unto some rather unsuspecting, but leery passerby's.

"Here, hold this for a sec," The huge grunted. However before the townsfolk could say "Wait!" they were immediately bogged down with the bulky fur that took the both of them to hold.

The huge Orc ran with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. Which is to say, none at all. His hulking form easily shoved anybody out of the way to get to the female Orc. When he got behind her he stood read, titanic fists clenched.

"Who are we fighting?!" He grunted at her.
 
Irah turned her sharply to the side, her eyes narrowing at the sudden appearance of another orc. A massive one at that. Even her father wasn't as big as the magnificent titan in front of her. His looks didn't do anything for her, but his readiness and willingness to stand by her side was enough to put him on her good list. Even if the foe was so small and frail.

Speaking of the foe...The human was gasping and struggling on the ground, he looked like a cockroach that had been flipped onto its back. There was snot and blood dribbling down his nose and a few of his shiny white teeth were cracked and chipping. The human was moaning and whimpering, his words unintelligible.
It was pitiful.

Irah turned to the gigantic orc, and gave the human a light kick which sent him into a fit of sniveling and crying. "No one." She said in response to the orc's question. "This one insulted our race and I made it my duty to teach him a lesson. I am sure he has learnt it now." And with that she grabbed her things and stepped away from the whimpering beast.

Turning to the orc again, she reached out and placed a hand on his bicep something she did to all of the members of her tribe, "I thank you for your readiness to stand by my side. I am Irah Shatterbone of the Eastern Orc Jungles, let me buy you a meal." She suggested, giving him her usually toothy smile. Two kinsmen at one time! What a glorious day!
 
This Orcish female was slim and lean. Her small stature belied her actual strength, and while not as strong as Ruthgar, or so it seemed, she was strong enough to belittle meager humanoid. Her skin was more of a sage green, and she held many "human-like" qualities such as her unpronounceable lower jaw set. But this in turn made her far more attractive than Ruthgar. It also made it easier to speak too and less immediately scary. But she would have the sharp teeth of any true Orc!

By the time Ruthgar reached the human in question he'd been made into an example he wouldn't soon forget. It wasn't that Ruthgar was slow per-say. Just that her temper was that quick to remind him what Orcs were all about. The beauty of a fine beat down meant more than roses or cute animals in Ruthgar's eyes. And what a lovely job she did indeed! Broken teeth, clobbered face and gut wrenching pain oh my!

"No one." The female orc declared, disgusted by the human.

When the female turned towards him, identifying herself nobly as Irah Shatterbone of one of the Eastern jungle tribes. A fine tribe indeed! She also drove her heel in to the man's abdomen in a movement that was reminiscent of her wiping her boot off on the man. She placed a hand against one of his enormous biceps--it was often a custom that relayed a sense of value in ones strength, even when it may not be needed.

"I thank you for your readiness to stand by my side. I am Irah Shatterbone of the Eastern Orc Jungles, let me buy you a meal."

"Ah! An Easterner eh?! I'm from the Southern jungles.My name is Ruthgar Headsplitter, good to meet such a skilled warrior like yourself! As for the meal, Why, I ate a bear on the way over! But I can't deny a good meal!" Ruthgar gave a hearty laugh, that may have sounded more sinister if you weren't an Orc.
 
Mm, oho, now this was interesting, wasn't it?

A little scuffle had occured in the place where he enjoyed a drink on occasion. Orcs, it looked like. Admittedly, he cared not as to the grand racial politics of the day, but he knew for a fact that orcs rarely had anything worth stealing on them. Bunch of savages, after all. No money, no gold, and whatever they did have of value was valuable to them, and not to him. As a result, he essentially ignored them. Of note, however, was the elf and the human nobleman. The elf looked like a retainer, but.... He had some kind of look about him. And besides, he didn't bother with nicking from servants.

He simply stepped over towards the groaning and moaning nobleman, and kneeled down, patting him on the shoulder, before saying, "There there, boyo, no need t'struggle so much, got knockered down fair an' square, y'did. Lemme help y'on up." Of course, this wasn't out of charity. As he hoisted the nobleman up, his deft hands flicked around the noble's jewelry and pockets, picking out the choicest bits and stashing them away in his sleeves before the man could even notice. It made it easier that he was still out of it from getting the living shit beat out of him.

He then turned to the two orcs, and held out his hands, open-palmed. "Now now, y'two, he's up, and he i'int gon' cause no more trouble, y'ken? He'll be a good boyo, aye, he will." He reached out an arm and patted the shaken and rather delirious nobleman on the shoulder, before adding, "Won''chye?", before pushing him towards a table to have a seat. Now that the nobleman and the orcs weren't polluting the air with the sounds of violence and racism, and he could get back to having a drink. He started heading back towards the bar.
 
Eovaine couldn't contain his glee any longer and began chuckling as the human scum began whimpering in a disgusting state of fear at the she-orc. At the corner of his eye he saw another orc coming their way, a large beast of an orc, bigger than most orcs he'd come across, and made the she-orc, who he thought was big, look like a child. Then a sudden pang of fear struck him in the chest; what if the giant orc decided to join the fray, he thought to himself. His would-be contact would surely die and the Council would scold him for having a target he wasn't supposed to kill end up dead.

He moved to try and divert the giant orc's attention from the scene when the she-orc claimed that she was done with the human and he was no longer a bother. Breathing out a sigh of relief he noticed another human helping his target up and pick a few things from his pocket. Laughing internally at his master's bad luck, he walked up to him. "Sir Lance," he said, his joy at what happened to the human evident in his tone. "I see you've come to realize what happens when you go against the interests of the Council of the Wise."

The human looked at him with a face that was mixed with incomprehension and pain; then his eyes widened as realization dawned upon him that his slave for the past four months was a spy.

"Yes, Sir Lance, you finally realize what your most faithful servant has turned out to be. Now, I have a letter that I intend to send to the Council containing a series of incriminating information of several of your inconspicuous activities that would discredit you and your whole family and, of course, ruin their lives. Not to mention, I have two handy orcs who would always be willing to bash your face in. I'm sure you where I'm going with this?"

"Clearly," he whimpered.

"Good. Our business is now concluded, Sir Lance. If I ever have need of your assistance, rest assured I'll contact you. Now Get going before I send the orcs upon you once again." He watched as Sir Lance walked away, trying to hide his shame with his hands.

"Thank you for your assistance, Irah," he smirked, overhearing her say her name to the giant orc. "It's much appreciated." He gave her and the brutish orc a curt nod and made his way back into the tavern and sat across from the tattooed elf, his smug confidence returning to him in full. It was a good day.
 
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Dar smiled a toothy grin towards Cirdan and said "Thank ya' very much Cirdan! I'd very much love ah' seat!" Dar climbed up into the seat the female Orc sat in and propped his feet on the table smelling the air. "Say Cirdan, Don't it smell an awful lot like tha' lass Irah? And a hint of some damn smoke! Anyway, what brings you to Oak Wood Cirdan? Passin' through or makin' yerself a home here like I did?"

Brother Kwah walked out the gate, smiling at one of the guards who nodded his direction. Right up ahead the stable sat, the sound of wood being cut sounded from that direction. The smell of smoke grew stronger, and as Kwah shifted uncomfortable the sound of wood stopped. He walked on for a few more miniutes, and turned into his friends yard, discovering the smell of smoke. The small stables was burning, several horses still inside. The owner was dead on the ground, arrow's sticking out of his back. Some undead lied on the ground or eating the corpses of the fallen family members of the stable master. Kwah took a step back shaking his head, his eyes widening in fear. In the burning barn, a very tall figure, about 9 feet tall, stood with a curved spear and a green emerald staff in his hands. The elven figure's eyes were cold, yet burned like hell on Kwah's skin. Letting out his breath he took a step back and sprinted towards the town saying under his breath, "By the feather's of the grand Hawk! It's the lord of the Undead!" ​
 
"Passing through," Cirdan replied calmly, tipping his hat back over his face and leaning back into his chair. He was pleased to find that almost all of the people he had met so far had not reacted to either his heavily scarred face or his blindness, but most of the time he was not so lucky. It had become a familiar tradition to keep his hat blocking his face from plain sight, and the looks he received from the oddness of a person walking without looking were a lot more mild on the skin than the ones he would otherwise receive.

"I don't really plan on settling down any time soon. There are far too many things to see and do in the world for that." He politely refrained from adding that, were he to settle down, it would not be in such a... quaint place. This place was nice to spend a day or a week at, to refresh and prepare once more for embarking out upon the road, but he could not imagine living here for the rest of his life.

With that he fell back into silence, moving only to take another bite from the plate Irah had offered him. By now it was almost completely empty, with only the faintest traces of food to flavor the tongue.

He did, however, suddenly sit up straight when the slave elf from earlier sat across from him. He tipped back his hat, casting a sideways glower at his new, unwelcome tablemate.

"I knew there was something I didn't trust about you," he said coolly, "Assassin." Now that he wasn't trying to hide behind the mask of a slave, Cirdan could practically feel the tense power radiating from every line of his body. But it was not the honest power that most orcs possessed. No, it was cold and harsh, a feeling he knew very well, for every male member of his family had possessed it, as he had for a time as well. Now that he relied far more upon his ability to sense than his ability to see, he was amazed that he hadn't noticed it before.
 
The warm night air was just as good a cloak as any for Jarenyth Seiglinde. The inky velvet around him wrapped around him like a second skin and unlike so many others, he did not fear it's embrace. The stars above pierced the night occasionally but the shadows of the trees drew him in as well and for most, he was difficult to detect. His soft quiet step and leather boots muffled the noise he made from walking and the leather armour he wore was cinched tight, his katana strapped to his belt securely. Though days old, the smell of blood still lingered upon him and his blade; there had been a contract to fulfill some journey off and of course, the Spellslayer had once more completed the job though with finesse of the blade rather than the power of his magic. For a man who used spells, he had moments when he wanted to get close and personal, to do the dirty work itself, to taste the splattered blood on his lips than hear it sizzle away in flame and acid.

He approached Oak Wood from the West and was already almost two days into the normal three days he could go nonstop just as all his brethren had been trained to do. He traveled light, carrying all he needed on his person on his belt or in the pouches that lined his leather sleeves, foraging for edible food and sleeping in the boughs of trees in the wilderness between. With the promise of a bed at Oak Wood though, he was more inclined to rest there and restart the cycle than press onward and sleep again on bark.

Trained to the darkness, Jarenyth could see the billowing dark grey smoke above that steadily rose with the steady gait of a slow burning flame; no doubt someone was burning something - meat perhaps? It was still constrained but no need for his concern. Nearing the gates, he saw the pair of guards standing watch. Silent as he was and cloaked by the shadows, he wasn't noticed until he was right up on them, at which point he was greeted by a blade pointed at him in reflex. Instinctively, he had a dagger in hand, parrying the blow that never came.

"Gods! Don't be sneakin' up on a man like that. Ya damn near gave me chest a burst."

"Then perhaps you should watch better than you have been," the assassin answered curtly, stowing his blade away. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get a room at the inn."

He ducked under the blade, and continued on, his gait loose and free; there was no sense of combat about him. He did however pick up the sound of the blade being sheathed and the muttered comment behind him.

"Been doin' this fer ten years. I think I know how to do me job."

Jarenyth merely shook his head as he left them behind. Just as he couldn't understand the guards offense, so too could he not understand so many others' predisposition for revenge of one sort or another at what he saw as advice. As he continued down the main thoroughfare, he was nearly bowled over by a middle-aged human with hammer and shield in hand sprinting for what seemed his life. Regaining balance easily, he gave a dark glare at the man.

"If you're intending to kill someone, there are far better ways to go about it rather than mowing them down."
 
Abel was walking along on the roads of Oak Wood, trying to find a damned inn for him to rest at. He had just finished one of his little shows, making quite the name for himself hin this new area already, and he was tired. He had used a lot more energy than he normally used, trying to impress the new people. He was practically trudgeing around the random streets as he looked for ANYTHING that resembled a tavern or inn or anything of the like.

He sighed again as he found this street just as fruitiful as the last... not at all. 'Why is it so hard to find a man tavern here?' He thought to himself as he yawned. 'I really need to get a bed... This could end quite badly if I don't...' He bobbed and weaved away from random people walking about the streets, a few asking him if he was that performer they saw earlier. He politely confirmed and conitnued on his way.

As he rounded on final corner, heally found a tavern sign. He sighed in relief as he began walking down the street to teh building, not really watching where he was trudging. He really didn't care, he just hoped he didnt bump into anyone.
 
The crowd cheered as she bowed but she waved off another refrain as she backed out the door laughing and a bit tipsy from all the meed she had drank while she had been in the tavern. Stumbling, Tandi bumped into some one and turned with an apology on her lips, "Oh! Please forgive me, I seem to have drank over my fill this night!" She giggled a bit and used the stranger as a rock in the storm to help steady herself as she turned towards him.
 
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