[b]Rassmata:[/b]

I'm crouching in the cellars with a terrified human steward trying to find a casket of pitch.

"Please, sir, we ha-ha-had stored so-mmmm-some pitch just last mo-montth. It must be around here somewhere."

The frail old man is dressed in his finest regalia, presumably because he had visions of dying alongside his mistress after throwing himself nobly to his death to save her from the cruel orcs, and he wanted to look his best. And when the orcs didn't kill them, he contented himself with looking good as a prisoner. If he had known that he would be helping me find some pitch to replace my used firebombs, I think he might have dressed more suitably. 

"No worries, sir. I dint wish to bother you, but I needed your help, sir."

Both me and the steward are uncomfortable with one another and the situation, so we've both reverted to speaking as formally as we can, each deferring to the other. Which, while it could be amusing to onlookers, is leaving both of us with frayed nerves.

I swing the diminutive lantern around the space, a dusty underground room filled with crates and barrels with not nearly enough space for me to stand up in, though the steward can stand upright easily, if he wasn't hunching away from me.
I'm just about to give up and content myself to the firebombs I already have when the steward lets out a victorious squawk, and begins tugging at a hefty barrel set back into the corner of the room, partially obscured by other wooden containers. 
Moving awkwardly to where the old man is, I reach over him, grasping the barrel firmly in two hands, and pull it away over his head.
The steward flinches, fearfully reminded of my strength. 

"Thank you, sir, for your uhh, assistance."

Ducking my head in a nervous bob, I readjust my grip on the barrel, attempt a nervous sort of smile, and practically run out of the cellar, leaving a confused steward in my wake. Hopefully he'll be smart and return to where they're keeping the other humans. I don't care, it was enough torture just asking one to help.

Stepping out of the cellar, I climb the dilapidated flight of stairs back into the main hall of the castle, with the front doors open wide to the rest of the garrison courtyard and the unimpressive walls beyond. Unimpressive walls that were swarming with orcs looking like they were ready for battle. We were being attacked!
Slinging the barrel underneath my arm, I race out into the courtyard, looking around for Kavu. 
A distinctive shout catches my attention, and I turn to look up at Kavu, standing next to an older siege engine. I look down at the barrel of pitch in my arms, and then at the impatient look on Kavu's face, and I break into a grin as I climb the flight of stairs to the boss.