Valerie's pleasant thoughts of a friendly tavern and drinks with a new friend on the frontier were soon driven away by the harsh reality of the warcries. They were savage, guttural calls, of the kind of group of bandits or thieves would produce. Those groups wouldn't be so bold as to announce their presence before they struck. She shared the look of trepidation with Markus.

While he conversed with the dwarves, Valerie kept a watch on the slope, trying to make out their enemies through the trees. She could spot one here and there, but failed to locate if a mass of them were gathering at any single point, or if they intended to spread out as much as possible. The echoing of the shouts didn't help matters any, as the sound bounced off the trees on all sides, making Valerie glance warily in several directions, only to spot nothing.

She said nothing, for her throat had constricted somewhat, an unfortunate side effect of her sudden nervousness before the fight, to go along with the fluttering welling up in her belly. The repeated conflicts against bandits and the like had grown steadily easier, but she'd yet to test herself any further, until now.

Valerie found the chuckle and the grin from Markus to be somewhat astounding, going so far as to take her out of the swirling thoughts and worries in her own head. Perhaps she was worrying herself needlessly. She was very skilled, and neither Orcs nor Ogres would change that. That skill would see her through.

She nodded in return to Markus, drawing her own sword. It was rather simple in ornamentation for a duelist's weapon, and a noble's at that, but the craftsmanship in the cross hilt and the pommel were plain to see, as was the deadliness of the thin blade. She nimbly vaulted after her ally and settled into a ready stance on the far side, keeping herself mostly relaxed. Now came the ugly part.