The sun was dipping below the horizon. At the edge of sight, the twinkling torchlight from a distant town began to come into view. The glare from the setting sun was halted by a large, rustic iron spike, with a long hilt and a broad guard on one end. The vamplate quickly tapered into a rather effective, if not wicked looking, point, about eight feet in length. This was the marker of a roughly set camp, featuring a small, smokey fire, and a shelter of sturdy branches and furs.
	Sat in front of this fire stood a figure, broad of shoulder and grey of skin. At his side rested what appeared to be a large dog or wolf, and a dark bird circled overhead, taking advantage of the updraft created by the flames. His blue eyes peered out over the horizon, as one hand idly turned a haunch of roasting meat on the fire.
[hr]
	A Highman casually strolled across the road. He had an odd stumble to his walk, probably having something to do with the ale in his hand. Varian Sigmund was not sure how his inebriated mind convinced him to make it this far outside Dalenham, but here he was, wandering off into the wilderness. Perhaps it said something about his state of mind that he found the wild so calming. Perhaps this is where he felt most at home.
	Or perhaps he was drunk. Regardless, here he was. The last thing Varian expected to see was another soul along the path. Varian took a second to adjust his eyes, as he squinted toward the figure’s small encampment. His eyes quickly caught sight of the large wolf near the figure, as well as the figure’s weapon of choice. Varian was even more surprised when he got close enough to see his face. “... Oi.” Varian greeted as he raised his mug of ale lazily.
	“[color=0054a6]Town’s back that way,[/color]” the figure uttered in a clear, deep, somewhat gravelly voice, “[color=0054a6]You lost friend?[/color]”
To punctuate his words, he gestured slightly with the meat in his right hand, past his campfire, and the lance set in the dirt. At about that time, the dark bird swooped down, landing upon the pointed butt of the lance, and croaking ominously at the approaching drunk man. This momentarily startled the drunk man, which caused him to furrow his brows in confusion. He gazed at the dark bird, and then the figure, and the wolf beside them, and repeated the process once more.
	“Are you a traveling circus or something of the sort?” The Highman asked with a confused gaze, “Have you got a boar or something else wandering around?”

	“[color=0054a6]Not that I’m aware,[/color]” the brutish looking fellow marked, his shock of black hair waving in the air as he turned his head slightly, as if to look around, “[color=0054a6]Traveling, yes. Circus, not sure what that is. What brings you out here, human-fellow?[/color]”
	As he spoke, the large, pointed teeth in this grey man’s mouth were made plenty apparent. This man looked like an orc, from what any who had heard tales of those creatures could tell, but also different. His eyes were more clear, his chin less jutting, his ears more flat, and he also had rather prominent eyebrows, as opposed to a low brow-ridge like other orcs possessed. The large canine stirred slightly, but only seemed to rest its chin behind the man, head leaning against his back, and licking its chops in rest.

	“Ah,” The Highman had come close enough to fully discern the man’s features.
	Even in his intoxicated state, he knew an orc when he saw one. Or orc-kind. After all, he had spent the better part of the day killing many of them. The Highman shuffled his feet closer to the orc’s encampment, as he eyed a tree and proceeded toward it. He then leaned along the tree and took a small swig of his ale. “Just taking a break between jobs,” The Highman explained as he raised the mug to his mouth. “Mmm… orcs oddly enough,” He added, before once more gulping down the contents of the mug.
	The man stood, shifting his shoulder only slightly to release the cooking  meat, standing at about eye-level with the Highman, “[color=0054a6]What’s odd about orcs, eh fellow?[/color]”
	Eyeing the man with a steely gaze, he noticed the baldrick, the wolf’s pelt- the garb of a hunter, the orcish man would surmise. In the fire’s light, he saw the glint of metal on the Highman, showing he was armed. The orcish man, now agleam upon the chest, knees, wrists, and hands with iron in firelight, gave a half nod, hovering his left hand over the small, simple war hammer on his left hip, also bearing a spiked base. These didn’t seem to be typical weapons of the orc.
	The grey one then noticed that the garments aside from his armor, and those on the drunk were made of similar materials. Perhaps he was from those icy mountains as well. The Highman had noticed the same garment similarities as the orcish man. Even in his current state, he knew one of Miraheim when he saw them.
	“Orcs eat children. They burn villages and slaughter for sport. I’d say that’s pretty odd,” The Highman crossed his arms and leaned on the tree further. At some point, his mug landed on the ground, but the Highman hadn’t realized it happened. “But I was talking about my last job. Sent out to slay a group of them who’d burned a village down. And then I run into an orc after the job… I think? What are you? You don’t look like the others.”
	He gave a wide smile, showing off his sharp teeth, “[color=0054a6]Children,[/color]” he began, stretching his back slightly after hours of sitting, “[color=0054a6]are hardly a challenge. No sport in ‘em. And- it sounds like you’re the same, hunter. Killing for sport? ‘Job’, as y’ said?[/color]” the man then sat down, removing the haunch from the fire, and taking a bite, “[color=0054a6]Aye. I’m an orc. Raven Rock,[/color]” he clarified, “[color=0054a6]You still seem lost, fellow.[/color]”
	“I’m not lost. I’m just looking,” The Highman replied matter-of-factly.
	He scanned the orc, taking in the orc’s appearance once more. He seemed much more docile than other orc the Highman encountered before. 
	“Raven Rock, eh?” He repeated, and pointed at himself, “Renvall… you looking for a challenge?” he asked, surprised at his openness in extending an offer- he figured it was largely due to the alcohol.

	“[color=0054a6]I was told never to go to Renvall,[/color]” he stated flatly, before straightening his posture, and taking a bite from his haunch of meat, “[color=0054a6]What kind of challenge, man-fellow? And what are you looking for?[/color]”

	“That’s right, your kind doesn’t do well in Renvall,” The Highman murmured and instinctively reached for what he thought was his mug in his hand, only to find an empty hand. 
	He pouted for a moment and returned to answer the rest of the orc’s questions.
	He snorted. “I can’t say for sure what I’m looking for. I suppose I will only know when I find it. As of now, I am looking for recruits for a job. A fat man’s lost his daughter to some bandits,” The Highman explained, as he pushed himself off of the tree he had been leaning on and walked a few steps in the orc-man’s direction. “The pay is 30 silver each and another 200 divided among the survivors. So two questions: can you swing that warhammer, and do you want to make some money doing it?”

	“[color=0054a6]Aye, those are agreeable terms. What of the conditions?[/color]” asked the orcish man, before he cleared his throat, setting the meat at the edge of the fire, and grabbing the hilt of the weapon on the ground, causing the raven perched upon it to flutter about, “[color=0054a6]I can do more than that, I assure you.[/color]”
	To punctuate his words, the man drew the spike from the ground, revealing it to be a rather sharp lance. The way he rested it in his grip showed a certain familiarity, and there was the matter of the armor he wore. That should have been enough to signify that he was capable in combat- that, and his most apparent physical prowess.
	“[color=0054a6]Tell you what,[/color]” began he, returning the lance to the ground, causing the raven to land upon his shoulder, “[color=0054a6]I’ll make sure you make it home safely, and you tell me where you’re starting this job.[/color]”
[hr]
	Astride his tusked wolf, the grey skinned individual approached the gates of the town that had seemed so distant the night before. Seeing a group of individuals standing at the passage, and the drunk from last night among them- less drunk and slightly more injured, he raised his lance straight up in the distance, before stopping at a nearby rise.
	“[color=0054a6]What ho, fellows![/color]” he declared loudly.