Bodies lay scattered on the warehouse floor, some groaning, others ominously still. The fox demihuman took one look at the carnage, at Barrock standing among the fallen, hand on his sword hilt, and bolted for the nearest window. An elf wasn’t far behind, crossbow in hand as he scrambled toward the door.

“Cowards!” spat Kelvara, the dark elf. Fury twisted her scarred face when she watched two of her crew flee into the streets. But five stayed. Five who’d rather die than explain this disaster to their boss.

She could see the tactical situation clear as daylight - the massive orc was a walking nightmare, but he was distracted. That pretty boy elf was trying to haul two unconscious bodies toward the back exit, slow and vulnerable.

“Grimjaw! Steelchain!” She barked orders at the young orc and the warforged. “That green bastard thinks he’s untouchable. Show him what happens when you corner the Black Maw!” The warforged’s glowing eyes flickered acknowledgment while the orc cracked his knuckles.

“Whiskers! Ironboot!” She pointed at the rabbit demihuman and dwarf. “Don’t let them reach that door!”

Three attackers converged on Barrock. Kelvara led the charge, her curved blade slicing through the air as Grimjaw flanked left bearing a heavy mace. The warforged Steelchain approached from the right, gleaming metal fists ready. Their coordination was flawless - a textbook pincer movement.

Meanwhile, Whiskers the rabbit demihuman bounded through debris at supernatural speed, reaching Rowan in heartbeats. Ironboot the dwarf rushed forward with his war hammer raised high, but tripped on scattered crates. He went sprawling, his weapon skittering along the floor.

The warehouse erupted into chaos once more, steel meeting steel.

Time: One Week After Human Arrival
Location: Seaside Park
Interactions: Aurora @mole, Vasco @JJ Doe
Mentions: None
Equipment: Longsword and Plate Armor

---

By its nature, every orc are able to inject an extra set of abilities rivaling that of magic of the elves directly into their veins, one while weaker in power, were completely innate. No need for any mana headaches. But orcs often squandered it as the urge to resist something as weak as a fly was way too hard to resist for many. Barrock was one of those stupid orcs. But he soon grew to appreciate such stupidity, and got to not understand why the orcs thought that was such a bad thing. As he was about to be reminded why.

As Barrock heard the dark elf readied themselves to attack (as if he wouldn't be listening), his movement slowed. The moment he heard the rumbling footsteps, his hand tightened on the grip. Within a fraction of a second, the sword was off its sheath. His vision slowed, he could already see the orc attacking him with his mace from his left, and the dark elf from behind, long before they made contact. Since they attacked at the same time, he couldn't be spending too much time brutalizing them and terrorizing others. He switched mode to being quick this time.

With his sword on his right hand, he swung his whole body to get the strongest thrust against Grimjaw. The long sword had longer reach, so slammed into the orc's armor, albeit without any notable damage. It only stopped the orc's attack for just a bit, which was enough for Barrock to turn his attention to Kelvara. Her blade aiming for his head was the most dangerous, so he spent the most effort on her. The slowed vision allowed him to weave the movement of his left arm guard so as to deflect the blade upward, while his sword swung sideways at her torso area. Unfortunately, she wouldn't be going down yet, as she ducked to avoid it.

However, he couldn't avoid the attack of the third, the warforged Steelchain. His metal fist slammed into his armor, sending a shockwave directly to his brain. It hurt quite a bit. His armor was even dented in a little. If this had been an elf, that could have been catastrophic.

It seemed like three competent enemies was his limit. And so one had to go.

While the warforged reeled from the attack, Barrock's left hand grabbed its arm and held it in place. His other arm let go of his sword and shot straight at its elbow joint. The two opposing motions overcame the material holding it together, breaking its elbow and leaving it dangling. The warforged could barely register pain when Barrock grabbed its head and, with his massive thumbs, brutally gorged its eyes. Warforged may be less resistant to pain and damage, but without an arm and vision, it was as good as out of the battle.

Now for the other two. Barrock reached for his sword again, continuing to be completely silent in combat.

[sub]T I M E : One Week After Human Arrival
L O C A T I O N : A Random Warehouse, Port10
I N T E R A C T I O N S : @JJ Doe
[color=silver]T A G S :[/silver] @JJ Doe , @Conscripts[/sub]
_{E Q U I P M E N T :}




Rowan was ready this time. A repeat of last time was out of the question. He had his reasons. Pride. Honor. But also, the faint breath of his sister trembling against his skin. He could feel her cry of pain in the gentlest wind.

A less refined creature would have murmured something under his breath. Rowan would admit later, how he felt about Vasco was embarrassing and lacked self-control. However, under the heat of the battle, his mind was sharp and resilient. His experience was shining in his cold eyes. His beef with Vasco stayed in its place. Here and now, he was a an honorable warrior.

Both Aurora and Vasco were light compared to the Elven warriors he had helped before them. His body tilted, muscles flexing on his left side, swinging momentum from his right thigh and extending his right calf. His foot scraped over Whisker’s face, and Rowan caught himself, right foot touching the ground with vibrancy.

A cheeky wit was about to munch its way from the demihuman’s mouth, when Rowan’s opposite foot landed its dorsum across the enemy’s cheek. His head twisted with the crash. Saliva and blood sputtered where words should have been.

Rowan panted, taking the small moment to recover. His feet were ready, on toes. His legs, bent at the knees and ready. Eyes, piercing like a snake, calculated the stumble of Whiskers before the next move. His humanoid body fumbled. Muscles twisted to control his form. Feet mumbling against the ground before letting his body collapse. His body rolled, waist arching to push himself upwards, but another foot was already meeting his torso, this time.

Steel blue eyes darted around, anticipating the next needed move. His chest breathed in and out, extracting muscle and sweat. His Adrenalin was in-control.

The war hammer rested between the Light Elf and his next opponent. Without an owner it was useless, and his opponent was still recovering from some sort of clumsy stance.

Rowan decided he would not be using the hammer. He knew better than to put either Aurora or Vasco down. His feet moved quickly, again, with a bated breath. If he could out maneuver Ironboot then he would be guaranteed a victory. This all seemed possible as his feet broke into a sprint.

He was more agile than the Dwarf. His strength could theoretically be an issue, but he was going to risk his odds. His body danced around, swinging his kicks against a Dwarf that used his wrist cuffs as shields, until finally the Dwarf stumbled, again, on debris. The bottom of Rowan’s foot slammed into the dwarf’s large nose.

Rowan offered no prideful words as the Dwarf faltered. No rebuttal of victory or mocking shame. Instead, a clean cut with his heel to the ear, side of head. Just underneath the Ironboot’s headgear.

Kelvara snarled as she watched Steelchain crumple, metal arm dangling uselessly. The warforged’s agonized mechanical whirring filled the warehouse as it stumbled blindly into a stack of crates. Another crew down—this was turning into a massacre.

But the dark elf had survived worse odds. Her scarred face twisted into a vicious grin.

Kelvara feinted high with her curved blade, then dropped low, her steel biting deep into the back of Barrock’s leg. Dark blood flowed and his stance wavered. Meanwhile, Grimjaw—blood trickling from his mouth—brought his mace down hard, striking the already dented section of Barrock’s armor and driving the warforged’s earlier damage deeper into the metal.

Across the warehouse floor, Whiskers groaned and rolled onto his side, rabbit ears flattened against his skull. Battered and bloodied, his beady eyes were still tracking Rowan’s movements. The demihuman’s hand crept toward a concealed throwing knife at his belt.

“Not... finished…” Whiskers wheezed, muscles coiling despite his injuries. With a sudden burst of speed, he hurled the poisoned blade at Rowan’s back.

Ironboot had weathered the assault, his thick skull having absorbed the worst of Rowan’s kicks. At the last moment, the dwarf caught Rowan’s heel strike with both hands and redirected it. Ironboot’s meaty fist drove deep into Rowan’s gut. Blood streamed from his broken nose, but dwarven constitution was legendary for a reason. He rolled away and scrambled toward his war hammer.

Time: One Week After Human Arrival
Location: Seaside Park
Interactions: Aurora @mole, Vasco @JJ Doe
Mentions: None
Equipment: Longsword and Plate Armor

---

When Barrock returned to his sword, the adrenaline was at a high. And so, he fell into the simple feint, resulting in a stab in the back of his leg by Kelvara, which led to the follow up by the orc. But luckily the orc hit on the same spot the warforged did earlier, which while still hurt, it wasn't nearly as devastating as slicing an open wound. In fact, it only flinched him slightly and forced a grunt out of Barrock.

This was fine for him. They inflicted wounds but not enough to stun him, which resulted in Barrock violently pushing Kelvara away, giving him some time to deal with Grimjaw. Thinking quickly, Barrock released his longsword, grabbed a nearby shortsword from a deceased fighter and engaged him. Grimjaw's response was seen by Barrock's slowed vision, and he proceeded to swat his attack away, and delivered a stab with the short sword to the back of the orc's knee, sinking deep into it. A very deliberate and precise motion to stagger his opponents for a little bit. Barrock didn't need them to die, he just needed some time while he dealt with Kelvara. This elf seemed to enjoy the danger and the difficult opponent, let's see how much she would enjoy it when all her teeth fall out.

With one more punch to knock the wounded orc over, Kelvara now had Barrock's full attention, with his longsword back in hand. Wasting no time, he lunged forward with an overhead downward swing. If she was paying attention, his left hand wasn't holding onto the hilt of the sword, only pretending to.

_{T I M E : One Week After Human Arrival
L O C A T I O N : A Random Warehouse, Port10
I N T E R A C T I O N S : @JJ Doe
T A G S : @JJ Doe , @Conscripts
E Q U I P M E N T :}




As Ironboot’s boots fist rammed into Rowan’s gut, he breathed-in and breathed-out, rhythmically, as they had drilled over-and-over in training. It was a system, the right air flow, the right relaxation of muscles, and the right channel of energy. The punch landed on Rowan, and reflexively, his left arm, managing Vasco swung the unconscious body.

Human legs straightened with the swing, knocking Ironfist back a few measures. Rowan was now facing Whiskers. With another breath, heavy but steady, Rowan took a side step, stumbling still, under the weight of carrying both bodies. Despite the stumble, he dodged the poison blade, which found its way to Ironfist.

Kelvara twisted away from Barrock’s overhead strike, the heavy blade embedding itself in the wooden planks beside her boots. Rolling sideways, she came up in a crouch and pressed her assault relentlessly. Her smaller frame proved advantageous—darting between his defenses, using crates and support beams as cover while her curved steel sought gaps in his armor.

Then suddenly, Grimjaw erupted from behind as Kelvara engaged Barrock’s attention. Powerful arms hooked under the orc's armpits, wrenching both limbs backward. Barrock’s sword pulled away from any defensive position while Grimjaw locked the other orc’s shoulders in an agonizing hold, ignoring the fire in his wounded knee.

Perfect. Kelvara seized the moment instantly. With Barrock’s arms restrained and defenses completely open, she reversed her grip and lunged. The weapon sliced through dust-filled air, death riding its edge as it closed the final inches...

---

Ironboot sat up groggily, blinking at the throwing knife protruding from his heavy shoulder padding. The dwarf plucked out the blade and examined it with curiosity. He noted the green coating along its edge before giving it a cautious taste, then spat with disgust and wiped his beard. Decades of his wife’s cooking had built up an impressive tolerance to poison.

He hefted his war hammer, then hurled the poisoned knife at Rowan. The knife sailed past the elf, and Whiskers charged forward, snatching the thrown blade from the air with ease.

Their coordinated attack struck swiftly. The dwarf’s war hammer crashed into Rowan’s legs, staggering the elf under the weight of his unconscious burdens. As Rowan fought to maintain his balance, Whiskers sprang up and snatched Aurora from his faltering grip, while Ironboot rolled and wrapped his thick arm around Vasco’s neck.

Both attackers retreated immediately, dragging their prizes to opposite sides of the warehouse. The dwarf’s muscular forearm pressed against Vasco’s windpipe—a chokehold that could crush the human’s throat with little effort. Meanwhile, Whiskers held the poisoned knife to Aurora’s pale neck.

“Drop whatever fancy moves you’re planning, pretty boy,” the rabbit demihuman called out, his voice carrying a manic edge. “One twitch from any of you and these two get to meet their maker real quick-like!”

Time: One Week After Human Arrival
Location: Seaside Park
Interactions: Aurora @mole, Vasco @JJ Doe
Mentions: None
Equipment: Longsword and Plate Armor

---

The feint didn't work, and Barrock's work against Grimjaw was not as effective as he had hoped. Now he would pay for both of that. Now they inched closer to a different kind of monster.

When his hands and legs were bent and widened, a familiar feeling returned with a vengeance. The feeling of helplessness, when a thousand chains held him on his knees until his bones grew weary, and along with it: Anger. And as he looked Kelvara in the eyes, that arrogant look of hers, it only reinforced that innate desire every orc had inside.

He wanted them to feel pain. It didn't matter the wounds.

The veins popped in all four limbs and on his head. The other orc would begin to feel a loss of control, as Barrock began to overpower him. Try as he may, Dugmahord orcs were the physically strongest of all orcs, and he only needed one limb to break free. His left arm did, and he soon had enough just enough control to divert death onto his armor. Kelvara's blade only managed to cut a bit of his neck. Just a flesh wound for any orc.

Barrock swung with his freed arm to get Kelvara away from him, then turned his attention to Grimjaw. That orc had lived too long, he will now die. Screaming.

Grimjaw's table was turned, as his arm was held tightly, then twisted to an impossible angle. Barrock would let the orc go, let him stumble ahead of him, before grabbing his head from above. Relinquished the moment Barrock plunged his sword into Grimjaw's back, as he moved it back and forth, letting the blade ravage his insides. And then, as if his merciful side resurfaced in the waves of utmost brutality, Barrock retracted his sword and, in one single swing, decapitated the orc alive. Without a command center, Grimjaw's body fell like a sack of rice.

Barrock could only saw blood in front of him, figuratively and literally.

"Come here!" He roared, as all his anger pointed at the dark elf.

_{T I M E : One Week After Human Arrival
L O C A T I O N : A Random Warehouse, Port10
I N T E R A C T I O N S :
T A G S : @JJ Doe , @Conscripts
E Q U I P M E N T :}




Body twisting-and-turning. Muscles flexing-and-relaxing. Heartbeat accelerating. Rowan moved like water through the air, surround even himself as he maneuvered two unconscious bodies with his weight. It was all in the toes.

And then, he stopped.

There was a pulse, a pause in his rhythm. A wrong step. The wrong exhale. The too quick of an inhale. And her throat, porcelain and ready to crack with the flick of a blade.

The rabbit humanoid was grinning. Smug but not smug enough. There had to be an opening.

His silver eyes darted. Every angle, every spot. And then, he was made aware. His breath was ragged. His arms were tired. The momentum he was swinging had left him.

Aurora’s long white hair spilled onto the concrete. Her eyes closed to the world, but she was still alive. He would keep it that way, for as long as he life itself would let him.

In a split decision, Rowan stepped back, knife nipping her jawline, maybe. Upon seeing her freedom, he tried to regain the strength he once had, but his arms wavered under the pull of Aurora’s limp body. He collapsed to the ground, but Aurora was no longer with Whiskers.

Watching Rowan collapse, Aurora sprawled beside him on the warehouse floor, Whiskers grinned. Perfect. Time to end this—

“COME HERE!”

Barrock’s thunderous roar shook dust from the rafters and rattled Whiskers’ bones. He whipped around to witness Grimjaw’s head rolling across blood-soaked planks with a wet, meaty sound, trailing crimson like a broken wine cask. The metallic stench of fresh blood hit his nostrils as the body crumpled.

Blood drained from Whiskers’ face faster than it had from Grimjaw’s neck. His ears flattened against his skull.

Fuck. This was going sideways fast.

His beady eyes found Ironboot first—the dwarf’s mouth hung open in shock. Then he caught Kelvara’s gaze as she dodged another of Barrock’s swings. Across the carnage, years together needed no words.

Time to cut their losses.

Ironboot hauled the limp human effortlessly over his shoulder and headed for the rear door. Whiskers followed the dwarf’s path.

At the threshold, the demihuman spun around and hurled his poisoned blade at the fallen elves—a parting gift. Before it even landed, he was through the door.

---

The dark elf felt the violent energy radiating from Barrock in forge-hot waves. The other orc’s eyes were completely bloodshot now, lost to the berserker fury that made his kind so feared. Every swing of his blade could cleave her in half, every step shook the warehouse floor.

Grimjaw never stood a chance against this. Poor kid. The young orc had been eager to prove himself, always volunteered for the dangerous jobs. Now his blood painted abstract patterns across the wooden planks while his killer stalked her with murder in his eyes.

All she had to do was buy time. Hold his focus until the others got away.

“What’s wrong, big boy?” she taunted, slipped between two support beams while steel splintered wood where her head had been a heartbeat before. “Getting tired already?”

Dancing backward, Kelvara deflected what strikes she could with her curved blade. Bone-jarring impacts from blows that could shatter stone. Her muscles burned, arms screamed from the effort.

One particularly vicious swing nearly caught her. The blade grazed her ribs, parted leather and flesh alike. Hot pain exploded through her torso, crimson soaking her shirt.

Barrock loomed over her, longsword raised for the kill. His face was a mask of primal fury, beyond reason or mercy.

This was it. All those jobs, all those close calls, just to die in some warehouse.

A sharp hiss, then gray smoke billowed through the warehouse.

“Kelvara!” Whiskers’ voice rang through the haze from somewhere near the exit.

She didn’t hesitate. Rolling to her left, she found Steelchain stumbling blindly through the smoke, his remaining hand outstretched and searched for direction. Kelvara grabbed his metal fingers and pulled, led the damaged warforged toward the sound of Whiskers’ voice.

They disappeared into the winding alleys of River Port, leaving behind a warehouse full of bodies and one very angry orc.

Time: One Week After Human Arrival
Location: Seaside Park
Interactions: Aurora @mole, Vasco @JJ Doe
Mentions: None
Equipment: Longsword and Plate Armor

---

From that point on, Barrock was on autopilot. He was acting completely on instinct, wherever Kelvara was, he followed, and destruction behind him. The unrelenting aggression, complete lack of regards for his own well-being. It ironically yielded better results than when he was calm. The tsunami of rage had worn Kelvara down and forced her to fight on his term rather than hers. It was only a matter of time until something in her breaks.

It did come, though crafty as ever, the dark elf managed to minimize the damage. But she still broke, kneeling in front of him.

Various visions crossed his minds of what Barrock was about to do to her, as he gripped his sword tighter. But alas, it was not meant to be. She was bailed out in the most cowardly of trickery. By the time he swung his sword, she was gone. Just like that, his hard-earned kill slipped from his finger.

His anger meter continued to rise as it slowly dawned on Barrock of that fact. He continued swinging wildly at his surrounding, obliterating several barrels and boxes in an instant, without regards for friends or foes. It took a good minute until calm tides came back, and he accepted reality laughing at his face at his failure.

The orc took out his remaining anger with gritted teeth, and a crushed wooden pole.

_{T I M E : One Week After Human Arrival
L O C A T I O N : A Random Warehouse, Port10
I N T E R A C T I O N S : @JJ Doe , @Conscripts
T A G S : @JJ Doe , @Conscripts
E Q U I P M E N T :}




Time slowed. The blur focused. The ceiling was rusty and old. Patches of makeshift handiwork covered odds and ends.

His hand was touching cold concrete. An ache throbbed through his body. It beat in different forms and at various intervals.

Aurora!

Vasco was long gone. Rowan had no concern for the human. All that mattered was that his sister was okay.

His head turned. A bruised and swollen cheek touched the ground. A chill ran through him, but it quickly settled. She was fine. Unconscious but fine.

Her white hair spread around her like a halo. Small, shallow breaths were keeping her alive. There was darkness soaking her cloak. The liquid was threaded through her hair. And, although she was so very pale, her cheeks had life.

As the moment passed, Rowan sat up quickly. His muscles overcame the struggle. His hands planted on the concrete, and his body sprang upon his feet. With knees bent, his eyes darted around the warehouse.

He saw nothing but Barrock.

Rowan’s eyes sharpened and recoiled.

Blood stained the floor. Bodies scrunched and torn apart were laying limp amongst the Ogre’s chaos. There were not enough bodies, however.

This was not the Barrock he knew.

He looked back at Aurora, lying on the floor. He needed to retreat and get Aurora from the scene. But, something was nagging him. Something he had decided to leave behind and was only now remembering…

Vasco!

Again, with the same sharpness, Rowan scanned the warehouse. Vasco was no where to be seen. They had captured him.

Instead of dwelling on the situation, Rowan quickly scooped up Aurora and headed towards the exit. Dodging around debris, he told himself it was fine. Holding Aurora in his arms had its own familial comfort, but for some reason, she weighed heavier than he remembered.

Time: One Week After Human Arrival
Location: Seaside Park
Interactions: Aurora @mole
Mentions: None
Equipment: Longsword and Plate Armor

---

Silence fell upon the corpse-ridden battlefield, as more of the living organisms, intelligent or otherwise, went cold. Barrock's temper also cooled off, and his vision cleared to what had happened.

The rest of the syndicate had left, along with Vasco. The first week ever since humans arrived to assist in this rebellion, and the group had lost two already.

What a colossal clusterfuck of an operation. All because of that fucking human. Barrock had told him to be methodical, and the bastard didn't listen, now he's kidnapped too.

Fuck him.

He could die for all he cared. All he had been to him, Rowan and Aurora had been nothing but being a reprehensible prick.

As for the elven siblings, they seemed okay, but they were quick to leave. The orc instinctively followed, but one step forward and his knee buckled, and he stood with his sword in hand as support. The fight had left his knee rather badly injured, though nothing too critical. Looking around, he ripped out some cloth from the more intact deads and wrapped his knee up in a crude, somewhat painful but serviceable bandage. The quintessential orc way to do about things. He also took his time to take off his armor and reviewed the damage that the orc and the warforged caused to him.

A thought crossed his mind briefly that Rowan just left him here after seeing what happened, and what he had become, but...whatever. He had lived a rugged life before, if they chose to let him go, then so be it. It wasn't the end of the world.

"Hmmm..."

He looked at the dent made on his armor, and on his chest. It was turning colors. Could be concerning, but as of now, it was just a slight discomfort.

Barrock bent his armor back into shape with his hands, then saddled back up. He emerged from the warehouse the same Barrock as before - a little beaten up, but the same stoic man. But the carnage behind him was still visible as a reminder of what this stoic man could and would do.

_{T I M E : One Week After Human Arrival
L O C A T I O N : Somewhere in the Forest, Port10
I N T E R A C T I O N S :
T A G S : @JJ Doe , @Conscripts
E Q U I P M E N T :}




Dew pressed through Rowan’s sleeves onto the skin of his arm, carrying the weight of his sister. He needed to get her help quickly. But where was he supposed to find that?

The Syndicate could be anywhere. Any notably suitable place would be too obvious for shelter. He needed to be creative, but all he could think of was the forest brush surrounding the perimeter of Port10.

It was not ideal for Aurora, but he was not about to take any other chances. Not on her. He had already lost Vasco — mistakenly, and he was not going to let his sister slip through his grasp. He had chosen to save her, after all.

“Hold out your palm, Aurora,” their father spoke. His voice was deep and clear, like a freshwater lake. It had a life of its own, with mysteries ready to be discovered.

Meekly, Aurora held out her hand. Thin, nimble fingers uncurled to reveal her palm.

“These have been made just for you,” their father spoke once more. He placed a pair of golden earrings into her palm. Her blind eyes glittered from the cool sensation, and a smile brightened her face.

Rowan watched intently. His mouth was hiding a quiver of anticipation. They were beautiful. The light shined on them just so.

“They’re made from the same gold that forged the wedding bands of your mother and me,” the older elf said. “It’s a rare gold. This color is unique.” His silver eyes looked at Rowan. Aurora would never know the color, but her brother was destined to always notice it. “Not just the color is unique but the properties surrounding this gold. Try them on.”

Rowan could not help but feel how gentle yet strong his father was. His every movement caused a peaceful ease marked by a tremendous historical power. He wanted to be just like him. He drew in a breath and puffed up his chest.

“These will help you hear. You may not have eyes to see, but your other senses will always be willing to help.” His large hands clasped the earrings around her lobes. He brushed a hand over her hair, moving stray strands from her bashful face.

A calm look of adoration fell over their father’s face. It was an admiration that Rowan knew all too well. It was a look that once stung him but had now taught him. For, his own face often mirrored his exact look for Aurora when no one else was looking.

“Rowan,” their father’s voice was stern. “Your mother and I will not always be here to protect Aurora.” His eyes went downcast and then turned back to his son. “Her life rest on your shoulders. Never let any harm come to her.” The silver in his eyes were sharp and unwavering.

“Yes, Father,” Rowan replied. He surprised himself with how low and respectful his voice sounded. And then, he finally wondered, when did he begin to care about the sound of his voice and the sound of the voice of others? Was it after Aurora began understanding speech?

“Now,” the older elf cupped Aurora’s face. “You look beautiful — just like your mother.”

There was a small stream. It trickled through the small port and into the forest. Patiently, it continued through the forest and beyond.

Rowan placed Aurora near the stream. The grass was green and soft. Her body draped onto the ground. Her head rolled carelessly to the side. Pale with only faint breaths.

His body kneeled over his sister. His own silver hair was sweaty with fight and fear, while hers was damp with blood and determination. As he tried to catch his breath, he thought about Vasco. His fists grabbed the grass and pulled at the roots.

He knew Aurora would had preferred sacrificing her own life to ensure the safety of Vasco — or any human for that matter. But, he couldn’t let himself make the same decision. Not in place of Aurora. She was too precious to him.

And yet, he knew he made the wrong decision.

Shaking the feelings he had, he began assessing Aurora’s wounds. He thanked the gods and goddesses that he was the one to do it and not someone else, like Vasco.

The name stung him. The situation for what it was, he guiltily preferred. Did this make him weak? Was he tricky loyal to the salvation of Avalia? What would his father have done?

Tearing a piece of Aurora’s robe, he pressed it against a wound close to her chest. Her skin was still warm. He could feel her pulse. It was light and comforting.

“Ahoy!”

Rowan looked up. His reaction was more of a jolt. His body hunched over his sister. All the weakness he had been feeling quickly fled. He was ready to fight, again.

“I said, ‘Ahoy!’” An elder man stepped forward. He was on the larger size in strength and a bushy face. Although he was intimidating (was he carrying an axe?) he was friendly looking.

His name was another Light Elf known as none other than Timothy Babadil. It took almost no time for Timothy to break the ice and listen to Rowan’s story. There were two others — one being a human and the other an orc. Both somebodies came as a surprise, in a good way to Timothy.

First off, he had heard about the humans being summoned. He wasn’t dumb about not wanting to be a helping hand. He had been around for a longtime, and while he generally stayed out of meddling with powers, this seemed like a cause he did not mind bending a few of his own personal rules in the name of good.

Secondly, an orc with such an illogical temperament for an everyday orc meant something to good ole Timothy Babadil. He thought it was a sign of good fortune or the gods and goddesses trying to say there was more to this mission. Quite possibly, everyone already knew — just look how the Dark Elves were broadcasting, but for Timothy, these here was a tell tale sign that the Light Elves were going to be victorious.

Timothy mended the two younger elves gently and brought them back to his cottage in the woods. It was not much, but at the same time, it was everything the old elf had, which meant, it was enough.

The cottage looked like part of the woods. A mixture of rock, cave, trunks, roots, and leaves. Inside, the cottage was a wooden common cottage, complete with a bedroom or two, a loft above the kitchen, a living area, and a bathing place to rest and wash clothes. It was cozy in all the right ways, as if the owner had spent centuries planning how to make a perfect nest for weary travelers.

Timothy tended more to their wounds since he had all his resources with him now, and while they rested, he left a note. It read:

Gone to find our friend. There shouldn’t be too many orcs around here, especially one that’s injured. Be back when when he is. In the meantime, don’t go anywhere, as you both need your rest, and please, do make yourself at home. Your friend, Timothy Babadil

Time: One Week After Human Arrival
Location: Somewhere in the forest
Interactions: Timothy @mole
Mentions: None
Equipment: Longsword and Plate Armor

---

Did they really leave him behind?

Barrock lumbered, stumbled and tripped his way through the forest to no sight of Aurora and Rowan. As he saw the eventide reflected onto his face, he sat down upright by one of the nearby trees his eyes closed. For a couple of hours, tranquility came in the form of chirps.

He didn’t know if this was a thing with orcs, or if it was just him, but he didn’t dream. He didn’t sleep either. As his body was in its healing cradle, his mind seemed to wander in a colorless area, surrounded by thoughts that appeared in no direction and order in particular.

’That was such a waste of time’

It was whatever. He was a mercenary a few days ago for years. There was no pain in coming back to it. Barrock didn’t have high opinions of these rag tag rebels, and if they were so disorganized to the point of leaving him the moment they got injured like that, why would he trust them with his life? He’d pretend like he never knew them.

’I thought it would have amounted to something.’

He really did though. He didn’t know what to think of that. Stupid, naive?

’As much as those pigs disgusted me, they really made me fear for my own life briefly’

’Did I really devolve back into such a subspecies?’

People liked to remind him that no matter who he was and what he did, he was still an orc. He saw it for himself, when pushed to the brink, the animal in him had taken over, and he did what they do best. Were they ultimately right?

Then suddenly in the backdrop of nothingness, he saw physicslly a white light approaching, expanding and engulfing the space around him.

Barrock opened his eyes, his ears perked to the sound of rustling leaves. He immediately stood up with his sword raised horizontally in the direction of the sound. The orc saw him, a pale creature was hard to hide in the greens.

_{T I M E : One Week After Human Arrival
L O C A T I O N : Somewhere in the Forest, Port10
I N T E R A C T I O N S : @Conscripts
T A G S :
E Q U I P M E N T :}




It was later in the day, now, as it typically was when a hurt creature came looking unintentionally for good ole Timothy Babadil. This meant the sun was sleeping, and the moon was awake. The night was young, at least, which meant all the scary creatures were still surveying the land before making their initial prowls. Although, Timothy reckoned there weren’t any creature in Port10 that would mess with who he was looking for.

For the first time in a long time, Timothy was feeling genuinely excited about something. It wasn’t the excitement that came with a gift or festive party, but the kind of excitement that would be remembered in dear kind for a lifetime. For an Elf, a lifetime was an awfully long time, which meant this excitement was none other than what they would call extraordinary.

His lantern was singing through the brush. He was looking for large shadows that didn’t look like tree shadows. If nothing came up, he would check in-town. Although, Timothy knew a wounded orc would not fair in the town, especially at this time. Besides, the bad guys were still running around.

Time was not quite on his side, but in the other hand, time was not against him. Time just was, as it always was, and there was nothing he could do about it except keep on going. So, there was in the midst of the forest when he found Barrock.

At first, he thought about hiding and observing, but the orc was smart. There was no hiding from the orc, especially at this point. There was also no point in hiding and observing — for good old Timothy had nothing to hide nor observe. He was a Light Elf of good merit, and Barrock was the only orc around, fair and square.

“Ahoy!” He called out. It was different from the call he gave Rowan, for the time of day was different. The forest was listening different, now. The small vermin were chirping, too.

“Your friends Rowan and Aurora sent me looking for you, good ole Barrock.” His lantern chimed and shined a light between them. There was cheek in the Light Elf’s smile. He was amused to meet such a fascinating creature, and he was more than honored to give him the title or “good ole.” “They’re injured but fine. Now tell me, what can I do for yah?”

His bag swung around. The flap opened with central force and a substantial supply of medical equipment was scene peaking out. His eyes glimmered, ready for any and all responses from the good ole Barrock.

Time: One Week After Human Arrival
Location: Somewhere in the forest
Interactions: Timothy @mole
Mentions: None
Equipment: Longsword and Plate Armor

---

Barrock narrowed his eyes before him, as if to limit the intake of energy from this light elf, but also disarmed the orc. An awkward staredown took place as Barrock squared up whether or not he should take this elf seriously. Knowing his name, Aurora, and Rowan was obviously a noteworthy sign, if not the only important sign that he was one of the rebels, but his paranoid mind continuously warned him of a potential poser, running through various possibilities that this guy could weasel his way in. The weigh that ultimately tipped the scale was ultimately cold hard logic.

Barrock broke off the staredown first by looking and pointing down at his knee, which looked obviously busted up from the previous fight.

If he was right and the elf was who he said he was, Barrock could relieve himself of pain. If not, whatever. He didn't have that much to lose anyway.

Barrock could also tell that the elf was curious in him. One could kind of understand it, although he definitely wasn't fond of an overly prying attitude. But it was coming no matter what he'd say, so Barrock invited it anyway.

"Who are you?" The orc said, as he laid his back against the tree, letting the elf work on his injuries, while bracing himself against the barrage of questions that inevitably was coming.

_{T I M E : One Week After Human Arrival
L O C A T I O N : Lodge, Port10
I N T E R A C T I O N S : @Conscripts
T A G S :
E Q U I P M E N T :}




The Light Elf watched the ogre. The large creatures body tensed and relaxed. Well, it never fully relaxed. His body more so made itself less threatening seeming, if that were possible for an Ogre, especially of his size. Nonetheless, good ole Timothy Babadil was not frightened in the least. He trusted this Ogre. He was, after all was said and done, a good omen.

Rattling his light as he made way for an even friendlier posture, shadows cast about them. Despite the shadows, the small fire made the trees and rest of the forest around them seem less menacing and meddlesome. Maybe it was some hidden power within the Light Elf himself or maybe it was simply the glint of pure hope that continually sparkled in his adventurous eyes.

“The name is Timothy Babadil! Been here longer than most can remember and that includes this here forest. Although, that might mean I wasn’t always here in this forest and was somewhere else entirely before I did come here.”

There was a pause in his introduction. The wind blew a bit and sent shivers through the brush and leaves. Ole Timothy listened intently, but his eyes remained interested in Barrock. When the wind died down, the whimsical smirk returned.

“I am adamant we get you back to my place. I may not have helped your friends as much as I have if it weren’t for you. You’re good fortune to have ‘round. Unfortunately, I have a feeling, we don’t have much time here — you and me, so we best be going to where we’re supposed to be.”

Timothy’s timber body turned. The lantern creaked just enough to sound like a branch moaning. And with that, one brown booted foot in front of the next, he began wandering on a secret path invisible to everyone but him. But, just before he made too much headway, his nose poked behind him. “I wouldn’t wish your friends missing out on an apology just because we took too long making our introductions.”

The lantern light began traveling, again, and somehow, underneath his hat, he became part of the forest. A small nymph flame (most certainly his lantern in disguise) will-o’-the-wisp’d through the whimsies of the forest. It was all just clear enough for Barrock to see.