[i]Light. Again. Damnit.[/i]

Under a towering oak in the middle of the forest, there stirred some warped, twisted form of a creature, with grotesque, misshapen shoulders exposed by rips in a black garb, poorly proportioned legs shielded by dull grey trousers, just baggy enough to mask his disgusting figure. Groaning, he rolled onto his back, exposing the bloody mess that was his chest. Luckily, the blow was shallow. Hey, he made it half the night without it being treated, that had to be a good thing, right? The whole 'passing out in the forest' thing didn't seem like the best way to get it healing, but miraculously, the wound looked fairly clean. With any luck, it shouldn't go bad.

Razz had been out hooman huntin' on the highway. It was going pretty well, too, he managed to strip a couple of suits of armour and some swords off of some pompous, tee-totaled scouts from a nearby army or something and stuff them in his cache, but then the idiots ran crying back to their camp all in the nude and whined about it. He must've run halfway round the forest trying to get away from the bastards. Gave them the slip, obviously, but remembering anything other than that is... well, impossible. Snatching a tissue out of his pocket, he tried to mop up and clear off some of the blood covering his shirt and chest. This was going to leave a scar. A nice one, too, from the shoulder, down right across his nipple. If he lived through it, that is.

[i]Okay, time to take stock. Take inventory. was I hunting EAST of the village, or WEST? No way of knowing now. I guess I'll see what's at the end of this forest then, if nothing else.[/i] Grunting, grimacing and doing pretty much everything else one can do when you're in pain and want to know everyone else know just how annoyed you are, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his shoulders, and finally his feet. Staggering towards a tree, he tried to balance himself while he got used to his sudden new position. After a good few seconds, he began to walk. It was only then when he noticed that his feet were torn to shreds, and his boots were in tatters. Under the excruciating pain, he abruptly sunk to his knees, resuming his grunting and clawing his way towards the area that seemed to have the least trees.

This carried of for what felt like hours, the slow, agonizing slog through the trees. He was so exhausted that he didn't notice when the trees finally stopped and he stood atop an outcrop. He didn't even stop when he reached the drop, and after that it was a little too late.

Chaos struck. Every one of his limbs was being thumped, hard and repeatedly by the rocky ground as his momentum propelled him downwards, ever downwards into god knows where. The momentum stretched his body out flat, and every attempt he made to cover his face just resulted in rocks clashing against his hands. Then, with a loud and tortuous 'thud', is stopped. He exhaled slowly, rolling over once more to find.... another bloody army.

[i] This is REALLY not my day. At least this doesn't look to be the army that attacked me before..... [/i] Craning his neck to survey the situation, he realized that he was in the back end of the forces, with all the squires, or whatever those human bastards called them. This army, here, probably meant he was near Earroldir. [i]Good, I could use a stiff drink. And some of my spare supplies.[/i] Dropping his head to the ground, he summed up all his strength and shouted at the top of what remained of his voice: "TEN GOLD PIECES FOR WHOEVER BRINGS ME TO THE PILGRIM IN THE OUTER CIRCLE! I'm a friend of the barkeep's, he'll do right by you." And with that, all there was to do was sigh, and wait.