It was a long, fitful, night. Bitterly cold, the plains could be almost as bad as the desert for extremes in temperature, a trait which the Orc was experiencing first hand under piled grass. However, it was not this that caused Norak, the heavily armed mercenary Orc, to lose out on sleep. He originated from plains such as this one, the weather was nothing to him, after so many long weeks hunting the beasts that roamed at night. Rather, it was the Seeing, dreams which come to Orcish warriors throughout history who are to embark on great quests. All of the most glorious tales of Warbands descending on civilisation start with a Seeing… yet that does not make it a pleasant experience.

Norak jumped up with a start, sweat beading on his bald head, one huge paw almost smacking the perspiration from his brow. He remained half-sat, one hand supporting him from behind, and considered what he had saw. Smokey images in the darkness, a face, one of many he sought… but still. There was something more to this, and it had all began with a chance encounter with an old friend, who he thought was dead…

Two weeks prior, Norak was wandering the plains for food when he came across a slaughtered deer, the hunter proudly chewing through the choicest bits of his kill. The Ex-Warchief had considered demanding an honour duel over the meal, but age had taught him that battle was not the only way to get what one wants, and so he had talked to the Orc instead. His surprise was great when the hunter turned, revealing himself to be Baruk, one of Norak’s most trusted shield brothers. An Orc he saw thrown from a mountain pass by no less than four humans… an Orc who had earned his place in the halls above, such a death it was… Norak had envied him as of late. Yet here he was, in the flesh, or so it seemed, with advice… for hunting one of his quarries? Norak still couldn’t believe it, and with the dreams he had been having, it was becoming more likely that something he had eaten recently was sprinkled with dried Amarot mushroom. His prey could be found in the Plains of Origin, he’d even drawn a map, simple for an Orc who had ruled in the land for thirty years to find, could the quarry perhaps provide him with the death he sought? Was this Eeiys his end, the man who would carry his legacy?
Eeiys?

Even with his knowledge of the surrounding area, it had taken a while to pinpoint his prey’s position. However, he was sure he had it now, tomorrow he could take his head, or perhaps there was to be more from this? It would explain his visions, certainly. Maybe the end… he had his doubts.

The next morning dawned bright, almost unbearably so, and the worn Orc warrior donned his armour and weapons, strapping his shield to his back and shrugging a pack onto his shoulders. Silhouetted across the near empty plains, the Orc strode forth. When he arrived, he found a small group of them, though his target was more than visible in his metal armour. They were distracted, probably befuddled though the Orc had no way of knowing this. However, he doubted they wouldn’t have spotted him eventually, and stealth was hardly his style anyway.

He half moved to draw an axe, and then thought better of it, as he closed to within thirty feet. He was about to raise his hand instead to issue a formal challenge, when suddenly he was distracted…