Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

Teuvaelivae trode with light cautious steps through the scene of carnage. Her blades drawn as her head lashed around, anxious of every sound and suspicious of each shadow as she advanced. Finding noting but corpse upon corpse she lowered her swords but still held them in a tense grip ready to rise them quickly to strike. She gazed upon the torn bodies of the orcs. Her eyes set on one layed ontop a stump its head and arms stiffly hung over the egdes, the hips and all below was missing leaving a web of entrails dangling before the wind on its way to the ground. How could they advance so far south without us spoting them she asked herself while inspecting the cadaver. Whom ever did this can not be the avrage humaniods she though. She searched thought the site for arms and armor that seemed crafted by human hands. She gathered what she found to be suspicious and took it with her. The other weapons was thrown into the river.

Eric sat high in the tree of the forests off a distance but his eagle sharp eyes gazed through the gathering of orcs. If any were to come too close for comfort he would simply sink into the tree and come out elsewhere but return to an undamaged one later that evening. A rage boiled in his heart as the forest was recklessly taken down one tree after another. As the newest member of the Elder circle he had to do something to make a difference here.

Pate and Notch had been tracking the orcs movements through the woods for days, the horde was easy to find. The trail of scattered corpses was a clear sign it had begun. Carefully stalking through the woods, Pate begins attempting to pick off stragglers from the group and careless scouting or foraging parties. Much to Pate's surprise, the devastation the orcs were causing to the woods hurt him deeply in a way he hadn't felt since he received the news all those years ago. . . Yes, he was going to do all he could to help. After all he had made a promise. . .

Teuvaelivae sate at southern fringe of the woods. A few pallid rays of a meek morrnig sun pierced the foliage of the copse of blueleafs to lit the moss with their dance as the tree crowns swayed before the wind. She reclined against the bole gazing at the colorful display above as the ungentle touch of wind stroked the supple leaves. "Thou let not thy root quaff of angst. Here the black winds shall never reach." She reassured turning her attension back to her strange find. She held teh dagger with both her hands her left held the pommel while her right held the tip between her index finger and thumb spining it around slowly. She squinted as she took the dagger closer to her face examining the surface of the metal. " Vile yet a beauteous a craft for an orcish hand agreest thee not?" She fliped it taking it with her right hand while her left hoovered over it as she casted detect magic."If not onto us the tale wilt be shared, one to whom it more willingly speak I shalt seek" She embarked towards the famous smith of Beregost to find what he could say of this strange weapon.

Scouting the Border

The scout was young, but patience and stealth were his strengths. He’d been chosen above several others for this duty, it was important the clan leaders said.

His task was to watch the vile elven lands, see them coming and going, their scouting and preparations. The lone scout was to avoid detection and not to engage the foe in the foreign land. Others were selected for the forest scouting parties or hunts, he suspected that a more senior scout wanted him sent away to take the glory of action and maybe the young scout would be killed by the elves and removed as a threat to the leadership of the Black Orc Scouts.

But, if the leaders had chosen him for that reason… they’d also made a good choice. He knew others didn’t have his same patience to sit and watch, to only observe, to not act rashly and with rage rush into battle, giving up the stealth and information gained for the chance to spill some elven blood.

He’d left the clan village after breaking his camp and tent, stashing anything of value into a unassuming rotted tree on the far side of the area. With him he took only a small shoulder bag across his chest, it contained the last of his scarce jerked meat and two fruit he’d snatched from a weaker orc, nearly a child and not even caring where that runt had gotten such a treasure.

Through the leather bag strap he had two light axes tied down, one was crude heavy iron but solid, it was unpitted and could hold a decent edge. The second axe was his pride and most valuable tool, he’d fashioned it from a single piece of gnarled wood with a natural curve, fire blackened and made hardened, then sunken into a groove cut along the thicker head of the axe there was inserted a blade of stone secured with a resin and bound tight with shrunken leather cords. The stone blade was a masterful piece crafted and blessed by an old flint napper and shaman he’d bartered with; using a female slave to get just the right blade for his axe. It was worth the slave… the stone edge was sharp enough to keep his shaved head bald with ease, it cut deeply into a foe or game. Along with these he carried in hand two wooden spears one for thrusting and one for throwing, both were straight and true.

Traveling light he had moved toward the border of the elven foes, at the last familiar camp spot on his trail he cooked a small ground bird and a gopher he was able to kill with a sling. He ate every bit possible, any portion with nourishment, for he knew he’d likely only have bits of jerked meat and live insects to eat while in the territory of the foes, there would be no fire and the risk to hunt would be too great.

The scout circled the border far to the south, where he’d not heard of orc patrols being very active. He hoped that meant the elves weren’t active there either and would not spot him with their legendary keen eyes and ears.

Luckily, he proceeded unobserved deeper into the foes territory. his nostrils flared and always alert he moved with as little trace and sound possible. He was looking for the elven patrols or activities, he also wanted to find a good scouting post.

After two days the scout found what he’d hoped and there he has waited and watched patiently quiet for the last seven more days. His position was on a rocky outcrop on a hillside overlooking an elven path that followed a small stream along the valley floor. His hiding spot had good cover with a few boulders and natural lush brush to block the eye, he was on the far side of the splashing stream to help mask any sounds, and the passing elves had so far not shown they had observed his perch.

The scout had noted in each of the last seven days movement of a small two elf patrol passing by in the morning and coming back in the evening, he’d once seen a old elven fisherman try his luck with a net in one of the stream’s pools. Two days back there was a human or half elven archer passing by, he carried a longbow with two swords at his hips. This man traveled light and quick, but somewhat loudly did his feet rustle the twigs and leaves, he was looking for trouble, likely to kill orcs. He stopped to refill his water container, then minutes after he moved onward a large cat stopped and drank from the same spot, it continued to follow the man as well.

His belly rumbled, the scout had finished the last of his meager jerked meat two days before, and had only eaten a few large insects since, he needed to leave his post and return to the clan with his information.

The black orc reluctantly moved away from his scouting post, taking a different route back to the border to avoid any ambushes and hopefully gain something more of valuable scouting information. When nearly to the edge of the elven border and with the blessings of the gods he was able to observe without notice another elf. This elf was small even for that race, it was carrying a bow over his shoulder and a fishing net in hand standing near a different pool in another wooded stream. It seemed alone and much to far from the elven communities for safety, possibly a reckless youth testing his skills in the wilderness.

The scout was quick to come up with such a… test.

Silently moving far around the lone elf, he was looking for a trap or hidden companions of the solitary figure, while moving to a position a few hundred strides closer to the disputed boundary of his home forest.

After not seeing such a risk of ambush and murmuring short prayers to Gruumsh and Illneval , the scout used his skill of making animal calls, he sounded a warble of a male turkey and then followed it with a female’s answering call which he tried to bounce of a large rock boulder a short distance to the side. His hope was the lone elf would investigate the sounds to test his bow skills with a turkey hunt.

The orc stealthily moved to a covered position, crouched in waiting for his own quarry. Sure enough, within moments the now clearly inadequately trained elf approached with bow in hand looking for the nonexistent turkeys. The elf was too loud and didn’t even have his bow drawn, he’d not get even a real turkey that way, but was ripe for a sneak attack.

As the elf passed within ten strides of the hidden orc’s position, the timing was right and the orc prepared to launch his attack. The scout waited his own heartbeats loud in his breast, his grip on the throwing spear not yet slick with sweaty anticipation.

The scout waited

He waited for the moment.

This moment, as the elf turned his head away to look; for the turkeys; passed a thick brush pile, the orc sprang.

The thrown javelin unerringly found it’s mark, gouging deeply into the lower torso of the surprised elf. Bounding from his hidden position the orc followed the arced spear with his own attack, watching in what seemed to be slow motion the orc noted the arrow fall from the unprepared elf’s hand and bounce harmlessly on the forest floor, as he trust the second spear towards the wide-eyed and wounded elf.

He smelled the sweet blood.

The orc scout’s hands slid quickly from the spear shaft a heartbeat after he felt the pop of the pierced skin of the elf, plunging into the elf’s shoulder. Without needing a thought into his hand was his prized axe.

The orc was so close to the elf now he could feel the spray of blood and sound of wind as the axe moved through the now lifeless elven throat.

Panting and sweating from the exertions the black orc kneels next to the dead elf, he swiftly cuts out the heart with his axe and with a tremendous roar takes large bloody bites from it.

Next the head is removed for a trophy, placed into the elven hunter’s satchel, all the personal belonging squickly striped and tucked into the bag as well.

The black orc finds a tree with a solid broken and pointed limb facing the elven lands, onto which he hangs the corpse pierced through the chest. Then he takes about five paces toward the elvish land and using his boots and some broken branches makes clear sign of a border line or marker, indicating the killing took place in orc lands…

With his weapons, scouting information and a glorious trophy, the orc moves toward his home. He is sure to be rewarded for such a successful trek.