The warrioress and the barbarian (Closed atm for DarkWarrioress and myself)

OOC: This thread will be closed for DarkWarrioress and myself at the moment. Once we've got it established a bit I will reopen it, or start a new thread with the same characters and add others.

OOC thread is here - http://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?t=794746

Character Name: Stray Wolf
Race: Human
Class: Barbarian

Backround: Stray Wolf was adopted into the Plains-Stalker tribe when he was a youth. His family had been traveling, and was set upon by a group of Orcs. He took well to the harsh training, and became one with the Tribe upon his trial of manhood. He has since taken his journey of wonderlust, and has been traveling every since.

(More will be revealed as the story progresses)

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v393/dasdeke/Prince_of_Persia_The_Sands_of_Time_Jake_Gyllenhaal.jpg

Hunting...

Kneeling at the ground, his fingers moved to trace the ground below him. Footprints, easy as the eye could see, were laid out in trails before him. He’d been tracking this group of Orcs for three days. There were about 6 of them. The burning remains of a charred house and the bodies there confirmed they’d taken at least two captives from the wreckage.

This made Stray Wolf’s blood boil. Ever since the elder shaman of the tribe had told him the story of his youth, he’d developed a hatred for them. A sick undeniable hatred that threatened on genocidal thoughts for this unworthy race. If every single green skin could be wiped from the face of the world by his own had, he would welcome the chance. Yet Alrik would not grant him this. Stray Wolf often wondered if the gods mocked his fury. It was little matter, he rarely prayed to them, they had no hand in shaping his fate. He would shape it on his own.

He stood from his kneeling position, dark eyes looking about to the broken branches and footprints the Orcs had made. Cocky, overconfident, arrogant, they were used to killing and pillaging soft bodies. Those that had not had training in the arts of war, simple men and women of the earth. Soon however they would find a match in him.

They were the hunted, they just didn’t know it yet. Lips curled into a smirk, as he licked his lips. Though he was not of blood of the tribe, he still could experience the bloodlust that was a commonplace trait of his tribe; then of course there the rage. These killers of the innocent, these enslavers, and these rapists would soon feel the steel of his weapons, and the steel would welcome the cutting of their flesh.

He started down the path, boots clamping on the ground below him as he broke into a sprint. From the tracks and the looks of the crumpled vegetation they could be more then a few hours ahead of him. With their common place to stop for lunch, and have fun with their captive, he would be able to come upon them when they were at their most disorganized. That smirk slowly slipped into a crazed look of calculated cunning, as he moved to catch up to his prey. Perhaps the gods were smiling upon him after all.

[[OOC – Not looking to her being one of the captives]]

Into the darkest part of the night, the flame haired child slipped from between her mother's thighs and into the world of the living. Squalling, fists waving and her skin an angry red, almost a match for her hair, it was a statement of how she would be as she grew into womanhood. The night's wind whispered through their home. There was great joy in the man's and woman's heart as the woman cradled the babe to her breast. The woman looked up at her husband.

"What shall we call her, My Chief?"

The man stared down at the babe suckling at his wife's chest, his consciousness turned inward. It was several moments before he spoke in a gruff voice, made so by the emotions clogging his throat. One rough finger caressed a downy, soft, tiny cheek. Tiny fingers suddenly wrapped around his finger and held on fiercely, still suckling at her mother's breast. The chief chuckled and let his new born daughter keep her hold on his finger.

"We shall call her Windsong. Can you not hear the wind whispering to us, Beloved? It wishes to claim her. The wind shall have its due."

"Windsong."

Her mother repeated the name softly. The infant stirred but didn't cease her suckling. A smile crossed her mother's lips.

"It is fitting, My Chief."




"Mother!"

The young woman gave her mother a disgusted look.

"I will not marry him. He's----he's ----hairy and smelly and...and... well, old. Can you not convince father to change his mind? I will not be sold like this. If I must marry someday, I want to have what you and father share."

Her mother silently agreed. What was her husband thinking? Their only daughter to make an alliance with a neighboring tribe? She sighed inwardly. She would have to speak with him again and see if she couldn't appeal to the love he held for his only daughter. Outwardly, she had to gently chastise her daughter.

"Windsong, he is your father and your chief. It is your place to obey him in all things. He only has your best interests at heart even though it may not seem like it at the moment---"

Windsong stomped across the room, her red hair flying about her shoulders. Her green eyes flaring like molten flames brought to life by embers. Whirling she faced her mother, arms folded over her chest in mutiny. Mutiny was etched in every line of her finely toned body. She was a warrior. Much to her mother's dismay, the girl had an aptitude and a thirst for fighting. She trained hard, harder than her father's warriors did. She had to. She was serious. Sword, staff, bow and arrow, knife, they all became weapons of her choice and she had become lethal with them, much to her mother's worry and her father's despair. Her first hunt had been exhilarating. It had worried her mother to death. Her father had remained stoic. The hunting party returned triumphant, singing their praises of the chief's daughter.




It was him. She knew it was. Her father put great stock in his shaman. The shaman was his chief adviser. How could her father believe him over his own daughter? The shaman had followed her every move with darkness in his eyes, whenever she was in his sight. She never trusted him.

Inwardly, she sighed. One couldn't change the past and she did not wish to. She did not regret a thing. In the end, she had gotten revenge. She had slipped into the miserable cur's home late one night and slit his throat. Either he had bled out or choked on his own blood. Good riddance. She should have tortured the miserable son of a ---- her mind slammed down on her thoughts she lifted herself from the forest floor. Slinging her bow over her shoulder, she started through the woods. No sense in looking back at what had been. She couldn't change it. Sooner or later her parents were going to find out, the whole village would. She had to spare her parents the ordeal of trying to figure out what to do. The law was quite clear, a life for a life. She couldn't place her people in that situation. She had packed up her belongings, left some nonsense behind for her parents and struck out on her own, across the land, far away from her home. The further, the better. The going had been rough at first as she learned to live off the land and her own abilities. She had done it though. She was a survivor.

She was out hunting food. The cold time would soon be upon her. She needed enough meat and stores to see her through it. The crashing through the woods drew her attention and drew her to a halt. Her head lifted slightly. Nothing she could smell, still, she drew an arrow, notching it as she moved slowly through the foliage on deerskin boots.

The Orcs

They’d been traveling for days. Taking what they wished, and killing those they deemed undesirable or who tried to resist. There were enough of them, that the farmer families they set upon didn’t have a chance. Such was the way of the Orc in this world. Take and kill, raise the land and leave nothing behind that you don’t want. They were nothing more then beasts. Yet they were the alphas of their own land, and their land was what they decided to take.

The leader, Snarltooth, called for his men to halt. He led them only because he was the largest, not because he was tactically sound. Orcs respected only strength. Turning back he looked to his soldiers, his men and their prizes. A young blonde who they’d just captured, having killed her family just nights before. They’d raped her mother in front of her, before killing her. This had broken her spirit, destroyed what mind she’d had. They’d laugh cruelly as they’d then slaughtered her father and little brother before her very eyes. She was not nothing more then a husk now. That didn’t bother them any, her hips were still good, and her cunt was still tight.

Then there was the other, the one that still had spunk, a slim brunette that had fought them tooth and nail the entire way. When they’d arrived on her farm, She’d tried to stab then with a butcher knife, even while her father died before her eyes. She’d struggled the entire way, fighting against their groping hands, drooling mouths. The only reason she was kept around, was because they liked something that squirmed under their hips. They liked it as she screamed, as no one could hear her.

Snarltooth had called for a halt, as his scout Urgg had returned. His beady red eyes glimmered with cruel intentions. From his scouting run, he reported a lone woman in the path before them, a red head to booth. Snarltooth grinned, his cock stiffing under his loincloth at the thoughts running through his head. This would be sweet so sweeettt….

The women were scooped up, slung over shoulders as the Orcs made their way to the position of the woman double time.

(Will be posting Stray Wolf's part later tonight)

The hunt continues

Powerful strides carried him over ground and uprooted bush. Their pace had quickened, and he wasn’t sure why. All he knew was that nothing but ill will could come of it. They had rested, he had not. Yet still he carried on, leaping over a fallen tree, landing on his feet with a thud. He paused a moment, dark eyes looking about as he looked for a trace of their passing. Frustration played over his face, as the tracks seemingly ended. Six sets of tracks, yet none of them looked like they were going anywhere…

Then he saw it…..another set of tracks. Seven of them…seven orcs now. They must have had a scout. No wonder they were able to catch them unaware! Silently he cursed to himself, how could he been so foolish. He paused, calming himself as best he could. The high shaman had always warned him of his temper, the Plains-Stalker rage had always been strong in him.

Brushing off his pants legs, he moved over to the scouts set of tracks. Fingers moved along the footprints, as he looked up, frowning once more. This scout was good…..but he wasn’t great. You could cover tracks, work with vegations, but you couldn’t stop the wind from blowing. Stray Wolf lifted his nose to the air taking a sniff, the scent he caught was overwhelming. Orc stink….

Starting off in that direction, he moved quickly, smirking as the trail started to pick up. With the rush the scout had hoped to throw him off the trail enough so he won’t have come this far. He was wrong, dead wrong, and soon he’d be more the later.

Again he broke into a sprint, bounds and leaps over ground and underbrush, eyes narrowing as he kept his eyes forward. Soon he’d have a few more Orc trophies in his belt.

She froze. Her nose twitched, yet her eyes found nothing disturbing. No, wait. Something.... or someone had been out there. A faint wisp of a scent was carried in the air to her. Orcs? Maybe. They hardly ever bothered to move quietly. A small icy shiver slid down her spine. The wind had whisked away the scent before she could identify it conclusively however. Her buckskin pants, which molded to her legs like a second skin, brushed against the dense bushes as she slowly moved through it. Gone was the need to hunt for food, now it was replaced with curiosity. Her thick red braid snagged on a branch, jerking her head back. She had little choice but to pause, unarming her bow so as to extricate herself. The sword at her back was always a comfortable reminder of who she was, what she had accomplished in her young life. Instead of arming her bow again, she merely held it in her offhand, as she slipped through the forest.

Moments later, she stood between two trees, crouching, a smile playing across her lips. No orcs. Merely a deer. It was grazing on the forest floor upwind from her. As much as she hated to do it, to take such a beautiful innocent life, the meat the deer would provide would sustain her for some time. The deer's skin would be used for a winter cloak. Her first attempts at skinning would have drawn a laugh from her as she remembered but it would have frigthened off the deer. Windsong was much more skilled now. She slowly drew an arrow from the slim quiver at her back as she drew herself upright, causing her buckskin tunic to press tauntly against her breasts momentarily. Her nipples hardened from the friction. She barely noted it. Notching the arrow, she brought the bow carefully upward, sighting down along the arrow's shaft. Her arrow must fly straight and true. She owed the creature a swift and clean death, either by arrow, dagger or both.

The Orcs attack

The deer looked up with a start, as the clamping of booted feet disturbed its grazing. Swiftly it fled from its position, as the grove was now filled with four well armed Orcs. She could see they had along with them, two females, and both looking worse for wear. The bruises and glazed look in the blonde’s eyes showed they had endured things no person should. Yet here they were prisoners of the troop of Orcs.

The group before them looked well versed in the arts of cruelty and war.
Beady yellow eyes scanned the grove, as noses perked up in the air, smelling it. Could they smell her from her location, or were they merely taking note of the scents around them. Orcs despite being brutes could track well if needed. Yet the looks on these soldiers made her see they know knew war, and that was all.

It was then when she heard a rustling behind her, and she was met with the sneering tusked grin of Orc. His eyes scanned her over crudely, taking note of her tight buckskin pants, and the perking of nipples on her tunic. With a snarl he called out to the rest of the group in the common speak.

“Come and get her boys, she’s over here!!!!”

He’d then stray back, as two more Orcs came at her. Blades drawn, and a lustful look in their eyes as they set upon the woman. Their intent wasn’t to kill her, no no. They had more insidious intentions towards this woman.

One slashed out at her, his blade catching the bow in her hand, knocking it from her hand. The second moved in, swinging a crude club at her shoulder. He had no other reason to do this, save for trying to disable one of her arms, so she might a bit more pliable.

The others she could hear coming up from behind her. Yet the one that was commanding this all, stood back, watching his troops do all the dirty work.

((will be posting Stray Wolf later today))

Stray Wolf closes in

One thing about being in a valley, is sound carried. Stray Wolf bolted upright from his position, hearing the sound of the Orc captain. The noise from the conflict caught his ears. Pushing his foot against the ground, he rose up and resumed his pace. His footsteps echoing at the ground, kicking up dirt and grass as he ran. There was no reason to be quiet or stealthy now. His prey was several yards away, keeping up this pace he’d reach them shortly.

His mind was already plotting his strategy for when he arrived. He had a good chance of taking two to three of them with his arrows. Then it would be him vs. the rest. It was risky, considering he wasn’t sure how armed they were, or the terrains around him where he found them, but it might be worth letting himself go into the rage. A battle trance so to speak, it enhanced his abilities, but made him more susceptible to injury. Still it won’t matter if he held back when he was dead.

Yes, he’d do that, he didn’t have much of a choice. With those odds, it was not a matter he could just pass off. No, it was time to use the gift Alrik had given his tribe. Jumping over fallen stump, his hand reached into his leathers pocket, pulling forth the arm guard for his bow, and stringing it upon his left arm as he neared the sounds of the battle.

It was just a split moment warning, the deer's reaction. Windsong's eyes immediately scanned the area before her, searching for the source of the disturbance. A cold chill ran down her spine as she whirled to confront the rustling sound. From there, everything happened so quickly.

Orc! Her mind had just registered the fact even as he gave a harsh, sharp, bark of speech. His eyes raked over her. Her hand on the bow tightened as she started to raise it, but two more orcs came charging at her, armed. One of them, with a lightning quick move that belied his size, swung his blade, catching her bow, sending it flying into the brush. Her main hand reached for and unsheathed her blade. Held in both hands, its edge gleamed in the light. She wasn't stupid. They wanted her alive and for the same purpose as their other two captives, she was sure. Her body twisted sideways, missing the blow to her shoulder. Keeping them both in her line of sight, she gripped her sword with both hands, holding them at bay with her weapon. Her ears heard more coming up behind her. A woman with lesser knowledge would have felt despair. Her eyes gleamed with challenge. Her stance dared them to have at it. Her blade swayed in her grip slightly from side to side, keeping both orcs within reach.

There was no hope of help. She was alone. Her grip on her blade tightened. She set her stance for defense. If they were going to take her, and she had no doubt they would, eventually, they weren't taking her without a fight. She'd take out one of them, maybe two, if she was skilled enough. Her eyes blazed with challenge. Let them come.

The Orcs prize?

And they would come, in twos, trying to keep her off balance till the others arrived. The one with the club rushed in, foolish in his desire to have a taste of the redhead. Perhaps he wasn’t as smart as he thought. His eye’s betrayed his head, and his little orc head below the belt was doing all the thinking for him. This of course might work on farmers, but a skilled warrior would cut him in two.

The other waited, checking on companion to see how his attack fared. He was the better warrior of the group, the leader’s right hand orc. He was smart enough to know rushing in like that on a woman that looked like she could handle a blade was stupid. Sure the rusher was one he knew, but he had little respect for him and cared not. Even as the Orc’s brains were splattered on the ground, and dark ichor dripped from his head….he cared not. That merely ment he’d have another turn with the women.

The leader Snarltooth watched as well, tilting his head up as he heard a whistle, Urgg was ready as Wingsong heard the whirling of a bola at her left. The thing took the air with a rush, wrapping itself around her legs, causing her balance to be compromised.

One of them was going to make a mistake. Watching them both, she guessed it would be the one with the club. Her guessed proved true. He rushed in on her. Windsong remained steady until he was within striking distance. As the orc charged forward with his club raised, she sidestepped with a half turn. The bulk of his body came rushing past. Her sword dropped, the deadly edge slicing across his hamstring. Cold steel came away from orc flesh, dripping blood. The blade came again, quickly. Her eyes darted to the other orc warrior who had not made a move toward her yet. There was calculation in his eyes.

So intent was she on the orc she had crippled and the one with him, she missed the sound of the bola flying through the air. The next thing she knew, she was looking up at the sky. Her legs felt bound and as she tried to move them, that fact was confirmed. Her sword, however was still clutched in her hand as she tried to sit up. The burst of pain in her head as it impacted with the ground, caused her eyes to blur. Bad timing. Far off, or so it seemed, she could hear more orcs joining the party of two. Did she have time to slice through the bola and regain her feet? That remained to be seen.

Darkest before the dawn

The orc that had been foolhardy, fell at her feet dead. Good riddance to bad rubbish was the term perhaps?

She was right however the smart one was still waiting, almost baiting her to keep her attentions on him. This proved to be a flaw in her armor so to speak. As the bola caught her, causing her to fall to the ground with a thud, the smart one was upon her, stepping on her sword hand with his full wait, forcing her to release the balde, as holding made the steel hand dig deep into her hands.

They seemed to come from all sides now, she could tell how many there were, only a sea of green bodies, dark armor, and bulging loincloths. One grabbed her other hand, effectively pinning her down. They hadn’t pinned her head down however, maybe for the simple fact they knew she’d be looking back to see what they had in store for her.

Rough hands gripped her buckskin leggings, jerking them down to her ankles, leaving her rear end exposed to the brutes. There was harsh laughter to this, and she felt a hand move and smack her behind soundly. Another spread her legs wide, almost trying to peer at her to see if she was a natural redhead.

She was now at their mercy, Gods help her.

Her head hit the ground with a small thud and the impact made her ears ring as the back of her head exploded with pain. Stars flashed in front of her eyes. The pain in her wrist was excruciating as the remaining orc stepped on it. His weight, which he forced upon her, made her grip on the sword, loosen. She had no choice but to release it.

Lifting her head from the ground, she found herself surrounded by smelly green bodies. Her other arm was pinned down as well. From the look in their eyes, not to mention the bulging loin cloths, she knew a sense of foreboding. Rough hands snagged her ankles, flipping her over onto her stomach, even as she tried to fight and kick, to no avail. When she felt her leggings being jerked off, she tried harder and felt a wave of vulnerability and helplessness swamp her when she couldn't prevent their actions. It wasn't over, however. Amid the harsh amusement of the orcs, she felt her legs being forced widely apart. They were going to take turns with her. Batter her body until each and every one of them was sated. There was little she could do to prevent it at the moment, but gods willing, when the opportunity arose, she was going to cut them all into tiny little pieces and toss them into the river to be fed upon.

She would endure. She would be on alert for an opportunity to present itself. She was swift. A warrior's song sung through her veins.

The Orcs meet even odds

Her tunic was pulled up enough so her breasts were freed. Greedy green hands toyed and played with her free swaying breasts.

Jeering at her, one of the Orcs grabbed her head turning it to face the lead Orc behind her. He made special care not to get his hands near her mouth. His fingers showed scars of being foolish like that in the past. Besides, after seeing her slay one of his comrades, he wasn't taking any chances. Her head was twisted back, as to make her watch her defilement.

The leader loosened the loincloth, letting it fall free. He was quite large indeed, but his cock was rather disgusting. Brownish-green skin dotted here and there with hairy warts. He moved forward towards his prey, ready to use her to his content.

Then she heard a whistling by her head, and watched as the shaft the Orc was so proud, exploded in a mass of blood and skin with a barbed arrow sticking out from his loins!

Two more whistling sounds were heard, as the orc that had head her down to her left, died gurgling with a arrow lodged in his throat. Green hands grasped at it in as if he could save himself...before he fell back dead.

The leader’s right hand orc, was spun around with an arrow to his shoulder. Not a great hit, but enough to make him loose his hold upon her, leaving her hands free.

Then she'd see her "savior", a fury of muscle and steel. He was a barbarian from the looks of him, wild hair and eyes, war paint decorating his chest and face. The orc he landed on crumbled with a sickening cry of pain.

The odds are now evened.

When it came to mortals, the gods were often voyeurs. They watched, they listened but they didn’t interfere directly. Yet the key word here was “were often”, meaning at times the gods would change fate for their own purposes. Windsong’s and Stray Wolves meeting had already been decided for a greater purpose. Now that wasn’t to say once they met they’d get along, or even stay by each other’s side long. Mortals often had a bad habit of defying and changing fate, hence the god’s rare influence.

This sounded all poetic, but this surely was not what was going on Stray Wolves mind as he arrived at a perch above the valley. Eyes narrowed looking down at the scene before him. He counted six of them; the seventh was lying in a blood of his own blood and brain matter. More then likely the woman they were readying to toy with had been his undoing. His lips curled into a snarl, as he watched the leader loosen himself, pulling his manhood that he seemed so proud of. Well he won’t be for long…

Pulling three arrows, he notched one, pulling the string back. Taking careful aim, he let it loose. That would be the end of that one’s intentions, he smirked to himself.

The common that it caused, gave him time to let loose two more arrows, each one was done with purpose. Then with a warcry, he drew his sword and long knife, diving down upon the group. He broke his fall by landing one of the orcs with a bone crunching thud….

Two more dead…..and that makes four more to go. He rose to his feet, eyeing the others, as he hunched down, lips curled back in a savage bloody grin. A savage to fight savages. It seemed fitting.

She bucked as her tunic was shoved upward and massive roughened green hands toyed with her flesh. Her head was yanked back, twisted, giving her a view of what appeared to be the Orc leader. Her eyes narrowed in disgust as he loosened his loincloth, displaying his rigid cock. Her body tensed and one last time she struggled against her captivity. To no avail and the Orc kept coming closer.

The air stirred by her head. Her breath caught and held. Blood and body matter splattered across her back as the Orc who was approaching her howled in pain, tottering on his feet for the briefest of moments before he fell over into the dirt, his hands clutching his crotch.

Arrows! From where? Did it matter? The Orc who had held her head in his hands fell over dead not far from her face. Another second later and her hands were free. She wasted no time in scooping up her sword and taking advantage of the surprise attack, kicking her legs at the ones who still held them. They released her, stumbling backwards. Scrambling to her feet, she went after them, her sword swinging and it didn't miss. The point of her blade found the throat of one. He barely had the time to register her presence before the blade slid into his throat and into the ground under him. As she yanked out her weapon, she heard him gurgle, blood gushing from the wound and his mouth. Windsong turned her attention to the other, who had held her down. The fact she was naked from the waist down, did little to deter her.

One part of her was aware of her rescuer but she had little time to focus on him, there were Orcs to dispatch. The Orc in front of her hastily got to his feet and was in the process of raising his club, charging at her. A quick pivot, an arcing horizontal swing and her blade met his abdomen. As her blade sliced through skin and tissue, she felt it glide over bone and leave the green beast a horizontal cut that openly bled and widened, spilling his entrails from his body. She moved on, meeting Orc after Orc until, she whirled, blade raised, and met, face to face, with another who was no Orc.

Fury, blood, red…the simplest thought running though his head at the moment. This what he was made for, the song of battle. He titled his head down as he approached the two that were coming at him.

Movement of hips as he spun to the side, avoiding first ones slash. He licked his lips as he turned, driving his long blade into the orc’s spine as he past him. The Orc squealed in pain to no avail. Mercy was something they’d not show, and Stray Wolf was devoid of it for these loathsome beasts. Kicking him to the ground he turned just in time to avoid being stabbed through the chest by the other. Instead a gash of blood appeared on his side, a reminder for later not to loose him self in the blood haze that clouded his vision. Such were the painful lessons of a Barbarian.

The Orc who’d been proud of his work, only stared in horror, as a wound that would have dropped a normal man to his knees, was shrugged off as it was a mere gnat bite. That smile…there was only death there. The Orc pressed on as he once again stabbed forward. This time however, steel met steel, and the barbarian moved in, grabbing him by the throat and slamming his head into the ground. Blood poured from the Orc’s lips, and the last thing he would see would be the man’s boot crashing down on his head. The orc’s head didn’t just be crushed, it exploded with the force the man put into it.

Senses now returned, as there was movement behind him, the blade was brought up quickly, as there was clashing of metal. His eyes, brown, yet rimmed red from his blood haze looked upon the partly nude woman before him. Warrior woman…valkyrie….he looked upon her, only to take his free hand and pull her to him. Was he embracing her? Now, he was pulling her down with him, as he fell upon his back with her upon him. The bulk of his loinloth (which almost much larger then the Orc's), pressed against her nude portions. Yet any doubt of his intentions were shed light upon, as she felt a breeze behind them. An arrow had embedded itself in the tree behind them.

Rolling to the side with her still in his arms, the blades of their swords thudding against the ground, his movements causing their bodies to grind together, they would see the orc scout Urgg, pull his bow back, taking another parting shot at them, the arrow landing in the space they'd just been. He'd leap for the trees, leaving those dead and wounded behind to save his own skin. Yet all was not well, as more commotion came from we're he'd come from. Roars, yells, crashes....and now sobbing.

the fate of Urgg

He’d forgotten however about the spunky brunette, whom now free, had scooped up one of the heavy clubs of the Orc band. As Urgg ran, he didn’t see the outstretched club that caught him in the stomach. Falling to the ground, he watched as the brunette raised the club above her head to finish him off. Quickly thinking he kicked her legs out from under her, causing her to fall to the ground with a squeak.

Urgg jumped to his feet, and was about to finish her off, when with a rage, the blonde with the lifeless eyes jumped on his back, pulling at his hair, biting at his ear. Urgg grabbed by her hair, roaring in pain and threw her to the ground. Her life then was snuffed, as he pulled her head by her hair, and slit her throat!

Still the Orc was foolish, he’d been foolish to forget that the brunette was still there. His head then was caved in from behind. The brunette now sobbing, countined to beat his head into a bloody frothy mash.

His eyes were brown. Rimmed with red, but definitely brown. Windsong had been ready to strike with her sword. She was unsure what had stayed her hand. They stared at each other for a long moment. His hand pulled her to him. Had she traded one captor for another? He tugged on her and she went down with him, landing on his chest with a grunt. At the same time she felt something pass behind her, heard a sound she was all to familiar with. A quick glance upward confirmed her suspicions. An arrow. It had passed through the space they were just in.

A soft curse left her lips as they rolled to one side and something thudded into the ground behind them. Another arrow. Her eyes hastily scanned the area, noting the fleeing Orc. Scrambling to her feet, scooping up her sword, she dashed after him. There was no way she was letting him escape. Huge leaves slapped against her upper thighs as she ran. There was the sting of pain, but nothing slowed her. The sight of the brunette prisoner bashing in the head of the orc who had tried twice to put an arrow in her, did.

"He is dead. Enough."

Windsong strode forward and plucked the club from sobbing brunette.

The eyes of that woman, they were interesting to him. He'd found himself slipping back from the haze to gaze upon them. Instincts had guided his hand to pull her down, and roll with her. Yet as soon as he'd saved her, she was already rushing after the Orc. He found his blade by his side, grabbing it, even as pins and needles of pain stun his side. He knew he would have to look at that later, but for now he blocked out the pain.

When he arrived he stood there, overlooking them both, the girl sobbing in Windsong's arms. He grunted, unsure what to do. So he let the woman comfort the other woman. That seemed the safest bet. Leaning over the headless Orc, he began to search him for valuables.

Some coins, a locket, a dagger that was usable. The bow was examined, and he frowned, seeing it was cracked. The arrows seemed fine, and he took those. Taking the dagger, he leaned up to Orcs' head, cutting at the thing's ear, sawing it off. He'd then lean down, stiffing as the wound broke, but he held his tongue. He then began to drag the body back to the clearing they'd just come from.

Tossing aside the war club, Windsong gathered the woman in her arms, holding her, whispering that her ordeal was over. Mentally, she was hoping so. The male who was not an orc and had followed her, still needed to be explained. For now, she simply comforted the woman as best she could, silently watching the male rummage over the dead orc's body. Spoils of war. However, why did he get it all? He had not been the only one fighting this day. He could have the weeping female and she would gladly take the arrows in exchange.

Grabbing the woman by the arms, she smiled reassuringly and then turned to depart. It had just dawned on her that she was standing there, half naked. Windsong wanted her leggings and boots. There was also the matter of collecting her bow and her quiver. The short walk back to where she had been taken was quick, but at the same time, painful. Sitting on a rock with her leggings in one hand, she examined her thighs. They were marred by small cuts, not every deep but still painful. If only there was water around close by. With a wince, she drew on the leggings and then her boots. It had been a close call. She owed the stranger a word of thanks. After locating her bow and small quiver, she debated going back to join the others. They were none of her business. But manners spoke for a lot. She turned to make her way back the way she had come.

As she would return, she’d see him hauling the rest of the orcs into a pile. Nearby there was a pile of loot laying on a large hide. This included any useable (and sellable) weapons the Orcs had had on them. If she’d look close enough, she’d see they were missing their ears, on both sides. He’d turn to see her as she arrived, and he’d offer her a nod. It appeared behind the bloodlusted haze she’d been exposed to, there was more to the man then what met the eye.

He’d move from the pile of dead Orcs, and leaned down, taking a moment to lash the hide together so it was manageable. He’d then place his hand to his lips, giving a sharp whistle.

Moments later, a peppered gray and white stallion approached them. The horse seemed to know him well, as it moved to him while he was securing the hide, and nuzzled against his cheek. Turning he rubbed the nose of the horse with care, and stood to move to the packs that lay alongside it. He produced a spare set of clothing, and he looked over to the brunette. She’d been leaning against the tree, silent. After what she’d been through, it was any wonder she had movement at all. Careful he moved towards her, but she cried out, slapping him across the face. Her trust in males seemed to be damped.

He glanced back to her, silently asking her for help. He then add, finally speaking for the first time.

“There is a town day two days ride from here, on foot we can make it by three. If you will assist me in getting her back, I will share in the bounty there was for this party of Orcs, as well as any goods you wish from their loot, and the share of loot from their wares”

He spoke deep and rumbling, like there was thunder in his chest. He was not weak sound, or one of those men that could be cued into doing what he did not wish. Yet his treatment of the girl, and his offer, spoke volumes. It seems he had more honor then any well armored knight of the cities.

"However before we leave we must first burn the Orcs....and bury the one of the fair hair that was lost to the world.."

He was piling the dead Orcs. Setting aside her bow and quiver, she moved to help him. Grabbing one by the ankle, she dragged it to the pile before she went off to get another. While doing so, she thought about his proposition. The arrows were good. She'd ask for those. Yes, she was going to help him. There wasn't anything better for her to do. Windsong watched the one who wasn't an Orc.

"Why do you take their ears?"

A leg fell off the pile. She kicked it back up. Her voice was soft as a breeze on a balmy day. Melodic, even. It wasn't high pitched or low. It resonated somewhere in between. She helped him pile another one. They were almost done. Leaving him to see to those bodies, she went in search of the one with fair hair that had not survived. The woman's body was not hard to find. In the tradition of her own village, Windsong cleansed the woman's body, brushing the pale strands of hair from the pale non-breathing face and braiding the lifeless one's hair into a thick braid. She closed the woman's eyes and said a prayer over the body so that the spirit set free would find the table of her ancestors. Using dagger and hands, she began to dig in the soft dirt. The final resting place for the vessel that had held the soul.

Soon the smell of burning flesh permeated the air. It almost made her gag. She concentrated on digging. The work held a steady rhythm.

"I have to prove I killed them...this saves me from carrying any more then I need.”

He glanced to her, answering simply. There wasn't any tone of annoyance in his voice. It was a good question. He didn’t add in that he didn’t need both ears, only one. No Stray Wolf kept one for his own collection. He figured that might unnerve her, and he had no desire to explain the detailed reasons behind this “madness”.

He moved to the horse’s saddle bag again, and produced a leatherskin and some flint and tinder. Pouring it over the Orcs, he watched as she walked off, making note of were she was going. Then he’d work on catching a spark.

The spark soon became a flame, and before long the orcs were burning. The sickening sweat smell of burnt flesh filled the air. He snarled lightly, good riddance, he hoped they suffered in the afterlife.

He’d then turn about and walk upon the path she had taken. He’d watched her actions, his lips curling in a slight frown. Those rituals looked familiar, perhaps she was of a tribe of the plains. He observed the silence, not saying anything, but she could feel his presence behind her. It was solemn, almost disappointed, as if he blamed himself for not arriving sooner to save the women, or not figuring for the extra Orc.

She continued digging, while he answered her. Prove? To whom? Not that it mattered really, it was just idle curiosity. Sitting back on her heels she glanced over her shoulder at the stranger.

"Would you please put her in? I don't think I could lift her."

She scrambled away from the site to give him room to do so. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of burning flesh not far away. Her ears picked up the small sound of pops as the fore consumed the bodies of the Orcs. She studied the warrior as he lifted the corpse, setting the body in the shallow grave.

"It is not your fault, warrior. Such is the way of things. We both know this."

She kept her voice soft and low, stepping to other side of the grave and kneeling down again, beginning the process of shoveling earth on top of the body. She tried not to think of the female she burying. The spirit housed in the shell had fled. She was now free.