((Apologies in advance for this being so long, but it is what it is. Enjoy.))
Trudging up the mountainside with two of his fellow tribesmen, Mason pulled his green cloak closer around his body, as the night was pretty cold, even colder than it usually was. As they walked Mason stretched out his Earth senses to detect anything of importance, anything that could possibly pose a threat their way. They were nearing their destination, which was further up the mountain from where his tribe made their home.
Mason and his two companions, Derk and Ashton, were currently tracking a couple orcs who had dared to attack their village. Granted it was only a very small force, meant to slowly whittle away at their numbers, bit by bit before more would come and attack, further adding salt to an already open wound. A few of their kin had been injured, but it wasn't anything too serious, there were no casualties. Those who had been wounded would heal, given time and herbal remedies, but Mason and his tribe were not content to just sit around and wait for more of the beasts to show up. Therefore taking the fight to the two who had fled, seeing as how they thought it best to retreat before they would strike again, but in greater numbers. Mason's tribe and their leader, Argov would not allow that.
This tribe of orcs were bloodthirsty and vicious like all orcs ultimately were, but this clan in particular acted like they were utterly addicted to it. And Mason knew not why that was. Regardless, tension existed between these orcs and many other peoples living in the mountains, not just Mason's own tribe. Each day these monsters grew bolder and bolder, there having been reports of villages being completely ransacked to the ground in their murderous fury. The sites had quickly been taken over by these vicious humanoids as they ever sought to expand their hold on the mountains. Argov had reason to believe a battle would soon arise from all this, a great war of the mountains on this side of Serendipity. Regular scouting missions had been undertaken at least a couple times a week now as the Eagle Spirit Tribe was determined to protect their people and their territory.
While a few of these bloodthirsty orcs had been offed, it was only a minor blow as a whole to their great numbers. This tribe was said to have members ranging in the several hundreds, at least six hundred or so, if not more. How on earth their numbers got that high was a mystery to even the shamans of Mason's tribe. Mason's people only consisted of around one hundred fifty, give or take. If the full might of these brutes decided to unleash a war upon their people, it didn't take a genius to figure out who the victors were likely to be. There was strength in numbers after all. And these orcs had those numbers. They called themselves ''The Blood Reapers", an apt name for their obsession with blood and death. Mason feared for not only his tribe, but for all those who called the Terrin Mountains their home. Those orcs truly would stop at nothing.
He remembered his dream from a couple nights back. An image of a flaming skull had appeared in his mind while he was asleep, a vision granted to him by his Earth Dreamer abilities, followed by the sound of screams. And that was pretty much what had taken place in this vision. Those two things which signified much strife and terror to come, a dark power underlying it all, and a great sense of foreboding accompanying it. Mason had of course, informed Argov about this as well as their shamans. Argov was convinced it had something to do with the enemy at large, who unfortunately was still hidden from them. It wasn't the first disturbing dream he'd had about this, and he doubted it would be the last.
He was interrupted from further contemplation as one of his companions pointed out in a quiet whisper. "Look, a campfire. Up ahead."
The Earth Dreamer looked in the indicated direction and indeed there was the hint of flames flickering somewhere up ahead. Stretching out his senses once more, Mason found he couldn't detect anything, which he found odd. As they carefully advanced upon the campsite, they found it abandoned. It looked a right mess, as though its inhabitants had left in a hurry, not bothering to clean up or put out the fire. Examining the ground near the western-most side, there were the distinct shape of large boot prints etched into the soil. They were much larger than a human's could ever be, and just the right shape for an orc. This had to be their campsite. But where were they?
"Somethin' must've scared them off willy nilly." Derk commented, scratching his chin as he too looked at the footprints.
Mason had to agree. The question was, what could have possibly scared off these monsters they were hunting, these so-called infamous Blood Reapers? It could only be something even more terrifying than them which only added to the feeling of trepidation they now all felt.
"Huhm, iffin' we be lucky and t' Spirit o' Eagle favors us, whatever they mebbe would'a killed each other off, savin' us t' trouble." Ashton, the other companion stated. Ashton was a rather gruff and quiet sort of fellow, but just as loyal to their tribe as any of them were. Derk was more on the perky side of things, always ready to jump into action whenever it was needed.
As the three stood pondering this recent development, a clue provided itself in the form of shouts and loud grunts from around fifty or so feet away. Brush and various shrubbery obscured a lot of the view, so they proceeded with caution to where the obvious sounds of fighting were taking place. What Mason and his tribesmen witnessed momentarily stunned them.
