Ounce for ounce, pound for pound, compared to all other animals, the human body was weak. An ant could carry up to 20 times thier body wieght. A leopard could drag a full grown antelope up a tree. A crocodile's bite could crush a zebra's skull. The blows the orcs were dealing could easily break his weak body into a bag of flesh. There were ways, however, through ingenuity, that a human could defeat a larger opponent with his own body. Amaran had trained almost his whole life in this art. The orc didn't stand a chance.

Amaran rushed in, slamming a foot into the orc's belly. The orc stumbled, but recovered with a speed that should not accompany a being with his mass. The large arc sliced out with his blade, catching Amaran in the belly.

Okay, so maybe the orc had a chance.

A wave of pain hit Amaran hard, but luckily a wave of endorphines compensated for the pain. This time, when he rushed the orc, he ducked the heavy blade and, praying orcish anatomy was similar to human's, jabbed his opponent at a pressure point, right in front of the armpit. The orc, temporarily paralized, fell flat on his back. Amaran wasted no time indealing the"death blow", a powerful blow to the chest that stopped the heart.

Ow.

The orc was wearing chest plate armor. Go figure. Time for plan two.

Amaran shifted to his wolf shape and dealt the orc a bite to the unprotected throat. He spit out the orc blood as best he could (it was rather hard to spit in wolf form) and leaped up to take down his next opponent.

Kiana sighed and whipped her sword around, beheading an orc. A particular fierce one attacked and Kiana and the orc exchanged blows, and each time all the swings were blocked.

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[font=Times New Roman]
Hello, I'm Amoniel
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The female mercenary parried an orc's rusted blade as he rushed at her, turning to let his momentum carry him past her. She had no qualms about stabbing him in the back as he exposed it. Orcs were not honorable in the least, and hers was ... definitely questionable. "Smooth, that was," she drawled at the scout, completely deadpan. Secretly, though, she had to admit that his skewering of an orc was an impressive feat - it took a strong arm, not to mention nerves of steel, to face one of the monsters head on. "You can dispense with the title - I've no pretensions to nobility." None that she knew of, anyhow. It was highly unlikely that her long-lost parents had a drop of blue blood in their veins.

Arielle was ready to spill more brown blood, though, brown like the color of rust mixed with refuse, as if anything else could flow in the bodies of these orcs. She deflected a double-bladed attack downwards, forcing her opponent to bend, and got up close and personal with him as she thrust a knife into the crack between his helmet and hawberk. He fell, and she finished him off in the same place with her dirk, driving it home with the weight of her body. She put off thinking about how disgusting he was until later.

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<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

Crove again released his magical powers upon the brutes, this time in the form of a barrage of crimson, magical ammunitions. They pierced some orcs who wore less armor and scratched those that did have a heavier equipment. Crove was fortunate to be left alone, thus far. A small number of the orcs disengaged and charged, screaming curses, towards the sorcerer who had not hoped it would ever come to this. Crove concentrated and prepared another spell, when the orcs were just about to reach him and cut his head off, Crove disappeared.

Instead of one, there were a dozen Crove`s amongst the orcs and but they seemed to move as one. Crove hmhed as the orcs began cutting trough the illusions thus dispelling them yet it was hopefully to keep them distracted while he prepared to scorch them.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

Whether by deliberation or coincidence, Arielle's moves complemented Falch'nus's own almost perfectly. He had some rethinking to do concerning the prowess of female warriors. He sidestepped another heavy blow and pivoted, crossing sabre and dirk in a parry. Twist went the sabre, throwing wide the orc's incoming blade. In went the dirk, plunging under the orc's helmet -

Pain erupted up his forearm, and only when he wrenched his weapon back out did he notice the helmet spike. And what was that irritating orc doing now...

Oh.

The orc lowered his head, offering Falch'nus a lovely view of the rusty top of his helm. And all the tiny spikes associated, of course. Without further ado, it charged. He reflexively brought his blades up, wondering how in the Nine Hells he was to block this charge... when... out of the blue...

A wolf?

Orcs may be the most savage race on Faerun, but cowardice did not escape them. Between relentless melee resistance and Crove's spells, most of them began fleeing back into the trees' shelter. Now all that remained was to pick off the stragglers.

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Amaran glanced around quickly, trying to spot a new target. He noticed one of his traveling buddies in a fix, trying to ward of a charging orc. Amaran covered the distance in two long bounds and leaped at teh orc, knocking him astray. The orc raised his blade to attack, but Amaran stood his ground with a ferocious look on his face. He'd practiced his angry wolf face a lot, and the fact that orc blood laced his jaw did nothing to soften his appearance. He growled deeply, and the orc backed down, leaving his gaurd open just long enough for Falch'nus to cut him down.
"I'm really glad that worked." Amaran gasped, back in his human form. "I never would have been able to-" the blood loss had gotten to him. Amaran slumped to the ground, passed out.

Dirty orc blood erupted as Falch'nus wrenched his dirk back out. He scanned the vicinity, but the remaining orcs his companions could easily dispatch. Satisfied for now, he stooped down to wipe his bloody blades on the grass. He'd sustained minimal injuries - a lacerated arm and a twisted ankle. It appeared his companions had fared similar.

That was before he spotted Amaran on the ground. The wolf was gone, replaced by the familiar man... or was he? A kind of werewolf... or shapeshifter? Falch'nus approached and realized Amaran was truly wounded. He flipped the shapeshifter over and found a gaping opening in his side.

"Mage!" he called, twisting around to look for Crove. He himself dabbled in the healing arts, but not enough to save anyone's life.

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As one of his companions slumped to the ground Crove cursed and gazed at the rest to help him as he himself walked towards the woods. The orcs had surely had enough of the fight as well as Crove`s companions, but Crove wasn`t going to stop just yet. With a cold smile of satisfaction on his face he picked up a wand that was hanging on his belt, he made a quick move with it at hand and sent a fireball into the woods. The fireball successfully found it`s target and a explosion of fire spread in the woods, setting trees aflame and scorching some of the surviving orcs.

Crove chuckled quietly to himself as he spun the wand around in his fingers, clearly satisfied that he had scorched some of the surviving orcs all tough there was no reason. He placed the wand on his belt and sighed as he gazed back at his companions who clearly were angered, terrified or shocked by this brutal display of power.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

Amaran awoke to the earth falling upside down. No wait...that was him. The sky above him swayed but for a moment. "I'll...I'll be fine" he murmured. "Just help me up." He tried to lift himself up, but a wave of pain knocked him down to the ground. He warily pulled up his bloody tunic to inspect his wound, then cursed when he saw the severity. Belly wounds were bad. They destroyed vital organs and were open to infection. Luckily his wound was not too deep, but it was long and would take a long time to heal.

Jada extricated herself from a tangle of orcs, unable to tell whether most of them were dead or alive and not caring to find out. Grimacing in distaste, she stooped to clean her scimitar on the sleeve of an orc missing its head. Granted, this made a minimal difference in the actual cleanliness of the blade, but Jada thrust it back into the sheath anyway. Her braid, already half-undone, had come apart entirely and hung in tendrils around her face and shoulders. Absently she began to redo it, swallowing her distaste on finding orc blood on her sleeves and tunic, and was unpleasantly surprised to find that not all of it was orc blood.

A shallow gash ran the length of her forearm, sluggishly oozing blood. Jada was faintly aware that Crove was doing something odd, but was rather more concerned with herself currently.

_________________

As the last orcs fled, Ruthnak started moving among the dead and wounded, plucking unbroken arrows from bodies. He was uninjured aside from a gash in his side, courtesy of an orc throwing knife. It was shallow, and would heal on it's own.

He cleaned the arrows as best he could and put them back in his quiver. He whirled as Crove sent a fireball into the forest, then shook his head in disgust. So much for a quiet escape.

Ruthnak turned back around. It seemed most of the members of the group had minor hurts. That shapeshifting elf, though... He hurried over and put a hand on Amaran's shoulder. "Just stay where you are." he said. "Does anyone have healing herbs with them?" The half-orc had discovered many healing plants in his lifetime, sometimes out of necessity.

Kiana slumped on the ground panting. Her cheek was scraped up badly and she had a gash on her upper arm as well as many other bruises and cuts. Wincing she inspected her cut. Some of her other traveling companions were also hurt. Trying to ease the pain, Kiana bound her arm with a strip of her tunic. She could feel sweat covering her body and her arms burned from intense battling. She took several steadying breaths before focusing on getting up.
Kiana pushed herself up and turned to Crove.
"That was a nice bit of magic you did there." Kiana forced a smile, her whole body throbbed painfully.

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Hello, I'm Amoniel
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"Shores and sea!" Arielle cursed under her breath as Crove sent the fireball whistling into the forest. She could manipulate flame slightly, but not to that extent. This Crove was a ruthless one, all right. A pity he hadn't been neutralized in the fighting - maybe she should have sent out a few stray arrows herself. But then again, he was one of the few things holding this party together, using the time-honored combination of fear and power.

The ensuing light from the burning forest allowed her to examine her own state. Not bad, considering the rest of her comrades. Her knuckles and forearms were somewhat the worse for wear, but there was nothing serious. Falch'nus, who appeared to have plenty of experience, had probably taken or blocked a few of the strikes meant for her. It hadn't been a bad little piece of teamwork.

A worried voice, slightly gutteral in intonation, broke into her thoughts. It was Ruthnak, the half-orc. "Does anyone have healing herbs with them?"

Arielle reached into her cloak, drawing out a packet wrapped in oilskin. "Aye, it's not much, though." She handed it to him. "And I've not much skill in herbs and such - for cuts and bonesets, yes, but a wound like this, that might turn sour - a healer, I'd say. And a practiced one at that." She knelt by the casualty, Amaran, examining his wound. "A brave fight you put up," she added.

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<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

Ruthnak nodded his thanks. "You did well yourself- good sword-work." He sorted through the herbs, his large, rough fingers looking out of place as they gently handled the delicate flowers and leaves. He picked out a few. "These should help stop any wound fever, but we'll need to wash and bind it first."

OOC: Sorry for not posting in forever, my life was a little hectic a while back.

IC: Tallis ignored the others, focusing instead on keeping his feet on the ground and not spreading his wings and taking to the sky. He only did this as a courtesy to the land-bound members of the group. As soon as one of the people in the group mentioned orc (he wasn’t paying attention to the others at the time), Tallis pulled his Elven double bow from the strap on his back and strung both strings inside of a few seconds.

He pulled four arrows out of his quiver, knocking two arrows to each string. He then spread his wings and leapt into the air. He flew above the skirmish with the orcs, scanning the area for where he would be most useful. The avian elf pulled the strings of his bow back to his cheek, sighted at one of the orcs approaching Crove, and slightly opened the three fingers on his right hand just far enough so the first string snapped forewords. He kept his left index finger curled around the second arrow on the first string, just hard enough to keep it from firing but not hard enough to keep the string from releasing all of its energy.

Then he re-sighted his bow at another orc, this one showing unusual brains as it tried to flank the group of newly released criminals. Tallis then released the second string, once again keeping the second arrow on that string from being released with the first. He then pulled both strings back again and sighted another orc and released the second arrow on the first string. Then an arrow streaked towards him and he spun off to the side, which was harder in the air than on the ground. The arrow cut straight through the feathers on his left wing, drawing minimal blood but causing Tallis to grimace in pain every time he beat that wing to stay aloft. He released the final of his four arrows at the orc archer but it danced to the side as the arrow buried itself harmlessly into a tree behind it. The avian elf then took four more arrows out of his quiver and knocked them to his bow, two on each string once again. Then he pulled both strings back and let fly with all four arrows at once.

The orc archer managed to avoid two of the arrows, but the other two hit him. The first one hit him in the right bicep and the second hit him right in the throat, causing him to fall to the ground grasping at his throat. Tallis pulled four more arrows out of his quiver and resumed firing in the same pattern as when the engagement first started.

***

Tallis landed near Crove just after he had fired the fireball at the fleeing orcs, shaking his head. It wasn't that he didn't mind that more orcs died, he dispsied the beasts, but it was just the waste of a potentially useful spell. He took out a healing paste and applied some of it to the wound in his wing.

He walked over to Jada and offered the healing paste to her, "Here, it will help it heal more quickly and reduce the chance for swelling or infection."

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

Crove gazed on the battlefield with a feeling of discontent that he had not done more, but at least as the other were concentrated on healing their wounds he could loot the orcs in peace. Crove began examining the pockets and bags of the orcs, he of course first checked whether every orc was truly dead and finished them, if they weren`t. Along the way in his looting Crove found a few scrambled maps and a bag of gold coins that he attached to his belt.

The maps were an interesting fact, these orcs had obviously plans of fleeing something or going somewhere at least. Their maps were unclear and hard to read in the moonlight, but Crove decided to keep them until he could figure them out in the sunlight. He gazed at his companions.

"Patch your wounds as best as you can, carry wolf boy with you, if you must otherwise you can leave him, if he is good as dead all tough doesn`t seem like it."

Crove chuckled before gazing towards the riverside.

"We need to find a way to speed our travel along the river, a barge as it was suggested shall come in handy when we find one or two."

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!