text: With the strange campsite far behind you, the group seems to be more at ease.  The forest is much more serene and offers some peace and quiet.
  
  
  A stream trickles by, as your horse steps over it, you hear some sounds up ahead.
  
  
  Greusim looks over his shoulder at the group behind him, and you nod at him. 
  
  
  You, Greusim, Rolomag, Dekard, and some other orcs all leave your horses to go scout ahead.  The main group waits for your return.
  
  
  The unmistakable sounds of violence penetrate your ears.  Peering from the foliage, you see two things.  The first must be Imperial soldiers, with their flat top helms and robes over what appears to be some kind of silver coat.
  
  
  Cowards. The orcs only use some padding from their leather armor and sometimes studs.  Anything more would just weigh a warrior down and keep him from being effective. 
  
  
  From what you can see, they have two separate lines of archers by the trees, and in the clearing between them are soldiers on horseback.  Ahead, on a rocky hill, a group of orcs seems to be holding their ground, trading arrows with the Imperial archers.  Once in a while, an orc taking a shot at one of the horsemen, but always missing.
  
  
  In between two groups lays a slain Imperial, a spear in his back, and a dead orc with the spear still gripped in his hands.  The orc has several arrows protruding from his back.  Judging by his face paint, it looks like these orcs are one of the lawless bands of orcs.
  
  
  "We need to help them," Rolomag says as he starts forward.
  
  
  You grab him by the shoulder, pulling him back.
  
  
  "Stop. We don't know who started it," you say. "This isn't a proper orc tribe.  They're just some vagabonds."
  
  
  "Does it matter? They're still orcs," Rolomag says.
  
  
  "No, Nolazir may be right," Greusim says. "We should let the Imperials know they aren't working on behalf of all of orcin."
  
  
  "Are you really going to listen to this?" Rolomag asks. "Nolazir, the Empire won't care either way.  They will blame all of us."
  
  
  "No, we can make peace with them," Greusim says.
  
  
  Greusim looks at you.
  
  
  "You believe me, don't you, Nolazir?"
  
  
  Chief Greusim looks genuinely concerned about whether or not you believe him or not.  You look to Rolomag, he raises an eyebrow, not lifting the scowl on his face for a moment.
  > You help the Orcs
  You look to Greusim.
  
  
  "Sorry chief," you say, "Rolomag is right.  We need to work with the orcs, besides, the Imperials encroached on our lands."
  
  
  You draw your sword.
  
  
  "And there must be consequences."
  
  
  You tell Dekard to get the rest of the orcs, in the meantime you wait.
  
  
  "Nolazir," Greusim says, "I'm disappointed in you.  We're in no position, and we will never be in a position to fight the Empire."
  
  
  "It's for the good of Orcin," you say, "we'll teach them a lesson."
  
  
  The rest of the orcs arrive, and you look out towards them.
  
  
  "Please chief," you say, "help us defend our home."
  
  
  He looks at the ground for a moment, but returns to answer you.
  
  
  "If you all think it is best, I will help you."
  
  
  Making sure to stay in cover, you wonder what the best course of action would be.
  > You attack the Horsemen
   Feeling bold, you suggest to go straight for the horsemen first, then fan out to the sides and wipe out the archers.  Some of the orcs have reservations about this plan, as it would place you right into the center of the archers.
  
  
  But by Grikalia, you won't let some sharp objects scare you.
  
  
  "We go in fast, and we go in deadly," you say raising your sword.
  
  
  Most orcs nod, and some reluctantly agree, including Greusim.  You all get on your horses, waiting for the right moment, although there really isn't one.
  
  
  On Greusim's command you all charge forward, readying your weapons to meet these humans.  The archers fire at your group, an arrow whirling right by your head.  The cries and thudding of fallen comrades sounds out as the arrows kill several of your comrades.
  
  
  A low gasp, an arrow sticks out of chief Greusim's chest.  His face scrunches up in pain, but he ignores it and rides on, letting out a war cry of rage and pain.
  
  
  One of the horsemen comes circling back from near the hill.  Seeing you all on the attack, he draws his sword, arcing it over his head as he rides towards you.
  
  
  You decide to accept his challenge, arrows whirling around you and the sound of fighting in your ears. 
  
  
   