Melvin
*On the winds through the mountain ridges of Ezocar, there drifted the faint scent of blood. It was slight enough that to most thinking beings, it was barely there - yet to the subject of the day's hunt, it would have been deep and strong, filling the vicinity with its red scent. Crags struggling to survive amongst the rocky terrain dotted the mountainside, and the source of the smell - a mangled, bloody bird - lay half-concealed by the leaves of a small shrub.

Radhur himself lay concealed within another small copse nearby. Though the massive frame of the orc was hard to hide from the prey he hunted, it was not an insurmountable challenge. Stones, sticks, and debris he had piled over himself helped to complete the illusion. To hide the scent of the blood on his hands, he had washed his hands in a nearby stream, covering himself in mud for coloration and additional scent blocking. Beneath the bushes he waited, eyes scanning the nearby landscape, ears and nose open.

He had often made a habit of coming up onto the Twin Horns for his own enjoyment. Here he had been made a man, and here his children would follow in his footsteps or earn their pitiful deaths. The weak had no place in the wild, and neither did they have a place among the Red Sun of Ezocar. His breaths came slowly and evenly, minimizing sound and movement. Animals tracked movement quite easily, but when one laid still, most lost their fear. That was often the trick. To lie still, and let prey believe they were safe. 

No movement.

The black hair of Radhur had been thoroughly turned a mottled clay brown, as had his green skin. The feel of the mud on his body had been somewhat cooling once he had gotten used to it - and even as it dried and began to shed, he kept himself still, allowing the sparse leaves and the scattered stones and sticks to do their job. With stillness and patience came combat. The calm before the storm. Sooner or later, the scent on the wind would bring a challenge.*
Joe
**Up atop the Twin Horns, a scent laid and a Hunter in perfect stealth. The clump of nature's resource among the frame of the Orc Chieftain, blended into the ground that he himself claimed. The actions of an expert, no doubt. - And one so driven to claim this Hunt so readily prepared. As was the hobby for any Hunter or local fishermen, the grinding skill of patience. Whatever prey he sought, surely they would come. And once there, to face the full might of Radhur of the Red Sun! And sooner or later, that silence would ease into the satisfying patter of a local beast. **

**Mantling across the mountainside with a snout raised, came the lurking prowl of a feral beast. From behind the cover of the small copse, lay only a fainter vision of its presence. Thick fur, sharp claws and a set of teeth sharp and violent. Its size almost doubled that of an Alynthi dog, for only the strongest would survive these feral lands wracked with civil strife and a culture of conquest.**

**The beast was clearly there for one thing: the scent of blood that caught its snout. The trap laid. The Feral Warg's ignorance would prove its undoing, as it leered closer and closer to the bloody bird. A gaze outward for assurance of its loneliness. Spying across the local bushes and cover but finding nothing to legitimise its caution. The bait had been found, and now the trophy seemed to be free to claim! But to be claimed by who..?**
.

_Before Radhur could claim his prize, a different scent would suddenly catch the air. Formerly concealed, under the shroud of a magical nature. Then, the brief bustle of activity at the opposing bustlehroud of cover from Radhur. A hurling projectile racing forward, a dart-like entity that struck in violent fashion into the side of the Warg beast. A yelp roared out, yet the sharp pinch was not its intention. A vial of a strange liquid injected into the beast, not wrecking at the creature in pain but bringing it to a dulling slow. A drowsy nature capturing the feral beast of Dazvas, as it slowly began to take effect.._

_The culprit didn't seem to show themselves after the fact, simply a low activity and the growing appearance of a silhouette from within. Of something distinct, a set of piercing red eyes that watched with bated breath. One that didn't carry the height or might of Radhur, but a particular cunning._
Melvin
*The warg that approached was smaller prey than he had wished, but it would be serviceable meat for the night. He knew of several ways to skin a warg so that the meat was untouched, and provided a man did not eat the liver, it could be flavorful and juicy when cooked over the right flame with the right spices taken from Khisfire. Stillness, he reminded himself. Breaths came in and out with as little movement as they possibly could, noiseless in the afternoon.

Yet the silence was broken by a yelp, and a dart found its way home in the side of the warg, who slowed after its impact. Another prey animal, he though to to himself - though often with those who walked upright, it could be difficult to tell. This one had concealed itself well enough, though it would show its face soon enough once the poison it had made its weapon worked, and the warg began to drop off to sleep. 

Breathe. Do not grin.

His face remained completely still, the eyes trained on the warg. No movement. Radhur was rock and stick and rubble in the shallow ditch, concealed beneath the shrubs that hid him. There he would stay in search of the second prey. What animal hunted with such a dart? None of the Red Sun he knew were here in the mountains. One of them could have been hoping to return with his head. They would be sorely disappointed if that was their aim. Beneath him lay his long-handled battle-axe, and he took comfort in its presence. But still, he laid quiet, and watched.*