Frankie
:: The Tavern:: Nestled in the woods below the southern mountains was a small town. Known for its soft wool and stout beer, it was a distance from the more populated cities, arrived at through a small valley with a rapid river that cut like a ravine down the mountain into the outlaying areas.

:: The Tavern:: Within the village proper was a modest tavern called The Watcher's Drink, for centuries past, the mountain had been a bastion for the patrols guarding the pass that led to an enemy stronghold, long since conquered. Now the tale of Ocs have risen again, reports of small farms being attacked has reached the farther cities where they have sent letters of recruitment, promising payment for Orc ears. One silver a piece.
Lyle
:: The Tavern :: inside the fire lit keep sits many outgoing adventurers, wealthy merchants, guards on break, and very importantly, bounty hunters.
Rebecca
Another job completed, another purse won. As Woji sat on a stool by the fire and played through the laundry list of all tunes and ballads he knew, he went over the events of the past few days. The Marshall's guild had placed a bounty on an escaped revolutionary who had fled to the area that the bear took on. After three days' investigation, Woji came across the wanted man by complete accident in a crowded market and apprehended him by way of throwing a nearby flower pot incredibly hard at his head. 

Bounty in tow, the bear collected a reward of 70 silver from the Guild's local field office. Now, here he was, the bounty bear from a land so podunk that hardly anyone remembered it, sitting by the fire playing his accordion. He wondered for a moment what would become of the man he turned in- if he would be imprisoned or find his way to the gallows; if he would be able make something of his life or if his chances of living were now burned away like the embers that flew up into the nearby air.

None of that mattered now, he supposed, but Woji wasn't the hard sort; people mattered to him to a certain level, even the ones that he made his living tracking.
Larry
Sitting on one of the stools at the bar, a rather large, armored bounty hunter stares blankly at the wall in front of him, daydreaming about bounty hunting.

The bounty, Hutt, is here on business after rumors of violent orcs had shown up in the southern mountains and now had a bounty of one silver per ear.

Despite a considerable amount of the taverns patrons looking rugged and gnarled, as if they were here to hunt (which they were) Hutt was too occupied with romanticizing hunting down his targets.
Crystal
The door to the inn flings open, snow sent spiraling in a trajectory of anyone nearby, as a towering warrior enters the gap between the frigid chill, and the blaring heat from within. Her gaze sweeps the room from beneath a hooded cloak, mud clinging to the hem with a heavy sway of cloth. She is breathing in small gasps, clutching her arm beneath the fabric. 

She swears in gaelic "Fulteach amadan," Pausing in the heat of the room to kick the door shut behind her. With a heavy-heeled gate across the floorboards, she weaves between the tables and patrons, some of whom quickly draw their chairs back out of her way, lest they are swept over by her passing.

"I need a drink," She declares to no one, pushing her hood down to reveal a mass of gold-blond locks, like a lion's mane, woven with complex braids and adorned with thin, blue crystals.

Her keen gaze zeroes in on several patrons as she approaches the bar, those with weapons, firstly, or cloaks concealing weapons, or those hunched in the corners with shifty gazes that might be calculating how quickly they could purloin a purse and make it out the door into the dark of night.
Larry
Hutt feels the cold air from the outside and snaps back into reality. He looks over to his side, and sees the new figure, but doesn't pay them much attention.

Now out of his daydream, he begins to notice that he may not be the only person after those orcs.
Crystal
Eases into a chair at the bar, peeling back her cloak to inspect her arm. There are bright specs of blood edging the torn leather where something sliced through the hardened armor. She grunts and gestures to the barkeep. 

"I'd like a dishrag an' a goblet of dragonfire." She slides a silver across the bar that the barkeep expertly catches. He tosses a rag to her and turns his back to rummage in a lower back shelf for the rare, hardly ever asked for - dragonfire. 

Lysira catches the rag, shreds it into strips like it was paper, and wraps her arm. She turns this way and that, finally settling on the helmeted man next to her (Hutt). 

"Would ye be kind enough ta tie this in a knot for me?" She is holding the two strips with one hand, but clearly cannot knot it from that angle over her bandaged arm.
Larry
"Hmm.. Sure, where did you get it?" He replies as he ties the the rag into a bow around her arm. "Maybe... Orcs?"
Crystal
Her gold eyes flash upward to search his, but see little beneath his helm. She distrusts those who's features she cannot see. What are they hiding? But she nods slowly, studying his reaction to her reply. 

"Aye, a band of them. Too many for me, though, I slaid six before I had to retreat." Her voice holds the rich cadence of Irish brogue, and she pats a pouch tied to her hip. Clearly she is confident in her own ability to defend said pouch, because the ears within it are worth a silver each. 

She nods her thanks once the bandage is secure, though her mouth quirks at one corner upon noticing the bow. "I'm lookin' for warriors to go back out with me. Think you'd be interested?"
Larry
Hutt chuckles and nods. "I would, but sadly not just because of the kindness of my heart. I'll need to be given a cut of the bounty." As he looks over, for brief second Hutts brown eyes become visible underneath his helm, but are quickly lost to the shadowed visor
Crystal
Sips on her dragonfire, smoke billowing around her features, softening the hardened lines of her face momentarily. She tisks. "Course ye'd be given your bounty. Silver an' ear. What ye kill, ye keep."
Larry
"Dragonfire... An odd choice for a drink. Personally I find far to strong for my liking".
Crystal
Can't help but break into a grin. Most men who try to follow her in drinking dragonfire end up rolling on the floor in agony, or passed out cold. But this one, no doubt he'd stomach it well enough, though might suffer for it the next day. 
She extends her hand. "I am Lysira Farraige of clan Sioda. Well met, * 'One who has tried dragonfire and lived to tell the tale'."*
Larry
Hutt shakes Lysira's hand and responds with, "Wow, quite a mouthful. I'm Hutt, the Happy Hunter. Not quite as exciting as yours, but sometimes simple is good."
Crystal
She shakes his hand with a smile and releases it. "Aye, simple is good. I can remember, Hutt. Well met."
Larry
"Well, we should probably make a plan of action to deal with the orcs, at least we know where they are at." Almost immediately after Hutt says this, the tavern goes quiet and everyone turns their heads to the two of them. Still oblivious to the other hunters, Hutt pulls out a map to sketch a plan.
Crystal
Arches a brow, noting the quiet of the inn. So. They were all here for the orcs. That posed a problem, from what she had tracked, there were two bands of eight or nine, traveling up river. They might need one more in their party to handle the creatures, but no more. She gauged that Hutt could take on two, maybe three if hard pressed, and herself as well. That left needing another to cover their butts. But the mercenaries who's beady eyes were fixed upon them were none of the sort she cared to turn her back to, and Sira had a sixth sense about people. It was one of her gifts. 
Her eyes did linger on a furry gentleman-... Er... Bearish sort standing before the fire, but he had shown them no interest at all since she had entered the inn, lost in his own reverie before the hypnotic pull of the dancing flames. 

"Aye, lets take a table, then, errr... Away from the other rabble, eh?" She gestures to Hutt, tilting her head to surreptitiously include the general disreputable men present.
Larry
Hutt sits back, looks around the room, and then understands what Lysira is trying to say. With a little embarrassment in his voice, Hutt replies with, "Ehh.. Yes, I think that would probably be for the best." He rubs his arm a little, stands up, and whispers "Sorry".
Crystal
Nods and gestures toward a table toward the back of the room. It happens to be set a part from the others, wedged between the part of the building that holds the side of the fireplace, a rock wall of large stones that leads from floor to ceiling. 

"This way," She murmurs, heading in that direction. Smoke drifts behind her like a river of clouds, dissapaiting into the wake of her passing.
Larry
Hutt grabs his bearded axe, rest it over his shoulder and walks over to the table. Now by the fireplace, and getting a bit to warm for his liking, Hutt takes off his helmet to reveal his face. His dirty blonde hair tied in a knot, his brown eye, and a bit of scruff are revealed by the glow of the fire. Despite his track record with fighting and bounty hunting, there is not a single scar on his face.
Crystal
Takes a seat with her back to the wall, hesitates slightly as he removes his helmet, taking a moment to regard his features. He's a good deal youthful than she first thought, and wonders if she is making the right decision in putting her trust in this young knight. He does heft the axe like it was a matchstick, but can he swing it with skill? Would he run in the middle of battle, leaving her in the lurch and surrounded by bloody orcs? She takes inner council to carefully consider his participation. 

"What experience have ye, Hutt, in hunting Orcs? Ye look a bit green to the tooth, ifn' ye dinnae mind me sayin'. "
Larry
"I've hunted orcs before. People are quite afraid of them, so bounties are commonly placed on their tusks or ears. Sad to say but fear is good for business. And for my experience, I've been bounty hunting since I was 18. Started where I was born, up in the mountains of Aismir."
Crystal
She shifts, leaning back to brace her foot on the leg of the table. She will offer a nod then. "Vera well. We'll find out soon 'nuff. Let's see yer map."
Larry
Hutt unrolls an old yellow map, with a marker for the tavern they are at, and red circle in the woods labeled crudely, "Estimation".
Crystal
She leans over the map, thin braids falling foward to swing against her jaw. Slim crystals fastened into their weave dance in the firelight. She gives her head a shake. "No, they were here.. An' here... " She points to areas along the river, father north. "They were camped, but seemed to be headin' farther into the mountains."
Larry
Hutt pulls out a charcoal pencil and circles the places Lysira points. "We need to get them separated enough so that we can take them on together in smaller quantities. We could also try and get some more muscle to help out, but that could be pretty risky."
Crystal
She chuckles softly, her gold gaze lifting to the other patrons in the inn with a nod. Most of the talk has returned to a low rumble, but there are still beady eyes darted in their direction. Her gaze lingers on the broad furry back of that one figure at the fire. Something about that one... Her attention returns to Hutt. 

"Aye, you've assessed correctly. An' from what I saw of them, there's at least eight or nine to a camp. They were well armed, an' not the scouts, which are quicker but less trained. These were full-on fightin' stock. The worst of the worst. We need another with us, an that's the truth of it."
Rebecca
Woji still sat by the fire, though his music no longer played. Instead, he sat silently, a large pipe between his lips as he took advantage of his kind being able to hear better than most humanoids. The helmeted man and the warrior woman were planning a daring raid... Daring and incredibly dangerous. The bear had met all sorts during his time in the recovery profession, but very few of them had the mettle or the skill to take on an orcish warband. The pair may have been skilled, but Woji knew from experience that human and human-like bodies were fragile, even witn armor. If these two were going to try and collect that bounty, they were going to need someone who would be able to stand toe to toe with the sickly green brutes; they would need a creature that stood a head taller than most and was built like a stone fortress... They would need a bear.

Ordinarily, Woji didn't like working with other bountymen, he found the majority of them to be unscrupulous and needlessly bloodthirsty. Worst of all to the swashbuckling ursine, the mercenary type tended to be incredibly dull and totally uninterested in anything other than ale and saucy maidens. However, when it came to Hutt and Lysira, Woji felt differently. The boy was confident but inexperienced and the woman... Her spirit spoke volumes of both her capacity for amazing success and crippling failure. Both characters seemed, unlike most bounty hunters, to be decent.

Perhaps it was in Woji's nature to help those he felt needed it; perhaps the relative youth of Hutt and Lysira awakened a long dead fatherly impulse. Whatever the reason, the bear resolved that he would help them on their quest. For now, however, he continued to smoke his pipe; he would wait for them to finalize their plan before offering his help.
Crystal
"So, I've a thing to tell ye, if we go out an' try this on our own." She sits back, her gold eyes glittering. Something in this woman is different, a resolution, or a strength that is like an aura about her. Perhaps it is a lengthening of years that reflects within her eyes, an agelessness that belies the otherwise youthfulness of her features. 

"I have tracked Orcs fer a ... Let's say, a vera long time. These have a different turn to them. Most Orcs pattern their fightin' in a rhythm. They fight by rote, the same movements, but with force an' swiftness. If ye slowed them down, ye could ken their next move by knowin' this pattern of movement they follow - do ye ken? " She eyes him for a moment before continuing... 

"But these orcs, whether they be elite ranks, or no... Is sumthin' different about them. I cannae place my finger on it, an' I am not well versed in magics, but I am *Feelin* There is some ensorcellement in their movements. Tis a worry."
Larry
Hutts face changes to a somewhat surprised or nervous expression at the mention of magic. "I'm not particularly well versed in magic either, in fact I've yet to have to deal with it in any of my hunts." He taps his fingers nervously on the hilt of his axe, and puts his helmet back on as a way to conceal his concern.
Crystal
She nods, her eyes dropping to the map. "Well, I've killed four of them in the last three days, pickin' them off when they get separated from the others. An' on their own they seem normal." She seems to think about it, then her face takes on a realization. Her voice drops lower, almost breathless ...... "Oh, I know what it is. One of them must be a shaman."
Larry
" This hunt continues to get worse as we talk about it, I think we're going need more than just the two of us. Any ideas?"
Rebecca
A shaman? Well, that certainly complicated things. Woji was many things, but a mage was not one of them. In truth, aside from what his faith explained and allowed, Woji was fairly afraid of magic. Still, the arcane inclined bled and died like all others; this was an experiment proven countless times in his own life. Every now and then, a sorcerer met his end at the tip of a sword or the crush of a bludgeon; he would simply have to be more careful in his approach.
Crystal
Gives a shake of her head. "No. But we could still go out an' pick them off. I think I can tell which one is the shaman. Mayhaps we can leave him fer last. Two of us can take him on, of that I have no doubt."
Larry
"Hmph... I... Agree. We just have play this safe. So the plan is, we stick together and lure the first group away from the other to make an easier target. Next we take on the second group, leaving the shaman left, and from there, we can handle the shaman." He looks at the map and points to the river, " The river could complicate things. At this time of year the currents are strong and are gear is heavy, so if we are bullied into the river by those brutes, we aren't making it out."
Crystal
Grins as she leans forward. "So we use the river to our advantage. Orcs cannae swim. If we can, we scout out an area where the bank is soft. Weaken it prior, an' lead them there for our fight."
Larry
At this, Hutt becomes visibly more confident and attentive. He leans in and starts to shake his head. "Yeah, this could work out, but one thing first, how do we weaken the bank? Maybe I could use my axe."
Crystal
"Aye, we'll there was a storm here few days past. Lots of broken branches about. We'll dig a bit of a pit near the bank, and brace it with thin branches, cover it with leaves an such.
Larry
"Well, I'd say this is one hell of a plan. We should probably do this here soon though, before anyone catches on."
Crystal
Nods. "Ready when you are."

She rose to her feet, pulling her cloak from the chair and fastening around her throat with an iron clasp in the shape of a dragon. Her expression was resolute and her steps purposeful as she headed for the door, glancing back only once, to make sure Hutt was behind her, and to let her gaze rest for a bright moment on that immovable hulking bear, still standing by the fire.
Rebecca
Woji wondered how he could make his appeal to the adventuring pair and, as Lysira turned to give him a passing glance, he saw his opening. He tossed the remainder of his tobacco into the fireplace and moved over to her, careful not to approach too quickly- humanoids were usually unnerved seeing one of his kind closing distance with haste.

"Forgive the intrusion, ma'am." He began. "But I could not help but overhear your and the boy's conversation. If you are going against orcs, you will need someone of my size and girth. If you will have me, I would like to offer you two my services."
Crystal
She slows her pace before reaching the door as the bear turns toward her. It is the first she has seen his features. She had expected something resembling humanoid about him, but that was not the case. He was a bear, and much larger than she had at first assumed. She was not used to looking *Up* At people, standing at 6'1" She did not often come across those who's height surpassed hers, at least not by much. But this creature's bulk and height were truly staggering. 
She hesitated a moment, and then looked into Woji's eyes. Sira had always had a sense about people, ...From the men who had followed her into battle... To her sworn champions that made up her Clan, she had a way of *Knowing* The nature of men's hearts. She was not always right, but for now, she sensed this creature's heart was pure, noble even. 

Bowing her head slowly she answered, her voice rich and husky, accented with a brogue lilt, and carrying an underlying power of one used to giving commands. "We would be honored to have you. I am Lysira Farraige, of clan Sioda. What are you called, that we may know ye?"
Rebecca
At Lysira's acceptance of his offer, a happy smile formed on the bear's snout. While some may have found the sight of a bear smiling to be somewhat frightening, it was easy to tell that the ursine had no ulterior motive behind his grin. At the warrior woman's request, an answer was given quickly.

"I am called Woji." The bear said before he gave a small bow to Lysira. "Survivor of the Kalbesh civil war. I lend you my skill and protection."
Crystal
Her gold eyes assess the creature with all the skill and training of a Sioda warrior. But she doesn't need it, doesn't need to see his balance and how he holds his weight on the balls of his feet, the calluses on his hands to know the heft of the weapon he might prefer, the cold stillness of grace and battle poise. No, simply not necessary, Woji's giant size guarantees their added success. But bulk and strength are not enough. Bulk and strength do not give the advantage in a fight, if one is slow and dull of whit. But Lysira has looked into Woji's eyes, and the gleam of intellect, the calm presence of trained, controlled power, gives her the confidence to place her trust.
Rebecca
Lysira's trust would not be misplaced. While Woji was correct in saying that he survived the Kalbesh civil war, what he did not mention is that he was a militiaman whose organization saw some of the most intense fighting during that conflict. While the bear's warm and somewhat simple demeanor didn't immediately tell an onlooker that he was, at one point, a trained warrior, there was a way about Woji that pointed to that past if one looked hard enough: a tenseness in his poise, a silent fury in the eyes that hid behind his happy gaze. 

Woji wasn't the sort to enjoy conflict and combat, but he was very good at it. In his younger days, Woji both dodged and dealt death. The sword and mace that sat close to either hip had claimed the lives of many and, while he was far more selective with his use of force nowadays and while his old joints didn't quite have the range they used to, the killer instinct that made him a terror to encounter on the battlefield was still there.

"You have my thanks." He said. "Shall we depart?"
Frankie
I think we lost Tarnished