Joyce
Stern Logarsh, the Bulwark.

The orc snarled at the man with the book, understanding little to nothing about what was happening, yet the fact that everyone was now more relaxed was good enough to avoid punching that elder's jaw. He put his dagger away, spitting into the ground. "Dahk morog shol manek..." He cursed. "I hope your "Grand Crusader" Won't be as foolish as all of you. Now let me meet him before I lose my patience." The orc growled now glaring in annoyance at the last remaining people. He was not enjoying the constant changes between being in danger and being treated nicely, he was pretty sure that another situation like that would have definitely made his anger take over his actions, especially when considering that the light he saw was going against all of his previous knowledge about cold stone. For his people, magic was something only gods and spirits should be able to use...
Bernice
Ostiary Vigi Bolstad, The Bulwark.

Vigi took little to no interest in Stern's discomfort or anger, and perhaps unwisely, began dust him off. "The Grand Crusader...?" He snapped to attention, bringing his hand swiftly across the orc's arm and carrying a small puff of dust. "Aye! He'll want to know about this, if he hasn't been contacted al—" He cocked his head and looked up at Stern, "And what _is_ that language you're speaking? Why..." He quickly began flipping through his book, "We've never heard of such a tongue. So _harsh._ Visceral even. You'll have to tell me m—" He looked up from him book to see his newfound guest practically huffing with anger. It occured to Vigi in this moment that Stern, if he wanted to, could crush him like an ant. "We'll talk about this later." 

"You said you had scrolls for the Grand Crusader? They wouldn't be covered in some malevolent runes, would they?" He let out a harsh, wheezing laugh, smacking himself on the knee before making his way to the keep. "Just a little joke. Those poor things would've been evaporated into a fine mist by the runic magic you just experienced. It was, to _my_ understanding, that you would've also gotten evaporated. Fortunately for you, the launders, the Order and I, you're all in one piece. " Vigi turned around, before beckoning the orc with a spry wave. 

"Come along then, the Grand Crusader is gettin' old. Old coot goes to bed around noon now, anyhow." This was followed by another wheezing cackle.
Joyce
Stern Logarsh, the Bulwark
As the little, annoying man began touching him, the orc emitted another, louder growl. He was about to grab his overly talkative interloper by his neck when Orgun began nuzzling his leg, distracting the hunter for vital seconds and slightly relieving some of the stress he was sustaining. The orc began following the male caring very little about what he had to say and focusing more on the architecture and people around him. He was lager than most doors and the forniture around him was definitely not designed for his gargantuan phisique. He was very interested by the stone bricks and glass windows, curious about that new world where nothing seemed natural and simple like the wildlands he was used to.
Stephanie
Jestah, Witherlands
The Pines of Morn

Jestah would nod at the mans comments before clapping his hands together. He'd walk around him in a clockwise rotation as he leaves a literal circle in the form of his boots traced around in the now. He'd than too look at the fire and says delightfully 

"I thinks I cans extinguish it ratha fast like, just give me a minute, ya go get ya shite ready!" The man states trying to shoo Edmund way as Jestah begins doing his "Magics" To put the fire out. By magics he seems to grab a lot of snow and just toss it onto the flame .
Bertha
Edmund Silverstep, Witherlands
The Pines of Morn

Grumbling a tad, Edmund walked off to gather his stuff of which there wasn't a lot - his quiver of arrows, a dagger and the axe he'd need in the future. Limping towards the tent, he mumbled to himself "I need to get rid of this bastard in the first city I stumble upon. Reckon I'll have enough of his insanity and broken common speak by then." He was angry at the fact that he had such an unfortunate interloper attached to his every step from now on - the man's poor manners, terrible speech and sketchy appearance made a terrible first impression on Edmund. 

But, no matter how reluctant he was to accept this unpleasant companion, he had to do it - two fights to the death were enough for now and, though he'd love to add another head to his already sketched-down kill count, he was at a disadvantage here - his thigh still hurt like hell from the Shaman's jagged blade that was not too long ago jabbed into it. Yes, cauterizing this serious wound had helped a lot, but it certainly didn't stop the seering pain of it. In fact, it amplified it at least by two, if not all ten.

So there he was: a noble stuck in the frozen woods with some subhuman shitblood that tried to steal from ones like him, unable to force this 'jester' to leave him alone... At least until his wound healed up enough for him to do so. Unpleasant predicament and a tough pill to swallow for a man of pride, but sometimes one must accept the inevitability of some situations...

With that thought he quickly tied the axe to his belt, sheathed the dagger and lifted his helmet up a bit to allow for better view of his surroundings before turning to his newly acquired satellite:

"Ready to go, Jester?"
Bernice
Ostiary Vigi Bolstad, the Bulwark

Stern would find that while the majority of the doors leading in and out of the keep were rather small, the inside was sprawling. There were large gates at the front, currently closed with portcullises, but seeing has how that would've taken a large amount of time to open, not to mention the potential fanfare it would've caused Stern to undergo, Vigi opted against it. It seemed almost impractical, that archways and passages that were nearly all enough for a siege engine to move past. Covering the walls were the same, indecipherable runic language, now much larger. Braziers burned in small alcoves dug out of the walls, and ironwork windows let in constant gusts of refreshing, brisk air. Compared to the already sizable courtyard, the Bulwark was massive. The sound of a choir echoed through the halls, and despite it's gentle sound, the volume was loud and haunting. 

Men and women, now mostly disrobed from their armor and donning common clothes, milled about. Most of them carried boxes or pulled wagons behind them, transporting any variety of good from one place to the other. Food, stacks of books miscellaneous crates and sacks, scribes with handfuls of scrolls and warriors with bundles of axes, all moving right past Stern, with only so much as a brief, albeit curious, stare. 

"You don't strike me as a talker. Is this something unique to you, or does everyone of your... Particular disposition act this way?" Vigi spoke to Stern without so much as a glance. Most of his attention was dedicated to keeping Stern's sizable form out of the way of the other members of the Order. "For someone coming to see the Grand Crusader, you seem mighty confused. If you have any questions, I can answer them."
Joyce
Stern Logarsh, the Bulwark

Stern's pointy ears could hear the choir perfectly. It was something he found different from the drums and songs of his Clan, something about those voices made him relax, as it reminded him of tge wind blowing through the woods and valleys of Taemar. He was also surprised by the fact that none of the people around him showed anything more than curiosity when looking at him. 

"This... Stone hut... I've never seen something like this before."

He decided to speak, wanting to know more about his surroundings. Orgun was trotting next to the hunter, completely focused on where he was going. The little wolf was beginning to struggle as Stern's steps were definitely bigger than its little paws. The animal emitted a soft growl as to inform the orc, who looked down at it and nodded, taking Orgun into his hand. The wolf nuzzled his thumb, curling up into the greenskin's hand.
Stern petted it with his finger and returned to follow the chattering guide. "When will we arrive?"
Frances
Cludia Forestien, Witherlands
The Pines of Morn

Hours have passed, Cludia's mind hazed with hunger as she had been tracking a Sow and its Farrow in the frozen woods for hours. Maybe it was time to give up, maybe it was time to pick up the pace, she had the prey in sight, well metaphorically in sight, as she only had its scent, not its body. A quiet walk through the snow wasnt that bad for her, she needed to explore her new 'territory' of the woods. Unlike most sub humans, she was more of a wild animal then a civilized Shapeshifter, elf, or what ever else there is, she only knows of food and the occational "Dont eat, eat bad." Though she always wondered what it would be like to have a companion, maybe one of the shoats would make a good pet, always digging in the mud to find things to eat would benefit the wildling well.

A few hours later.
The sky darkens as she finally reaches the Sow and her Farrow, three Shoats to be exact. Licking her teeth she would slowly creep closer to them, pulling out a makeshift dagger of sharp stones and rope she took off a dead man she found. Grinning as she darted towards the family, making some quick swipes at the mother trying to take her down as she posed the worse threat. The Sow Biting at Cludia as she bit it back, the two wrestled, biting, clawing, until one of them fell. The Shoats were long gone, but the mother, now covered in claw and bite marks laid dead in the snow, Cludia, covered in bite marks growled lowly and let out a scream of vicroty over the Sow, a Boar would have been better, but this will feed her for quite a while.