<span style="font-size: 10px">(Ported from GDocs)</span><br/><br/>Despite the slow encroachment of humanity, there were still places in the world that were just as wild and untamed as they had been since the dawn of time. These woods, Liirah suspected, were one of those places. She had left the path almost two hours ago, following the thin, twisting game trails deeper into the forest. Clambering over moss-covered boulders and under the roots of massive, ancient trees had become exhausting, and she had accumulated a nice coating of mud and loam on her boots and flecking her jerkin, but she pressed on, refusing to give up after having come so far.<br/><br/>It was supposed to have been a simple, routine mission. One of the more influential trade caravans had sent a call for help the hunters' corps, citing trouble on one of their northwestern roads. Historically, caravans and travelers passing through the area had often been attacked by orcish raiding parties. The messenger dispatched had explained that there hadn't been any new attacks in almost a month, but many merchants feared that the beasts were merely biding their time and mustering their strength for something big. As the guild was one of the corps' major benefactors, they had little choice but to send someone to investigate.<br/><br/>That was months ago, and Ignatius Blackward had not yet returned.<br/><br/>It was the rare hunter who died peacefully, Liirah knew that, but to even consider that possibility made her stomach tie itself in knots. There was no way that a veteran of the craft had fallen during what was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance mission. Leaving her post to track him down wasn't going to reflect well on her, she knew, and despite her surety that he was fine, she was afraid of what she would find. Still, not knowing his fate was a thousand times worse. If her worst fears were true, then at the very least, she would ensure his remains received a proper burial.<br/>Actually finding this orc tribe, however, had been much easier said than done. The woods were sprawling and tangled, and finding her way was growing difficult. Dusk was approaching, and for all she knew, she was going in circles. And, to make matters worse, she had had the unsettling feeling of being watched for some time now. She tried to brush it off as the dappled shadows of the forest playing tricks on her, but a hunter's gut intuition could be a powerful thing. She had been walking with her crossbow out and cocked for the past hour, and her saxe knife was close at hand, hanging from her belt. Even with that worry prickling at the edges of her mind, however, exhaustion had begun to take its toll, and she was forced to pause beneath the eaves of a massive tree, its leafy boughs forming part of the near-impenetrable canopy overhead. With a tired groan, she sank to the ground against the trunk, setting her crossbow against it beside her and untying the waterskin at her belt. She tilted her head back to quaff the lukewarm water, then returned it to its tie. She needed to keep moving, but her aching legs were crying out for at least a bit of rest before she continued on her way.