Turge woke up laying on his back, slightly disoriented. The last thing he remembered was being kicked into the escape portal by a Dark One, the Orc was lucky it was just a boot he received to his face and not the sharp side of a sword. The whole of his battle a Haze, the only thing he remembers clearly was the one sided massacre of his brethren. His hand lifted to his torn cheek, rubbing it gently. A small groan escaping from him as he slowly drifted in, and out of consciousness. He struggled slightly to get to his feet, utterly exhausted from the battle. suddenly a splitting headache all but made him kneel, his hands clutching at his head. "Turge's Head hurts, It feels like a Hammer was taken to Turge's head." he then proceeded to look around to see who made it. Astraia, Wern, Yue, Ithilnaur, Authryn.<br/><br/>A bellowing chuckle soon erupted from the Orc. "Of course It was us, well Turge knew Turge would live, but the rest of you Turge had his doubts." one of his famous horrible jokes to lighten the dark mood, which would more than likely backfire in on the Orc in every way imaginable. He dabbed at his head, feeling a wetness run down his forehead. As he pulled his finger back to look at what was running down his forehead, his finger was covered in a crimson liquid. It looked like that kick did a bit more than the Orc though it could, the Dark Ones were truly powerful, and the Turge respected that. He sat playing with his one life force, feeling it between his thumb and index finger. "Turge has not felt his own blood in a long time." his normal cheerful demeanor quickly disappeared. It was time for him to become serious. He looked around. "so uh, how do we decide who leads are small band, unless The Grandmaster named a successor." He was not even sure if the Rangers or what was left of them would even stick together. "Turge Guesses he could always go back to the Highlands, but this is all Turge knows, Turge does not think he could be a good Orc."