The elf ran and Durzol cut a glare at the rest of those gathered, prepared to roar or do something equally as frightening to chase them away. Then the ground shook and his plan was no longer needed. Whoever was left fled, their retreat encouraged when the voice came. A sound, unlike anything he had ever heard before and yet familiar in the same breath, like it spoke to the blood that flowed through his veins. Called to the blood lust and rage that his more savage heritage was known for, and that bothered the normally composed warrior, more than he would ever admit.<br/><br/>Just before action could be taken, the boy, his new son Azior suffered another episode, similar to the one that had set the place aflame. Only now it also came with a voice that was not his own and filled with an evil intent that he could practically taste.<br/><br/>“Azior!” he called out and rushed to the boy’s side, reaching him only just as he fell to the ground. The thin man exited the Tavern then wanting to know what was going on. “We are leaving!” the half-orc growled and scooped up the boy in his powerful arms and walked to the wagon. “GET IN!” it was not a request, but if they wanted out of there they would come with him and come with him now. Azior was laid in the back, atop some blankets and secured in place.<br/><br/>“You! Short talkative guy,” he gestured to Azior. “You ride back here with him and make sure he is alright. Anything happens to him, I remove your head through your ass! Understand?” No answer was waited for as he mounted up at the front of the wagon and waited for the thin man to get on board before he clicked his tongue and set the wagon on a path out of town. Whatever was happening, this place was behind a lot of it and he wanted to be as far from it as possible.