A flash of green flame jolted him from his watch. The last movements of the camp finally ceased and silence descended. Raiders of all kinds lay around the camp, having fallen or slumped over in death or unconsciousness. Crouching, Jaeger slowly made his way down to the camp, working the feeling back into his limbs. Rifle at the ready, he watched for any movement. He had seen the hobgoblin leave the camp some time ago, so he wasn't worried.

As he approached the camp, he wrinkled his nose at the smell. He'd gotten used to the smells of bandit camps, unwashed bodies, rotting food, garbage and decay. This was something stronger and more disgusting, it was almost pure sickness; that's when he came across the first corpse. The orc he came across was easily seven feet tall and half as wide in life, but in death he seemed smaller. Jaeger knew the orc was dead from the blood mixed with vomit on the body; he didn't think even anything could lose that much blood and survive.

“That hobgoblin really hated all of you.” He whispered to himself.

Past the body, the hunter moved deeper into the camp, noticing that not everyone was dead. Sure, many were, but some seemed unconscious or completely out of it from the poison. He passed one man who was fully fetal and completely unconscious, begging for it all to end. Jaeger almost felt sorry for the man, but when you choose this life, you get what you choose.

He quickly reached a large yurt and looked for the black x on it. Finding it, he began to circle the large yurt. People always guarded the front of their yurts, used to more solid buildings with solid walls. Moving to the back, he pulled out his axe and cut a small slit in the fabric. He peered through and saw the largest Orc yet, sitting on a throne of a chair.

He was covered in metal armor that was a mix of metals and styles, but somehow fused into one piece, and the spikes on it were absurd; as if that weren't enough, it was thick as a wall. A vicious-looking blade the size of a Jaeger's chest rested in the orc's hand. It was clear how and why Crusher was the leader of these raiders.

Carefully, Jaeger widened the slit and stepped through. Looking at the orc, Jaeger reconsidered his plan to take the creature alive, he hadn't expected the orc to be so big. Even if he'd had a bounty wagon, this orc was probably too much for him. With a shrug, he decided it would be best to just take the orc's head. Sneaking closer, he readied his axe.

“Mrrw.”

Damn, thought Jaeger. He turned in the direction of the noise and saw Mischief floating nearby. Seeing Jaeger looking at him, the cat smiled his impossible smile and spoke.

“Hrrm. No, this won't do. The poisoning was entertaining in its display of cunning, but this won't do. I want more from you; I've seen your cunning, now show me your strength. Try not to die, I've grown quite fond of your horse.”

He backed away from Crusher when Mischief stopped talking, for the cat had flown right up to the orc. Then, with a casual movement, it extended its claws and slashed across the orc's face before disappearing. Crusher awoke with a roar of rage.

“Oi! Whos come n scratched me face? I’ll split ya on the edge of me choppa!”

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With a great thud, he leapt from his throne and swept the room in anger. When his eyes landed on Jaeger, they narrowed in confusion.

“A humie? I ain’t got no humie’s in me raiders. Wot are yous doing in me yurt humie? Are ya da one what scratched me face? I’ll kill ya!”

The big orc roared once more and charged at Jaeger. Surprisingly fast in his metal armor, his wild charge reached Jaeger quickly and turned into a swing of his blade. Ducking under the blade, Jaeger slashed at the orc with his axe and felt it clang against his metal armor. With a wild kick, Crusher threw Jaeger out of his yurt and into the camp outside.

Rolling uncontrollably, Jaeger passed the bodies of the raiders and slowly came to a stop. Dizzy and winded, he rose to his feet as he felt a grinding sensation and stifled a gasp of pain and stopped moving. Breathing heavily, he got to his knees and felt carefully along his chest, twitching in pain as he felt his ribs. He'd been doing this long enough to recognize broken ribs, at least two. He reached to his side, then stopped when a voice cried out.

“Boys I’m disappointed in yous all. We’ve got a intruda ‘ere, rip ‘em apart and make me proud.”

Crusher called from his yurt. Jaeger looked around and noticed the lack of living 'boys'. If the big orc didn't know that his raiders were dead, he might still have time; with this thought he reached for his powder horn. He grabbed it, popped the top on it, and with a slight hesitation tossed it back, swallowing some of its powdery contents. Like everything that had to do with his weapons, this too had been changed. Where the weapons had simply become magical versions of themselves, his powder horn had grown into something new.

Powder Horn, A unique Outworlder item. Its original contents were deemed too dangerous, and its removal rendered its purpose useless. Therefore, its contents have been changed and its purpose upgraded. Where it once contained [REDATCED], it now contains a powder of similar granularity, with a similar purpose. When consumed, the powder burns internally, restoring body and mana. This powder horn is proof that destruction and restoration are two sides of the same coin.

Soulbond: Jaeger Darkblade

He'd had it checked along with his weapons at the guild, but while his weapons were easy to check, this was not. The idea of swallowing anything that came out of a powder horn was anathema to Jaeger. He'd been half convinced it wouldn't work, but this swallow opened his mind. Sparks of pain shot through his chest, draining his strength as he sagged on his knees. But as the pain subsided, his breathing became easier, and aside from a tenderness, he felt better than ever.

“I’se don’ be ‘earing no slaughterin’! I swear to da gods if you boys are drunk agin, I’m gonna ‘ave to use my choppa on some of yous. Now respond ya lazy gobs!”

Jaeger rose to his full height, picked up his hat and drew his pistol. He'd lost his rifle during his wild roll. Pistol in hand, he waited for Crusher to come out. While he waited, he looked around for his rifle; it had fallen near the entrance to the yurt. Quickly he made his way to it, hoping to get it before Crusher realized his boys were dead. Which, judging by the screams now coming from the yurt, would soon be the case.

“Dammit, ain’t no one out dere lissenin’ to me! I’m da biggest, I'se got da loot, I'se got da big choppa, an I'se got dis 'ere metal armour! Dat's why wot I sez goes aroun' 'ere, ya gobs! Now lets see who tinks dey big enuff to try and ‘ave a go at me eh?”

Striding out of his yurt, choppa in hand, Crusher looked upon a scene of death. All around him, his boys had fallen, sick and dead, not a single one from a weapon, all from poison. No one was moving except one, the soft humie he’d booted was moving all funny trying to reach a weird staff on the ground.

“Of course,” the orc thought aloud, “humie magic poisoned me boys an now he’s tryna do it ta me.”

“I don’ tink so humie!” With a vindictive expression Crusher kicked the rifle into the far edge of the camp. “No more magic or poison from yous, I’se gonna show ya how we handle tings da orc way.”

With a loud and deep war cry, he raised his great choppa and charged Jaeger once more.