Choice 1. Go around the sentry?

Breath coming a good deal faster now, he slowed down to wait for the sentry to make his way back around the hill, before he muttered a prayer, and hurried to go around. The hillside covered in long green vegetation that he quickly slithered down into, and grinned at the sight of a dozen orcs, clad in the same dark armor, and hunkered down around a roaring campfire.

This had to be their camp, and judging by the prisoners that were bound hand and foot, they had to be slavers or bandits. Either way there could be a lot of gold to be had. The single grey tent that he saw among them, filled with hundreds of crates that he bet would have valuables inside, while all around it prisoners were clustered, and guarded by half a dozen orcs. A manageable number, if he could draw a few of them away.

Eyes sliding across the bumpy terrain, he saw pixies fluttering about the thorny rose bushes that surrounded half the camp, the annoying creatures, quite temperamental when it came to their home. He also considered just charging right in, and dealing with the lot of them.

(Burn the bushes where the pixies sleep.)

Careful, so as not to disturb them, he slithered across the ground, getting closer to their camp, then stopped as he drew near the bushes.

Hand-dipped into his pocket, he pulled out a fire pebble he had bought from a traveling merchant, and whispered, "igni." The magical word, triggering a burst of flame around the stone as Gregor pushed the pebble into the bushes, and crawled away.

The time it took for the bushes to catch light, not long as he heard the startled cries of the orcs as the pixies flocked into the air, a whirlwind of fury as they saw the campfire, and charged like a swarm of locusts.

Beating at their faces and arms, the orcs tried to fight back, when Gregor quietly slipped in among them, and slit a few throats. Each time vanishing into the darkness, before reappearing again to take them down one by one. The distracted orcs, easy prey for his sword, while the prisoners brayed like mules, and huddled together for protection.

The sudden return to silence, broken only by the agonized groans of the wounded, and the screech of the bellow-hearts as they circled the air at the smell of fresh meat. The brief battle taking no more than a second or two as he went about the task of finishing those he had missed, and dragged their corpses away. The pixies who seemed satisfied with their deaths, flying away as well. The rose bushes a smoking ruin as Gregor finally turned his attention back towards the captives who gaped at him in open-mouthed horror.

+2 Morale.

(Charge in with a warcry.)

Never much for subtleties, he charged forward with a roar. The orcs who had seemed relaxed by the fireside, quick to react as they leapt to their feet, flame-colored eyes hard as steel as they came at him with axes. The first to die, a young fool that swung too far as Gregor chopped off his arm, and shoved him back into the others.

The two that did not fall, circling around him on either side.

(Go in for the attack.)

Blade countering their axe swings, Gregor barrelled forward, knocked the orc's weapon aside, and stabbed repeatedly with his dagger. The thrill of battle and spurt of warm blood, caused him to scream like a rabid animal as the battle fever took over. His wild cries of fury turned into a bellow of rage as he danced in among them, slicing hands, knees, and cutting them down like a man possessed, his sword a whirlwind of death as he laughed at their screams. The cries of fear quickly turned into panick as they fled back into the darkness.

The sudden return to silence, broken only by the agonized groans of the wounded, and the screech of the bellow-hearts as they circled the air at the smell of fresh meat. The brief battle taking no more than a second or two as he went about the task of slitting their throats, and dragging their bodies away, until finally he turned his attention back towards the captives who gaped at him in open-mouthed horror.

(Throw your dagger at them.)

Dagger flashing into hand, Gregor threw the weapon instinctively, but with both orcs focused on him, the warrior simply ducked out of the way, the pair of them hacking, and slashing, when he felt a stab of cold steel in his back. Turned, and saw the sentry he had left alive.

Death

(Walk into the clearing.)

But thought it better to learn more about them, and strolled into camp, his face a mask of innocence as he watched the orcs scramble to their feet, and gaze at him in shocked surprise, their flame-colored eyes flickering in between confusion and anger as they searched the darkness for their missing friend.

The orc that was nearest Gregor, a potbellied warrior that barked, "where is Bugram?"

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

(Tell them to run.)

But Gregor who had other things on his mind, such as the cargo they had probably stolen, shrugged his shoulders, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "I wouldn't mind a bit of killing, but I'd suggest you all run away, and leave those crates behind. Run before I change my mind."

Axes hefted in hand, an orc with shoulders the size of a bear, sneered back at him. "Kill him."

The brisk words, followed by a snarl as a warrior with a thick bushel of nostril hair, charged at him. The clumsy axe swing meant to fell a tree as Gregor punched him hard in the nose, and laughed as two more came at him.

(Go in for the attack.)

Blade countering their axe swings, Gregor barrelled forward, knocked the orc's weapon aside, and stabbed repeatedly with his dagger. The thrill of battle and spurt of warm blood, causing him to scream like a rabid animal as the battle fever took over. His wild cry of fury turned into a bellow of rage as he danced in among them, slicing hands, knees, and cutting them down like a man possessed, his sword a whirlwind of death as he laughed at their screams. The cries of fear quickly turned into panick as they fled back into the darkness.

The sudden return to silence, broken only by the agonized groans of the wounded, and the screech of the bellow-hearts above as they smelled fresh meat. The brief battle taking no more than a second or two as he went about the task of slitting their throats, and dragging their bodies away, until finally he turned his attention back towards the captives who gaped at him in open-mouthed horror.

(Throw your dagger at them.)

Dagger flashing into hand, Gregor threw the weapon instinctively, but with both orcs focused on him, the warrior simply ducked out of the way, the pair of them hacking, and slashing, when he felt a stab of cold steel in his back. Turned, and saw the sentry he had left alive.

Death

(Ask how much their heads are worth?)

But Gregor who had other things on his mind, such as what armed orcs were doing here? Asked, "you wouldn't happen to have bounties on your heads would you? I could use the gold."

But if Gregor had hoped they would answer him, he was sadly mistaken as an orc with shoulders the size of a bear, sneered back at him. "Kill him."

The brisk words, followed by a snarl as a warrior with a thick bushel of nostril hair, charged at him. The clumsy axe swing meant to fell a tree as Gregor punched him hard in the nose, and laughed as two more came at him.

+1 Morale.

(Go in for the attack.)

Blade countering their axe swings, Gregor barrelled forward, knocked the orc's weapon aside, and stabbed repeatedly with his dagger. The thrill of battle and spurt of warm blood, causing him to scream like a rabid animal as the battle fever took over. His wild cry of fury turned into a bellow of rage as he danced in among them, slicing hands, knees, and cutting them down like a man possessed, his sword a whirlwind of death as he laughed at their screams. The cries of fear quickly turned into panick as they fled back into the darkness.

The sudden return to silence, broken only by the agonized groans of the wounded, and the screech of the bellow-hearts above as they smelled fresh meat. The brief battle taking no more than a second or two as he went about the task of slitting their throats, and dragging their bodies away, until finally he turned his attention back towards the captives who gaped at him in open-mouthed horror.

(Throw your dagger at them.)

Dagger flashing into hand, Gregor threw the weapon instinctively, but with both orcs focused on him, the warrior simply ducked out of the way, the pair of them hacking, and slashing, when he felt a cold stab of steel in his back. Turned, and saw the sentry he had left alive.

Death

(Take a seat by the fire.)

But Gregor had other things on his mind, such as why a band of orcs were prowling the area in the first place? Strode towards the fire, and plopped himself down, his finger tapping his chin thoughtfully. "I haven't visited Orkeylium often, but from what I remember. Orcs despise weapons, which means you're either slavers or bandits."

Hard eyes meeting his, Gregor smiled up at them, his voice soft and dangerous, “that also means the guards will be looking for you. The King’s Legion doesn’t take too fondly to your kind. But I can help. Give me everything you have, and leave.”

Flame-colored eyes filled with amusement, an orc with shoulders the size of a bear, sneered back at him. "Kill him."

The brisk words, followed by a snarl as a warrior with a thick bushel of nostril hair, charged at him. The clumsy axe swing meant to fell a tree as Gregor punched him hard in the nose, and laughed as two more came at him.

+2 Morale.

(Go in for the attack.)

Blade countering their axe swings, Gregor barrelled forward, knocked the orc's weapon aside, and stabbed repeatedly with his dagger. The thrill of battle and spurt of warm blood, causing him to scream like a rabid animal as the battle fever took over. His wild cry of fury turned into a bellow of rage as he danced in among them, slicing hands, knees, and cutting them down like a man possessed, his sword a whirlwind of death as he laughed at their screams. The cries of fear quickly turned into panick as they fled back into the darkness.

The sudden return to silence, broken only by the agonized groans of the wounded, and the screech of the bellow-hearts above as they smelled fresh meat. The brief battle taking no more than a second or two as he went about the task of slitting their throats, and dragging their bodies away, until finally he turned his attention back towards the captives who gaped at him in open-mouthed horror.

(Throw your dagger at them.)

Dagger flashing into hand, Gregor threw the weapon instinctively, but with both orcs focused on him, the warrior simply ducked out of the way, the pair of them hacking, and slashing, when he felt a cold stab of steel in his back. Turned, and saw the sentry he had left alive.

Death