crebain

Gurzlum was empty. The once well garrisoned scouting camp had only a few measly defenders left. The Taskmaster looked to the South for a short while and sighed. “All the good boys are either dead or fled to the hills.” None were around to hear the taskmaster’s rumblings as the ones that could still fight, were placed at the gate to prepare for either aid, or their end. Gurzlum has lost their warriors and scouts on the elves and their wretched allies. The Ongbúrz licked their wounds and prepared to let their teeth shine again.

The sun shone brightly on the clear blue sky, the sunlight piercing through the dense canopy of trees in Far Chetwood. The seemingly undisturbed peace and quiet within the forest could fool almost anyone that it was devoid of life – but Maevelen knew better than that. Despite the dark stories and rumors regarding the forest, Far Chetwood was teeming with wildlife – it was all a matter of knowing where to look and knowing to listen; the fine tracker senses the elven huntress possessed also helped greatly.