“I am sorry, my sister,” A deep voice, thick with the accent of the Western Mountains spoke, accompanied by the sounds of a knife rending flesh as the Olive-skinned being skinned his prey, a freshly killed doe, “But I need what sustenance you can provide,” the head of the deer lay a few feet away, split from neck by the creature's long blade, edge extending far from hilt, like a surreal, oversized cleaver, akin to what might be used by a butcher.
     As the Ork himself stood, light, filtering through the canopy above, played across his face. Under such light, the monster's fangs glittered, and his wild, greasy mane of black hair shone, as well as his great beard, forming an odd frame around his rough face. Sorrow showed through his orange eyes, as though he felt regret for killing the deer.
     But that's preposterous. Regret comes from the soul, and as everyone in Visera knows, those who have Orkblood flowing through their veins don't have souls, full Ork or not. Sadly, Ch'rall fell into the latter category, and thus, while the 'civilized' races, as well as Orks, would accept him, the former would look down on him with pity, being but a beast, and Orks would simply use him as a slave, and as cannon fodder.
     The creature hated his parents, wrong as he understood it was. What business did an Ork have mating with a Dwarf? Even being Half Orkhish, Ch'rall wasn't fearsome. He was only four and a quarter damned feet tall.
     Who would fear that, even with fangs, and arms like a barrel of ale? Scarce few would take him seriously if he tried to be intimidating, and precious fewer were even run off. As a monstrous being of rage and destruction, Ch'rall was a failure.
     Either way, getting so deep into comtemplation isn't such an intelligent thing for one to do in the midst of trees and predators, so Ch'rall turned, heading back towards the road.
     Once he reached the path, Ch'rall stuffed the meats and furs into the packs on his mule, and scratched the animal behind it's ears,clicking his tongue,a signal, beckoning it to move down the road, back to town. Slim pickings this day, it seemed. Naught but a single rabbit and a doe. Not enough to sell, though.
     Either way, Ch'rall didn't really have anything to buy. His father's blade was a fine weapon, and a rabbit and a doe would last far more than long enough to catch more, and even at that, his mother had much food in storage, dried and salted meats, grain, fruits.
     After near half an hour of walking down the road, Ch'rall heard someone calling for help. The creature held up his hand, signalling for his mule to wait where it stood, and headed towards the sound, listening and watching his surroundings. He saw a woman in a riding gown, standing over a horse. It looked either dead, or the possibility of...dead.
     Something in his head told the Ork he should just turn around and walk away, but he was too honourable to leave a woman alone in a forest with no means of transportation. Still, he was yet more cautious as he approached.
     “Wha's wrong, 'ere?” The Ork nearly winced at his own accent, and his inability to form so many words properly.
     “Oh...erm...” The woman looked at Ch'rall oddly, clearly confused by his rather mixed appearance, “I was just taking my horse for a trot through the woods, and...he collapsed.”
     The Ork sighed, concluding the best way to proceed would be to do what would, essentially, be taking the bait laid before him, “Let me take a look.”
     If the woman thought more of the sigh than that he was merely impatient, she didn't show it as the creature knelt by the dead animal, noticing a pool of blood that spread from underneath it, clearly. The Ork smirked.
     “So, when d'they jump outta th'trees, then?” Ch'rall asked, a smirk playing across his face, “B'cause your horshe clearly didn' die from exhaustion.”
     “Told you we should've clubbed it to death, Tom,” A voice with a rather squeal-like sound to it said, somewhere in the trees.
     “Easier to just stab it, 'n'be done with it,” A deeper, calmer sounding voice responded.
     From the clasp on his back, Ch'rall pulled his weapon, glancing into the trees, “C'me out, cowards!” he called, irritated by the sound displacement the trees enacted. He looked around cautiously, scanning all around.
     “I s'pose we're not to just ask for your purse, then?” One of the voices said, accompanied by the rasp of steel leaving sheathe, “Then that leaves the choice of bloodied blades, friend. I pray that you've said farewells today.”
     Ch'rall chuckled. The man had stepped out of the trees to say that, and Ch'rall could now more clearly tell where he was. He first looked over his shoulder to confirm the man was behind him, then turned around with a fury.
     His first attack came from above, but it was forseen, but, the kick to the groin wasn't, and the man fell to the ground, clutching in pain. Where was his partner? Ch'rall raised his foot, bringing it down on the man's skull, then looked around. The other had stepped out at the sound. Runes crawled down the thin man's arms.
     Damn.
     Ch'rall moved quickly, ducking behind a tree as a bolt of purple energy whizzed past him, singing the hairs on his arm. Too close. He moved again, not trusting a tree to protect him fully. Every movement brought him closer to the mage, and each movement was playing too near Death's Jaws, but there was little else he could attempt.
     Soon, Ch'rall found himself near the mage, no longer could he come closer hiding behind trees. The Orkblood pulled his hunting knife from his boot. It wasn't weighted properly, but he didn't need it to strike. He spun around the tree, throwing the knife, and advancing quickly. The thrown blade distracted the mage, and the hilt struck him in the forehead. Better than no hit, atleast.
     As the man recoiled in pain, Ch'rall moved his blade, striking horizontally at the mage's ribs. His arms moved to defend himself, and as the blade connected...it stopped dead.
     “What trick'ry's this, then?” The Ork called out, enraged.
     The bandit only smiled, and uttered two words, two words Ch'rall would fear for the rest of his life, “Protective Runes,” And with that, a wave of energy escaped the man, knocking Ch'rall back some feet, leaving him on the ground.
     Muttering in Orkhish, the half-blood stood. The mage seemed rather tired out from the last assault, and quite confused at Ch'rall's ability to withstand it. As the Ork moved forward, fear showed through his eyes, up until his head toppled from upon his shoulders.
     “B'gone, wench.” Ch'rall snarled at the woman, rather tired and irritated. He looked at the horse upon the ground, then headed the direction he came from, finding his Mule unharmed, and still covered in full packs as he reached the path. He clicked his tongue and walked down the path, back to town. All he wanted now was a meal and a bed.
     Without any more excitement, he reached the gates of the town. Walking through the streets, he pulled the mule into the stables, then headed up into the Tavern, through the rear entrance.
     “ 'M home, Ma!” Ch'rall called, laying the packs down, as he moved into the main part of the Tavern. A few customers sat at the bar, some others scattered throughout on tables, and a single man sat in the corner, cloaked. Something about him irked the Ork, but he left it well alone.
     “What'd y'get, then, son?” His mother's cheery voice asked as he moved to his place behind the bar. Somehow, despite his own stature, Ch'rall's mother was shorter than he was. Then again, she was a Dwarf, he was half Orkhish.
     “Not much, Ma, just managed a Rabbit and Doe.”
     “Ah, well. I suppose that should last long enough, though with the way the season's going,” She motioned to the Tavern's patrons, “Ain't too sure what they're to be eatin'.”
     One of the patrons, and a young boy sitting at his table, probably an apprentice, both stood, and left the Tavern. The man sitting in the corner got up not half a moment after they were out the door, and followed them.
     “Atleast tonight's goin' ta be excitin' for someone.” Ch'rall's mother said, smirking, “That man looks to have been following them since before they got here. Wonder what he wants.
     “Ungh,” Ch'rall grunted, “None of our business. Leave th' blood on 'is hands, and ours in our veins.”
     “Mmh. Selfish words, those. Wise, but selfish.”
     “If you wan' someone to go chasin' them, do it y'urself, I'm goin' to bed early,” The Ork said, then left, heading into the back, to his chambers, and retired for the night.

Bah, one; that's because forums tend to do the wall of text thing : /
I used OpenOffice, and forums are against Tabspacing.

Way too much work to go back and edit that in, just 'cause I didn't realize how hard it would be to read in a forum :/

Maybe I'll post it up somewhere and link it. I dunno.