Lost once more after leaving the Laeto Rainforest, Icarus found himself traversing the Highlands.  He had apparently begun to head east quite some time ago and the rotation of the sun and other factors could not be seen through the canopy overhead.  This had, of course, brought him to this location.  Given the elevation, it should have been more obvious, but the lands west of the jungle held mountainous terrain as well so by the time Icarus realized his folly, he had already traveled a full day.  

He had departed Hiro's company some time ago, agreeing they would likely meet again in Mamluk.  Icarus had no intention of departing with the boy knowing his true name and left only an alias in the event he hears his father's side of events without his own.  He couldn't recall the boy's father by name, but his eyes were the key to unlocking his patriarch's identity.  

Roaming along the Highlands, Icarus had spotted what seemed to be small groups of Orcs, damnable green skins.  Those that could live peacefully alongside humans were few and far between, often stating some compulsion by their god to slaughter them for his glory.  So far, he'd been capable of avoiding them, though he made mental notes of their locations and direction of travel, his normally superb memory allowing him to keep tracks of the information while still attempting to navigate based on landmarks.

Judging from how things were looking, he would have to continue forward until he came across one of the Highland villages and rested for the night.  Then he could set out once more and depart straight west from the edge of the jungle.  It would be tricky to get a good start and maneuver around the Orcish patrols, but he could do it.  

Icarus was nearer to the village of Riversend than he might have thought, for it was nestled deep in a dead-end valley with thick cover of green. About a mile out was where Gaius sat on a fallen log, his tiny camp camouflaged and fireless, with his halberd perched over both knees. A blood-soaked rag lay crumpled beside his foot, his freshly patched armor spread across a nearby boulder. The whetstone in his hand moved deliberately against the blade in his lap, the slow pace of his work disguised by the early evening chirps of crepuscular wildlife. Anyone who would wander in the village's direction would find its unofficial protector first, including the unlucky orc scout that would soon be discovered by local scavengers.

There were bandages on one arm and around his middle, evidence of wounds that had been made that very afternoon. These were the final weeks before the raiding parties would settle down for the coming Glaciem, deterred by the mountains' harsh winters. But somehow this time of year always seemed to attract the wildest, most brazen of orcs–perhaps the ones that still had something to prove after months of failure.

Gaius could not assume that this would be the last of them, but he could hope that there would be no more before he could rest first. It was this frame of mind that made him almost angry when he perceived another stranger in his midst. The warmaster's boots stomped through the warden's radiating earthsense, though as he concentrated on the disturbance Gaius observed that the pace was neither urgent nor concealed; the creature that approached seemed simply to be a traveler, perhaps knowing nothing of the events that troubled the area.

Still, Gaius could not count on conjecture. He dropped the whetstone, fingers tense on his polearm. Though he was armorless, he would not be caught off guard. Before he could even see the stranger outright, he called out, "Who goes there?"

It took a bit less time than he thought, but eventually, Icarus could see a village some distance away, perhaps three miles or so.  He had gotten far enough ahead of the Orc scouts and was able to discern some things from the location of the village.  Judging entirely based on its proximity to the valley west, it seemed they were likely well-equipped to handle Orcish incursions.  Were it not the case, it was unlikely they would ever be capable of erecting the buildings the village consisted of.  In fact, it was more likely they would be incapable of living there as one Orc surviving would bring many more, finding the area to be a weak location of defense for the Highlands.

Truth be told, Icarus didn't know the sort of people that lived here nor their local customs or just how far Orcs had actually come.  All he knew were little rumors of a system of clans that made minor fealties more akin to tribal lands than anything else.  His swords hung at his hip, the katana saddled inverted on his hip to allow a fast draw if necessary with his right hand.  The longsword hung to his left, keeping him from having to cross his body to draw and allowing a quick reverse grip to parry in the event of an emergency.  

If anything, Icarus was a cautious individual, developing his entire fighting style based on the assumption he struck second and was formed to react quickly in defensive countering.  In the years he spent traveling across the lands of Nataki, whether facing other warriors or demons, it had not failed him until his power proved to little against a full army of blasphemous fiends.  That had been his first death, the one he still carried with him and the one he still had nightmares that plagued him incessantly.  The memory of being torn to pieces, fighting with every last ounce as limbs were torn clear by horrors the mind could barely fathom… He tried not to think of it much.

As he closed the distance, perhaps only a mile away from the village, he heard the voice of another person call.  The voice seemed urgent, though human in nature judging from the tone and pitch of the voice.  By the sound of it, the individual had waited for some time and likely wasn't seeking to rob him.  Reflexively, however, Icarus placed his left hand on the longsword at his hip, not gripping the handle, but maintaining a presence in the event he had to.

"A wanderer who made the wrong turn in the Vaeto, turns out I came east when I should have gone west.  Given there are mountains to the west as well, it took me some time to find I had gone the wrong way.  Now I'm too far away to reach the trading post I had been at last night and came seeking shelter for the evening.  Orcs are wandering about and I'd rather keep my steel dry," he explained, not giving too much information but explaining his situation enough to indicate why he was traveling to the village nearby.  He called out to no one, unable to see the owner of the voice, but returning an answer that might be favorable in the general direction from which it came.

((OOC: I am SO sorry for how long this took.))

The response was made of common language on a human tongue, instead of the unintelligent grunts of goblin-kin which he had come to expect in seasons such as this. Relief rolled cold down Gaius's spine when he heard it, his grip loosing ever so slightly on the shaft of his weapon. The call served as a beacon toward the tall form that was soon to emerge from between the trees, drawing his attention as the stranger stepped into the small clearing. In full armor, though his weapon was untouched, Icarus dawned on Gaius with as much caution as candor. As a fellow soldier, Gaius had no reason to distrust the foreigner. As a scout, he had every reason.

Unlike Icarus, Gaius was quicker to take an offensive stance; he was a hunter and a guardian, having spent so many decades seeking out trouble and ripping it from the valley before it could take root. He was not wearing his sheath, much less keeping his halberd at bay. It leaned vaguely between the two men as the stranger approached, giving a rightfully inquisitive tone to their meeting. This was his forest, his village. Icarus would earn the right to seek shelter there.

"Hello," he said when their eyes finally found each other, his attention instinctively dropping to inspect the man and his intentions. "You are, indeed, a far way from any city who would welcome a stranger.”

He could have said more, but he chose to let the weight of the words reveal his unspoken threat. Despite his suspicions, their happenstance meeting reminded him that it had not been a good idea to remove his armor; he was forced to lay down his weapon in favor of turning his attention to that which had been laid out beside him. For many long moments he shrugged himself back into the leathers and moved through their fastenings, letting the awkward silence pass beneath a pretense of preeminence. “The sun is not down yet,” he mentioned finally. “Would you rather keep your steel dry, as you say, or prove that you are willing to protect the people who would quarter you?”

As if on cue, a telling noise shuffled through distant leaves.

The initial shock of the surprise encounter now passed, Icarus felt the weariness of his travels creep upon him, tendrils of exhaustion wiggling throughout his body.  From sore calves all the way to his thighs, his legs were worn from the journey thus far and his feet were slowly being rubbed raw by the interior of his boots.  He entertained the man's words, not wanting to push his luck in a fairly new body against someone with a seemingly high amount of experience compared to the common riff-raff.  He could maybe defeat him in a duel, but if it were not to the death, he likely would not succeed.  Needless bloodshed was always a waste to him.

The man's stance showed he was treating Icarus much as he had indicated in his final word: "stranger".  He supposed he couldn't blame him.  A man traveling from places unknown when there were Orcs in the region was suspect, to say the least.  Orcs were not often known to miss the scent of man-flesh, often craving it to sate their more bestial nature.  For Icarus to have passed by the numerous scouts in the area indicated he was very lucky, very good, or in league with the filthy greenskins.

"Yeah, seems that way," he responded, taking a step back as the man sized him up.  He didn't want to shed blood, but he would if necessary to secure his passage.

Icarus waited patiently as the man put his armor back on.  It was a peculiar thing he did, offering him the opportunity to do so in the event they were to do combat for his right to pass, but he had honor.  Honor, in his mind, was among the highest of his personal values and although others couldn't or simply wouldn't behave in a way that restricted themselves, he couldn't help it.  He was raised to treat others with civility, be they ally or enemy.  

The question posited toward him caught him unaware again.  Here, he had thought for a moment that this man was planning to challenge him.  Yet, it seemed, he simply wanted to know if he would defend those that he sought shelter from.  Turning his back on the man as he heard the rustling of leaves only a short distance away, Icarus drew his blade at last.  The smell of a greenskin was nearby, wafting the scent of filth and bloodlust into the air.

"Fine, black-blooded filth will lie dead if that will show my worth and permit my passage," he said, calling over his shoulder as he stepped forward.

The orcish scouts were not among the most adept fighters.  Compared to their brethren, they were akin to mongrels when it came to fighting.  They were too small, too weak for the normal ranks as fighters and were sent out to find the enemy, given orders to retreat if it proved too difficult.  Unfortunately, they were inferior in their minds as well, more often than not, and took to facing challenges too great for themselves as a means of trying to gain promotion and become recognized as warriors.  

There was a short pause before the scout ran out and charged Icarus with a hatchet in hand.  Parrying the blow with expert precision, Icarus followed along the haft of the weapon and cleaved the Orc's hand off at the wrist, disarming it.  Swinging at him wildly in pain and rage, the Orc opened itself up and his blade struck true, catching it across the gut in a slash that disemboweled it.  As black blood splashed on the ground, Icarus drove the point of his blade into the heart of the humanoid monster, ending its suffering.

As much as he hated them, any warrior, regardless of race, deserved a quick death when they were defeated.  The essence of combat was as much spiritual as much as it was a struggle.  Strife, a cruel mistress that judged those worthy to continue existence based on their effort, skill, and the respect they showed to their adversary.  Flicking gore from his blade, Icarus sheathed it once more.

"Good enough?" he asked the other man.

He paused for a moment, his back still toward the Orc that had fallen.  From behind it, more rustling could be heard, this time, in seeming greater numbers.  Icarus sighed at his poor fortune.

"Nevermind.  Things are never simple, are they?  Care to join?" he queried, his first question rhetorical.  Drawing his blade once more, he stood ready to face however many others had come to avenge their fallen comrade and taste the flesh of men.

Gaius could not help the smile that emerged from the short fight's finale, his knuckles only just regaining their color on the shaft of his polearm. This was surely an honorable man, one who should have been allowed a night's peace in the village without question. But if he had not been stopped, if only for these few moments, then Gaius would certainly have been outmatched in the coming onslaught. The earth moaned beneath the feet of the orcish vanguard, no doubt informed of the single sentinel in this otherwise fortified city.

They couldn't have expected the warmaster.

In response to his makeshift battle partner's words, Gaius took a precious moment to drop his attention to the ground. The dirt beneath his feet churned slowly with an ancient, primal magic, sending tiny ripples of perception in the direction of the stirring trees. There he saw them, or rather felt them, as the earth felt them. Heavy steps, which had trampled green life from the wreckage of the outer valley toward this very spot, had stopped only for deliberate consultation and rallying words.

"Four," he replied finally, severing his geomantic connection with the word. "Two are smaller, most likely bowmen."

With that he moved away and out of the clearing. He was not the quietest of men, but he would not give his opponents another opportunity to see him coming. No, in the mere seconds of pause before the fight met its inevitable initiation, he would get as far to the back of them as possible. Both he and Icarus could surely hold their own; the invaders would be flanked, if they played it smart.

The halberd was almost in reach when the monster heard his approach. It screeched, swinging the point of a crossbow at the oncoming blade, but could not fire before Gaius knocked him back with a bloody thrust. Immediately the rest turned toward him, vicious grins blooming on faces that had once frowned with intent. A crossbow bolt whirled past his ear as the two larger ones prepared to make mince of their lone ambusher. Gaius took a defensive stance and roared angrily, both in a vain attempt to intimidate his attackers and a genuine expression of frustration. Hopefully Icarus would hear the same, and know that the fight had begun.

As Icarus turned to face the oncoming enemies once more, the strange sentinel of the village gave a count and insightful reference to what sort of foes were actually en route. It made sense the Orcs would come with a ranged attachment to assist in hunting as well as picking off whatever hapless fool came in front of them. Fortunately, they were not casually known for marksmanship.

For a moment, Icarus felt he was alone, the sound of the other man's feet leading him away from their current position. In the next, the first of two warriors came barreling toward him, ax held overhead as it charged toward him. This one had a bit more armor and was actually a fighter by nature, having been trained by his clan to assist in protecting their scouts. Icarus found it much more difficult to parry the blade this time.

Turning it away with a bit of effort, he found himself having to spin to avoid the boot that came for his chest as the Orc released his grip and followed through with a tree stump of a leg to kick at him. Following his spin, Icarus whipped around a kick of his own and caught the back of the Orc's knee on his plant leg, disrupting his balance and knocking him down to the ground. The Orc rolled backward and brought up a shorter blade, this one serving no purpose other than to keep him busy as one of the crossbowmen lined up a shot on him.

Barely deflecting the bolt with his other sword, Icarus glanced over toward where the shot originated and saw one of the other Orcs being felled by a straight thrust of the other man's halberd. The startling ambush perpetrated by his impromptu ally redirected the focus of their opponents toward him and Icarus pressed his advantage, slashing the throat of the Orc he faced as he turned around, bewildered at the sudden appearance of another human. Dropping his sword, Icarus grabbed the dead foe's short knife and threw it at the smaller Orc that had loaded another bolt.


The knife struck him with the handle in the head and threw off his aim, causing the bolt aimed at the other man to fly over the trees.  Damn unbalanced Orc craftsmanship, he thought to himself.  Running, Icarus dove at him and tackled the smaller Orc to the ground, striking at his face and breaking his arm with a quick knee. They needed to keep at least one of them alive to question later and it was better to deal with the smaller ones as they were less keen to resist.

Gaius was admittedly a slow fighter, his heavy weapon and low stance built more for power than agility. He had skewered the bolt-wielding orc with impressive enough force, shrugging its limp body from the blade with a little help from the toe of his boot. But the other man was a blur, knocking one of the skirmishers to the ground before killing another in a single blow. Even when Gaius charged at the other bowman, thoroughly intending to slaughter it in kind, he could not reach it before his ally knocked it to the ground. With a small grin he noted that he was lucky to be on this stranger's side. 

Reorienting, he drew what remained of his momentum and adrenaline toward the last orc, which had only just begun to rise from where it had fallen on the ground. Gaius let the monster find its sword and raise it against him, though not for honor's sake. Their blades collided loudly behind Icarus, harmonizing with the orc's tusked grunts. Without a second blow, the hook of the halberd trapped the orichalcum sword and pulled it from the hand that wielded it, so pulling the brute itself forward. Gaius's blade swooped upward in the same instant, slicing through the orc's chest and embedding in its neck.

The body fell wetly as Gaius removed it from his weapon, readied for another parry as he turned to face the two on the ground. His shoulders immediately drooped when he saw that Icarus had the final orc under control, though his tension was not lost when he realized how the enemy had been spared.

"There's no use," he proposed between heavy breaths. "We do not know its language, and these are no different than those that venture east every year." 

Still, Gaius would indulge his comrade's plan if he had one. Spending a moment to summon forth the primal energy of the land, he pulled the soil around the orc into short arches around its wrists, ankles, and middle. As soon as the restraints rose from the ground, Icarus would be able to watch them solidify into hard rock, effectively pinning their hostage to the ground.

"Do what you will," he added lowly, eyes on the fighter's blades. In the meantime he kept watch, scanning the trees for the possibility of another wave of invaders.

Icarus turned his head back toward his ally, satisfied at the results of the other man's fighting ability.  Contrary to the other man's words, his own father had spent years fighting Orcs as he sought to expand the boundaries of his lord's empire.  As such, he had imparted at least a partial knowledge of the most common tongue the greens spoke.  Judging from the bits and pieces Icarus could hear, they had a rougher dialect than the others from his own reality, almost to the point of being a different language, but several of the words were familiar.

"Green people, where?" he asked in the language of the Orcs, holding a map out and taking his finger to it.  The Orc chose not to be cooperative, at first, but that only made him more determined.  Picking up the dagger he had previously used to strike him and held it directly between the Orc's eyes, holding it above the bridge of its nose.  Snarling defiance, the Orc showed no fear, prompting Icarus to plunge the very tip of the dagger into the flesh of its nose, carving a thin line about a half-inch deep toward the tip of the nose.

It was his only warning.  If the Orc refused to answer his question, the next recourse would be… unpleasant.  Fortunately for this one, being among the runts of its tribe, it was also raised to be less valorous and the pain suffered at his hands was sufficient for the Orc to lose his head and panic.  Black blood trailed down the Orc's face and as Icarus brought the edge of the knife to the map to point to different locations, the Orc nodded or shook its head in accordance.

Turning back to his companion, Icarus quickly slashed the Orc's throat, bringing the inevitable end that lay in wait as painlessly as possible.  It was his way of things.  He may be diametrically opposed to the ways of the Orcs, but he understood warriors, even the cowards.  The least he could do was be merciful enough to grant him a sudden and painless death.  It was more than many others would do for their kind.

Standing up, Icarus tossed the knife tip-down into the ground, standing it straight up.  "Make of it what you will, but there is a distinct possibility there are at least a few other groups in these locations.  You may want to alert the guard to be vigilant tonight," he said, holding out the map for the other man as he walked toward him.  If they were lucky, there wouldn't be too many more Orcs lingering in the area, but it was definitely a possibility there were many more.

Gaius’s expression furrowed where it might have otherwise grinned, pressing against his instinct to be pleasantly surprised at the warrior’s expanding resume of talents. But he could not reveal such sensibilities, not to the trapped creature under pain of torture. Though he could make no sense of the short conversation, Gaius quickly learned Icarus’s intentions when he pulled out a map. The native man stood over the scene, both to add a factor of intimidation to the interrogation and to see where exactly the little orc knew to nod. He did not look away when it was finally killed, watching with honor as the light left its beady black eyes.

“Thank you,” he said to Icarus as the map was exchanged between them. Suddenly but soundlessly, the hard stone that shackled the orc’s limbs turned to soft soil. It fell limp atop the corpse, leaving to the crows what could not be granted more human dignities. Back turned to the scene, Gaius’s attention was drawn to the close surroundings, the promise of another wave of attacks.

But there did not seem to be anything left—or if there was, it knew to bring a greater force next time. Though they were creatures of darkness, orcs were still surface-dwellers; they were not likely to attack at night, at least not in the hours it would take to regroup. He shared these theories with Icarus as he lead him back toward the dead end of the valley. When they could see the first lights flicker in the windows behind the trees, he stopped.

“You are welcome to seek shelter in the village. I will make camp closer in, but I will not accompany you. Tell them of your deeds, and say you fought alongside Gaius Anseriph. Give them your map, if only to take note of it. I will set out tomorrow.”

The question lingered after his final word: Will you come with me? But ultimately he did not say it out loud. An offer from the man, no longer a stranger, would certainly be welcomed. So too would a friendly nod and a silent good bye; he had said that he was only passing through, that there were places he needed to be. Gaius would not keep him from those tasks, for he knew well the weight of a broken promise.