Denc Wormington: The Commonlands await
The tunnel is quite refined now, perhaps from the footfalls of all who have come before. Trekking back into the Commonlands, this time to hunt, my mind goes back to the time with Uncle B, operating out of Freeport. I had to run errands to the bank for him, because the Knights of Truth were, in his words, ‘a bunch of racists.’
One way to cure them of their negative perception was, of course, murder. ‘Murder makes the world go ‘round,’ as Uncle B used to say. In this case we would murder Deathfist Orcs.
Under cover of darkness, I crept up to their camp, and loosed an arrow at one of their sentries.
Unfortunately, things didn’t go quite as planned. Rather than charging off into the darkness to face the threat, he actually alerted the rest of the camp. When did they give orcs brains? Could The Rathe’s curse be lifting?
I made a break for it, regardless.
After losing the orcs, I ended up near this tower. I recall it being much smaller, and less filled with skulls and circling bats. The same old undead stand guard, with the same old lack of apparent owner for the tower itself.
While seeking a less-well-patrolled orc camp, I came across this young lady. I had remembered the Dervish Cutthroats as being aggressive, but now that I think of it maybe that was only after Uncle B had sicked his spirit wolf on them a few dozen times. I had forgotten that they as a people had a camp here in the Commonlands, but now that I see them it tugs at the edges of my memory..
Right then. Sorry about that, miss, but it is the way of things. True to form, she had a Cutthroat Insignia ring, dandy.
Back to the business at hand, which is orcs. I managed to break one of the camps finally, and received some enlightening combat practice at the hands of the clumsy orcs.
Through the night and into day, I waged war upon the orcs. Unlike Uncle B, I’ve got nothing to prove to the Knights of Truth or anyone else right now, so no need to make this into an ongoing thing.
In the morning light I found remembrance that bear hunting is grand sport, and their hides can be used at times to make backpacks, of which I have need.
One last thing I found was a Broken Claw Bandit camp. I don’t remember it, but bandits tend to come and go. They didn’t seem to care about my presence, so I guess I’ll leave them to it..
..for killing them could only be construed as a favor.
-Denc Wormington, ex-rogue