Verist paused as she came over the hill and saw through the trees of the forest Merdon and the others had been looking over. There were a dozen armored men, at least, laying on the ground in various states of death. Some had been taken out by Red's magic, char or burns from electricity and fire marred their steel as well as the ground, and the witch could only imagine the smell. Enough to make her press a finger to her lips at least to hold down her bile. Others were in pools of blood, some in a lot and others in very little, Merdon and Sarel respectively. The thief's dagger finding much subtler places to disable and end their foes while Merdon had to slice open much bigger wounds due to his larger blade. There was only one Avantian soldier left and he was preoccupied dueling Merdon. A few steps closer and Verist could see Quickclaw and Red standing off to the side while Merdon fought the man.

His swings were wild and untamed. Seeing his comrades struck down had enraged him, Verist assumed, but where his anger exploded like a storm, violently lashing out without rhyme or reason, Merdon fought like the ocean, just as powerful but with more subtly and calculation. The soldier swung rapidly, multiple blows being grazed off Merdon's new shield before the adventurer decided to finish things. He parried several strikes in a row, opening his enemy up on the side he was looking for. It was over so quickly Verist had no time to prepare a spell nor to remind their knight they wanted someone alive. Merdon deflected a strike into a position he found favorable, one where his sword could get between the soldier's armor. Just enough space to get him in the gut, but not be fatal, yet.

As the Avantian pulled back to free himself of Merdon's blade, the adventurer raised and jerked his blade with precision, catching the man's throat between his helm and breastplate. He gurgled and staggered backward, hand at his throat as if it were enough to stem the tide of red pouring from his neck as if his mailed fist could even reach under there enough to help. He turned and stumbled over one of his allies' bodies, falling flat on his stomach with a loud clatter. Merdon wiped his blade clean as the soldier kicked the ground, banging his legs on the body he'd tripped over and making an even greater noise, trying to stand back up and finding his strength fading fast. Within moments his struggle came to a cold and slow end, his legs draped over another body.

Verist approached them with trepidation, not wanting to be attacked by mistake. Closer inspection of the scene revealed arrows sticking out of some trees and the forest floor, while others laid on the ground after being deflected, either by Merdon or Red. A scene painted itself out in Verist's mind where the soldiers doubled back on the orders of that assassin, firing into the forest in the hopes of catching someone off guard. Sarel dove behind a tree, Red cast a barrier, while Merdon bunkered himself behind the large orcish shield he now carried. From there the soldiers entered close combat and were met with skills they were unprepared for. Their target was a small village to the North of the forest, unaware, while here they faced ready and able combatants. Red smote them with lightning and fire, Sarel weaved between them to find gaps in their armor, while Merdon made himself a bulwark, drawing the majority of their attention.

The knight sheathed his weapon and looked around slowly. “We didn't leave a single one alive, did we?” he muttered, muffled further by his helmet.

“No, you didn't,” Verist said, her ears sharp enough to catch such whispers. “Although, I cannot blame you. It seems you were set upon quite quickly.”

Sarel sighed, “Tell me about it. You realize if the villagers see this they're going to think exactly what it looks like?”

“Like some band of mercenaries or warriors killed precious Avantian knights come to protect them from the orcish hordes that are coming?” Shade suggested with a frown. “It does seem that way.”

Merdon let out a mocking laugh. “That's about what happened though, isn't it?” The village wasn't in danger from these soldiers anymore, though it wasn't exactly under threat of the orcs either. Meaning their battle was pointless.

“We should retreat,” Verist suggested, stepping into the small cluster of trees with the others. “We encountered that Eyes assassin over the way and it would be best if we left before he came back with reinforcements.”

Sarel clenched her dagger as Merdon balled his fist in rage. “What happened?” he asked in a voice like a bad winter, cold and harsh.

“I ran him off,” Verist said with pride, “But that's not important. We can discuss details when we're back in the tower.”

Merdon exhaled and nodded, accepting that. Sarel, however, still seemed tense, looking out in the direction Verist and the others had gone. She wanted to find him and give the assassin some payback, even though she knew her skills weren't up to the task, yet. After another few seconds of angst, the kobold thief turned back and stepped close to the others where Verist was starting the teleportation spell. Her time for retribution would come soon enough. When they found the Eyes' base and could strike on their terms, where she would be the one jumping out at him from a dark corner of the room.

Verist recounted their encounter with the assassin once they were back in her white tower and seated around a table. Grot's nostrils were flared and his eyes twitching as she explained the way Shade and Thickhide were dealt with while she was trapped. As she spoke, Skyeyes moved around the table and healed whatever wounds he could, especially on Thickhide. When the witch got to the part where she broke out of her cage and went on the offensive, the orc chief growled and tossed a decorative vase across the room, the shattering sound causing several of them to jump.

“You let him beat them?” the orc huffed, his jaw clenched and fists balled.

“I was hoping he might say something out of turn,” Verist said, remaining calm. “Psychopaths like him have a tendency to think themselves two steps ahead of everyone around them.”

Shade put a hand on Grot's forearm. “She stepped in before he did anything serious,” she assured him.

“A calculated risk,” Verist told them. “The danger was minimal. His knowledge of my magic was off the mark entirely. We should be glad Red was not the one caught in the trap.”

Grot was still fuming. “A risk taken with my mate, witch!”

“Calm down,” Merdon said, becoming the next human to get Grot's ire. “I know how you feel, believe me, I know.” He glanced at Sarel and recalled Verist using her as a weapon against him. “Verist had a decent idea, but highly flawed in its execution.”

“Flawed?” Grot roared, his fingers digging into the heavy wood the table was made from.

Shade slapped his bulky bicep and insisted, “Yes, flawed. It would have been more productive to simply capture the assassin than let him volunteer information.”

Verist nodded in agreement. “It crossed my mind, but I was unsure of how much he was capable of myself. His powers are strange, almost otherworldly.”

“So we're just going to let this slide?” the dark-skinned orc growled at the rest of them.

Red huffed and said, “As much as we seem to be letting everyone slide.” Herself included.

Verist stood and looked Grot in the eyes. “I am sorry,” she said plainly. “I never intended to put her or Thickhide in any danger. The situation was largely under my control, but predicting the actions of unstable men is not exactly my strong suit.”

“We need to know what Avant is up to, Grot,” Merdon reiterated. “Verist did something stupid, you're right to be angry, but what would you suggest we do? Throw her out of the tower? Lock her in a cell? What cell even? We need her as much as we need you.”

The chief-of-chiefs growled for a moment and sat back down. “When this is over, you're going to pay, witch.”

Verist seated herself once more and shook her head. “You will have to find me, Grot, and if I've not earned your forgiveness by then, rest assured you'll not ever catch me.”

He frowned at that, realizing it was true. “What now?”

“We have to rally the kobolds,” Skyeyes spoke up. “That was what we were going to do before getting sidetracked with these plots and assassins.”

Shade hummed. “We'll also need to train them,” she mentioned. “That will mean transport to the orc lands if you ask me.”

“Yes,” Merdon agreed, leaning back, trying to relax from the tense moment that had barely abated. “It's difficult, though not impossible, to train regiments in secret. Some guerrilla armies have done it, but it's a lot more trouble than it's worth.”

Verist smirked and said, “Especially when you have a witch that can teleport said army to almost any location.”

“So we take them to the stronghold and we train them,” Grot restated, processing the ideas himself. “How do we rally them, exactly?”

“They want to see a showing of orcs,” Red told him. “We promised them orcs were going to go to war with humans, they want to know it for themselves.”

“And then we're just supposed to sit on our heels until the witch finds the assassins?” Grot assumed.

“It's the best plan we have,” the witch in question told him. “It shouldn't take me too long to find them now that I have a real idea of where to start looking.”

Merdon sighed, and commented, “Maybe not too quick. We have to train a bunch of kobolds, remember?”

“You never know,” Grot said with a smirk, “They might surprise you the same way us orcs did.”

Grot frowned as he took in the sight of the kobold village around him. It was the same one Red and Skyeyes had visited before, with the homes built into hollowed trees, the first of many to reject them and their ideas. To say what he saw was as impressive as it was crude would be accurate. That the kobolds could hollow out these trees so well tickled the orc's imagination, but the way they behaved, their lack of even basic looking equipment, gave him pause. Somehow, Grot had never suspected the kobolds of Avant were so unprepared. Even hearing Shade's stories of their general cowardice, of their hidden settlements, he had always believed some of them were more prepared. Seeing Quickclaw and the others had assured him of that, but now he was much less sure of himself. The kobolds were looking at him with awe from afar, too timid to approach. Even their elder stepped with shaking that was uncharacteristic of an old kobold. It made the chief-of-chiefs uncomfortable.

“I wish we hadn't left Merdon behind,” he grumbled softly to Shade, who clung to his armor on his back.

“They would have kicked us out at a moment's notice,” she replied. “In fact, it may be best we don't mention him until much later in our discussions.”

Grot let out a rumbling sigh. “I'm not good at this tiptoe stuff,” he reminded her.

Ahead of them, Red was puffing herself up and giving a great little introduction. She smugly berated the kobolds for disbelieving her, introducing Grot as the head of all orcs, that his words and commands would carry through the entirety of the orc clans. She wasn't wrong but it put the dark-skinned orc on the spot. He couldn't snap his fingers and make all the other orcs do ballet, there were limits to his authority. Still, as he stepped forward to speak with the kobolds, he held his head high, did his best to seem intimidating, powerful, in control. Even with a kobold riding on his back.

He stepped forward and took control of the discussion, cutting off Red to do. The mage blushed, a sight well hidden by her scales, and stepped aside for him. Grot just had to do what came naturally to him. The orcs listened, by and large, so the kobolds would too.

“Your kind has been enslaved too long,” he bellowed, swiping at the air with his arm, making sure all eyes were on him. “The humans walk over you, and us, and almost all other races of the world with a casualness only dragons have possessed before them. Their greed and hate outweighs all the gold and treasure in the world, and so their vision comes down to you, to us, and who knows who else in the future. They seek to have that which they should not: Our very lives, bodies, and damned if they wouldn't try to claim our souls once we pass as well.”

The kobolds were alert at his words. Most of them understood what he was saying, the few that didn't were more appealed by his conviction and tenor. He was a giant, a beast that fought against the humans many times before. His presence alone was awe-inspiring to the kobolds.

Grot's conviction wavered as he looked at the mass of kobolds standing in front of him. Not his desire to see them freed, nor his knowledge that they would have to fight, and possibly die, for such a right, but in what he was keeping from them. The orc took a steadying breath, inhaling deeply to steady his nerves as he thought about his next move.

“You will have to work with those you'd rather not,” he told them vaguely, at first. “You know the suffering wrought by human hands, as do we, but understanding must be reached that it's not all humans that would do this to you.”

Shade tensed on his back as the kobolds looked at each other in confusion. “What are you doing?” the assassin hissed.

“What Merdon did,” Grot mumbled back before addressing the crowd. He had their attention, it was their trust that was faltering. He needed to reaffirm. “I ask you, have you heard rumors of the kobold whisperer?”

The crowd's whispers grew in volume, rising to a hushed discussion. They had heard, but they doubted.

“I know him,” Grot told them. “He has freed kobolds from Ardmach, the human's stronghold, converted the witch of the white tower to our cause, and both of them have helped the orcs start this war against Avant.”

Dead silence filled the forest as if even the birds feared to speak after such a list of actors. The orcs were working with humans against humans. They had seen Shade, as well as Red standing next to Grot, and so it was easy to guess there were kobolds involved as well. Grot had formed some sort of coalition. Some of them looked upset, others intrigued, and a few amazed. It must have taken some miracle to get all of those forces to align together.

“The Whisperer is not your enemy,” Grot continued. “His mate is one of your kind, whom he freed from captivity without incentive or guilt, but out of plain moral fiber.”

Thickhide stepped up beside Grot and butted in, “It's true! And he's the one that trained me to fight.”

While the chief-of-chiefs looked sour at the interruption, the crowd's discussion raised to a near cacophony, their words reaching the dark-skinned orc clearly.

“Ironhide was trained by a human?”

“Well, it makes sense. Armor and swords are human weapons, I guess.”

“We were saved by a human trained kobold?”

The green-scaled kobold seemed confused until the elder of the coastal village stepped out of the crowd and addressed him directly. “Tell me truthfully, Ironhide, warrior that helped save our community, were you truly trained by a human? Is that to what we owe your arrival in our settlement?”

Thickhide, still processing the incorrect name, nodded. “Merdon sent us to gather you while he spoke with the orcs.” Again, the crowd began speaking among themselves.

Grot's face dipped into a severe frown as he listened to them. Maybe Shade was right about keeping Merdon's name out of things. However, it was Merdon that had told the truth in a similar situation to his own, and Grot felt it was wrong to keep their driving force from the kobolds. Merdon had gathered them together. He deserved, at least, to be known to all those that joined their ranks.

After a few minutes, the crowd died down and seemed to come to some quiet agreement. Grot had missed whatever particulars they had come to but became highly alert when the silence fell in the forest. The elder addressed them once more, joined this time by the kobold elder of the forest village they were seeking refuge in.

“We agree to this,” the coastal elder said to them.

“But there is a condition,” the elder of the forest added quickly. “Many of our kobolds wish to be trained as Ironhide has been, to use human weapons and armor.” To take further strength from their oppressors.

Grot nodded, suddenly trying to figure out how he could use a regiment of short armored lizards. Less strength than a human, less height meaning shields couldn't block arrows, less reach, less speed than a kobold, it was a tactical nightmare. They made their demands though, and it was simply his job to agree to them at that juncture. The kobolds still had a solid information network through Avant, and, with any luck, they might know a way into Ardmach itself without being spotted by the guards. If Grot had to surrender a few kobolds to armor and steel, so be it. It was a fair trade for all the quick wits and secrets he would gain in the process.

“It's a deal,” the orc agreed verbally. “I'm sure Merdon will have no problems teaching you all how to fight.” There was no way an orc could teach them. Maybe there were other kobolds in the orc lands that had tried it. He would have to look into that.

Red looked at Grot and commented slyly, “Now we wait.”

The orc sighed and shook his head. “No, now we train, and hope Avant doesn't do something ahead of schedule again.” Or else they might not be ready for the war they had started.