Her work over, Tahra approaches Ssasha. Let's follow Alyna at a distance. If you can direct them, bring a couple of you pets.

[Assuming Ssasha can be portrayed.]

Nowfia follows the followers themselves at a safe distance, waiting to see whether she is needed and, if not, why then she returns to the circus all smiles and quick of breath.

Aria frowned at the orcs' discontent with her lovely song. It didn't occur to the innocent young girl that the language she was using would be anathema to their very nature. To her it spoke directly to one's soul, the angelic words carrying with them a promise of hope and the very divine itself. Somehow, it completed her and she had always wondered about her affinity for the rare tongue.

As the last, ephemeral notes faded beyond the threshold of silence, she lowered her lute and glanced surreptitiously about for her friend. When she didn't see the silver-haired girl, she smiled slightly. Aria had the utmost confidence in the young half-elf and part of her wished she was able to accompany Alayna on her clandestine mission. Unfortunately, her skills lied elsewhere and she could only pray that all would go as planned.

"Be safe my friend," Aria whispered softly to herself as she stood, curtsied gracefully, and left the stage.

Alayna came to the breach in the wall, and took a shuddering breath. Gathering her courage, she slipped the boards aside and silently slipped through, carefully letting the boards close behind her. What would she find? She let the shadows swallow her as she followed Gnashrip to his meeting with... whatever he was meeting.

Nwofia's expertise was in attracting attention but it was surprising how well the human shadow could avoid attention, looking around for high places from which to watch as much of the street as possible with her sling ready should it be needed.

The Orc leaves the town, apparently unaware that it is being tailed.  Who follows Orcs, really?

The landscape north of Cambete tells a story:  half a millennium of civilization, and a century of war and collapse.  There was a time when no one thought city walls were necessary- behind the well protected border, and the Rhine river, there was safety.  So the built accordingly, scattering along the flat and fertile river plain.  Away from the nodes like  Cambete with its bridge were farms, hamlets, and holdings of the wealthy.

And vineyards.  Like the one the Orc is headed towards.  Overgrown, unkempt, abandoned, but recognizable.  Rows of grape vines, many overtaken by natural growth but a few still holding their own.  A central manor, and homes for the workers.

The central manor would have been a target for plundering mobs of Huns and anyone else.  Homes of the rich attracted that.  It didn't matter that they didn't really understand what a vineyard was, and that the true wealth of the place was in the fields of grape vines.  A rich home could be a place of treasure, and so it was plundered.  And just for good measure, burned.

The minor structures are in decent shape, but the central manor looks badly damaged.  That is where the Orc is going.

While the sneakier ones follow Gnasgrip to where he is going, Nwofia memorises the place and waits for the sounds of battle that may indicate that she is needed.  In the meantime, she examines not only the vines, but also the weeds that have overgrown it in places, trying to identify them and to attempt to judge from that just how long it is since this was a working vineyard.  She plans to find a winemaker later and lead him or her to the vines.

To the still nervous Alayna, it seemed they walked and walked forever! By the Goddess, did this Orc take trips to other lands for these visits? She supposed she should not be surprised.

Still, despite nervousness and the distance, she kept to her shadows, moving carefully. She paused as he came to the manor, then looked carefully to see if there was a hiding place inside where he might be going, or if she should stay outside.

Tahra appears beside Nwofia and whispers Will it be safe and same or "How much trouble can be gotten into?".

Nwofia looks up from the vines.  "I have not the slightest clue but my guess is, there's a lot of trouble in there and not so much out here... yet.  But what there is out here is wealth.  Not the kind you or I could use or spend but to a winemaker, this is wealth."

Tahra nods If there's peace; who knows?...these vines might be an element in a deal...if infernals are content to deal honestly...which I doubt.

Nwofia blinks.  "I know little or nothing about Demonkind", she says, "Are they dishonest as well as evil?"

The route up to the manor house offers lots of room for concealment.  The farm is overgrown with weeds and they are quite high in places.  After decades, you don't just have weeds, you have shrubs and trees.

Not everywhere.  There are weeds growing up through paving, but near the main entrance, no.  The large stone slabs were set close, and only small plants have infiltrated through the joints between the stones.  But everywhere else.  And its not just plants.  There are a short garden walls of stone, and a few ornamental statues in white marble.

The Orc carefully pushes open the front door.  It moves uneasily on old hinges.  In the deep undergrounds where Orcs first bred, old dungeon doors can go for many decades and remain as strong as they ever where.  Here, rust sets in and time takes its toll.  Unless, of course, the builders used bronze or brass. Which, here, they didn't.

But the Orc is too much in a hurry or otherwise preoccupied, and doesn't worry about closing the door.  It is left open.

Alayna is closest.  The others can't see anything more than shadow inside, but Alayna can see the old atrium, with polished stone walls and tiles, and... not much else.  But nothing moving, at least, except for the Orc that goes in.  She'll have to close to see anything else.



(Does Nwofia have any grape-associated skills?  If not... these are grapes.  The grapey kind.  But she can't tell anything beyond that.)

Demons and such will lie. Devils won't if promising something, but they will twist words. We're probably dealing with demon-like infernals who want to use Gruumish's ideas:

 Gather and breed, and your numbers shall flourish.
Rise up in hordes and seize that which is rightfully yours.
Raid. Kill. Conquer.

There is a problem. The orcs have no deity who offers anything resembling getting along with others.

Now moving slower, Alayna uses her best skills to move without a sound, to hug shadow where she can. She needs to stay close enough to keep him in sight, and close enough so she doesn't miss who he is meeting.

Despite her care and skill, she is still a bit shaky. And frightened. What will she see, she wonders?

Nwofia nods.  "Shame that.  Maybe they need to be taught."

As I understand it, orc children at a young age are all put in together in a sort of creche...except there's no nurturing. The idea is that the strongest and the craftiest survive...with emphasis on the strongest, most willing to take.

Now, if there were orc families who kept their children....

Nwofia grinned her famous drow-quelling grin and suggests, "Perhaps we should suggest this to Pugnant?  Orcs need to learn to look after their children, keeping them safe and teaching and nurturing them."

Other than the the Orc, Alayna, and the others following in support, there is no one in the vineyard area.  Nothing moving but the crows, who have learned to hang around when Humans and Orcs are wandering, because it often means food.

One or two screech to each other.  The Orc doesn't pay it any attention.

Alayna follows to the doorway and peeks in.


Many of these old homes of wealthy landowners are scattered over the landscape, in various states of deterioration.  Scavenging leftover wealth is a career for many people, but they have to work hard.  These homes, unprotected and abandoned, are the most obvious targets for looters, and it has been many years. Most don't have much of interest left.

This one, though...

Many vintners had shrines to Bacchus, God of Wine, in the hopes that their crops would be blessed.  Whoever designed this home put the shrine front and center, as the main feature in the atrium.  It would be the first thing any visitor would see- painted walls, and very large sculptures depicting Bacchus and his drunken attendants, the Bacchanae.

For some reason, someone seems to have added one statue, but a very different one.  It's completely out of place, and not up to the artistic standards of the others.  It's crude, and made of painted wood.  And it doesn't seem happy and drunk, like the others.  It seems ferocious, angry and drunk.

The Orc kneels down in front of it, and begins to speak!  It doesn't sound angry so much as frustrated and confused.

(Does Alayna understand any Orcish?)

Alayna stays close enough to listen. She is trying to keep from shaking, as the thing he is praying to is quite frightening! At this moment, she rather wished one of her friends was close. Maybe, just maybe, she would learn something and then be able to sneak out without getting hurt. Or worse.

Alayna does understand some Orcish.  Growing up in cities they control, she picked up a basic understanding.  Fortunately, most Orcish is basic.  There's not much room for elegance in Orcish.  Poets are frustrated.  Lots of insults, though.

He's talking to the wood painted statue.  Or maybe, whatever supernatural power it is supposed to be a representation of.  It's not answering back.

He's frustrated and hoping for guidance.  The strange human entertainers are undermining his message.  Orcs must be warriors and conquerors and masters or.. or there is nothing else.  There is no such thing as a silly, weak, compromise life with humans and worse, Elves.  One is master, one is slave, and that must be that.

He apparently is a cleric of some kind, or just really wants to be a cleric.  Either way, there is no response from the statue.

The Orc tells the statue about new Orcs arriving, explaining that the nonsense and shame of this town is spreading, and if unchecked will lead to, inevitably, Orcs fighting Orcs on behalf of Humans.

"I have a few loyal allies, but just a few," the Orc says.  "If I attack these newcomers, and drive them away.. is that right?  If I let them come in... do we drown in a river of weakness?  What is best to do?"

He stares at the wood blankly for a few moments.

"I know.  These humans... they make lies to tell a story.  I will make lies to tell a story.  But they will hear my story first.  I will go home, and make my lies and then go tell them.  Please help me.  Give me your aid, oh lord of disorder."

Alayna listened carefully, her brow furrowing with trying to figure out what to do. Clearly, there was no infernal, or perhaps there was, but only in Gnashrip's mind. But she understood the part about telling lies. They would have to get their message out, maybe individually. And if there was no infernal, then it was easier, wasn't it? Without it, the Orc had no other power.

She looked around, wondering if she could sneak behind the statue. If she could, then maybe she could talk for the statue herself...

The others in the vicinity are waiting, watching, and Tahra notices something:  there are the remnants of a battle here, some years ago, but not nearly so long as the battles that ended the Empire.  Maybe 4 or 5 years, judging by the weathering and the wear.  Nothing special, just the debris no one thought worth collecting:  some arrows, mostly broken.  Damaged armor and gear, mostly weathered beyond use now, though a scavenger might go over such things for brass buttons and buckles, and other small bits that don't weather or corrode quickly.

Alayna looks for opportunity.  There isn't much, but the Orc does seem rather absorbed in his own issues at the moment, and maybe she could slip past.  Very fortunately, she isn't wearing anything that clinks.

Tahra indicates the debris to Nwofia. What occurred her might be significant.

Alayna steadies herself, then sneaks around carefully to get behind the wooden idol. Fortunately, she's very small herself, so she can manage it. She listens, then waits for her chance.