Blood Tree

Dorge blinks into the hazy white sky, it's going to rain, he thinks. Scratch that, it is raining, that's what woke him up. He's still in the forest and he's trying to remember why. How long has he been out? His hand begins to throb and he looks down a the makeshift bandage.
"Hrh," he says and starts to stand, cradling his hand. There's a chance this might become infected but he's not worried about that yet. He's worried that his blood-soaked garments might have attracted the more keen predatory creatures of the wood. But if that were the case he's pretty sure it wouldn't have been the rain that gently caressed him to wakefulness.
"Blood-soaked" might be a little strong, he thinks, and changes his profile back to "Wounded". At the very least, the Paladin didn't come crashing through in hot pursuit. Likely he's gone back to Banda Cate with his tail between his legs. Actually, Dorge thinks, maybe I"ll go to Largo Largo with my tail between my legs and leave the relics be for now. Except if it rains any harder it may wash away his markings as to where he left them and then the job would definitely go unfinished.
But he needed to get where he was going fast. As it was he really didn't want to run into a Random Encounter, either. A pack of wolves would really be pushing it just now, hell, a pack of sprites for that matter. Dorge winces, he always hated killing sprites, even if they were lvl 40 magic users, it was like killing little birds. He shakes himself to clear the images from his head and starts pushing through the forest toward, hopefully, the Hurry.
This part of the world was old but not as old as the priests in Banda Cate would want you to believe. That would go against their notion of some ancient authority bestowed upon them. Truth was, Largo Largo was older, but just barely. It was established early on because the dirt around here was very rich and lent itself to the production of wine, renown the world over. This was made easy with the relative proximity of Devils' Bay, last stop south. The river was an option too, but it snaked away from any natural harbors and so it was quicker to use the road. Naturally, the road was where a few bandits would make a name for themselves, too.
Another factor that lead to the relatively quick establishment of Largo Largo were dod berries, an additive used in the wine that gave it a little something different than what you'd find in other selections at the tavern. The two sister cities would use dod berries for their own purposes in their way. That's how the expression "All's at dods" sprung up when the locals would refer to the differences between themselves, separated by not much more than a day or so's ride through a forest.
Dorge spies some now, growing wildly in a thicket. He leans down and pulls a bunch off, squishing a few between his thumb and pointer and smelling them, lastly putting his thumb into his mouth, before sighing and spitting a red black glob onto some dead leaves. He smiles, it would be nice to just lie down for a little while longer, there's no timer on anything, "Ranger. Euclid. Cleve-," there are eyes on him.
He catches his breath before it runs off on him and turns a bit, there hidden, but not hiding, an orc? "G'thash," he tries, and the orc steps closer, holding a crossbow, but not pointing it at him. But not not pointing it at him, either.
"G'thash back at you, but we can Common," the orc says, adjusting the pack he has slung over his back. "You know what those berries?" the orc nods at the thicket.
Dorge nods and smiles, "I know enough to know better."
"Stabber?" the orc asks.
Dorge points at the dagger sheathed in his belt, then holds his wounded hand up and shrugs.
The orc lets his crossbow dip a few degrees more and snorts, "Many?"
Dorge shakes his head, "Just me."
There's a pause and it feels like the orc is satisfied with what he probably already knew, then he swings the crossbow back behind his other shoulder with the leather strap, and in doing so reveals the pack he is carrying is a trussed animal, freshly killed.
Dorge, finally taking more in than just the crossbow, now notices how the orc is dressed. His oily black hair would hang down well below his chin if it wasn't tied up tight against his scalp, twigs and leaves threaded throughout. Some sort of black and green paste smeared over his cheeks and shoulders, hiding the red purple blush of his skin, and two water skins hanging freely from his belt. He was a hunting.
"Why are you away?" the orc asks.
"I'm trying to get to Largo Largo," Dorge sighs, "but a Paladin forced me off the road."
The orc's eyes brightened and Dorge worries he may have said too much. Paladins and orcs certainly don't chitchat in the woods.
"He's gone, I lost him," Dorge assures him. "Can you tell me...am I even going the right direction?"
The orc barks a laugh that surprises them both, and then shows his lower incisors, embarrassed, "No. You say 'Ranger' but not?"
Dorge shakes his head, "No, Ranger was my dog. It helps me remember."
The orc tilts his head, "The dog?"
"No...," Dorge tries to translate, "Helps me remember my Blood Tree."
The orc nods and breaks into a smile, "I thought you looked like a Warrior."
Dorge didn't think he could muster anything more than Scout just now, and looks perplexed, nodding when the orc adds, "Truth?"
"Your arms. And when others come out here...big stabbers. Afraid. Away. You? Just away."
Dorge nods and wishes he only felt "away" but he could stand to do a bit more bluffing. "Can you point me in the direction of Largo Largo?"
The orc nods and smiles, "Yes, we will take you."
Dorge represses the urge to correct his Common when three other orcs slide into view, all holding 'stabbers' and looking what? Hungry? Hopefully that's just how hunting parties look, Dorge thinks, before muttering, "g'thas" under his breath.