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Isaad stood out at the rim of the deck. His fleshy hands were crossed over each other, and he was enjoying the breeze. Being on a boat, he had abandoned his combat gear back in his private quarters, and felt free to wander the ship in just his dark green cassock. His eyes fell closed, and he was feeling sleep creeping up on him.

"High Inquisitor?" The soft female voice came from behind him. It was easily recognized...

"Yes Whispee?" He said without turning. He had almost anticipated her coming.

She swallowed and stepped up, leaning on the railing beside him. After a bit of hesitation, she turned her head towards him and asked her question. "What, exactly, is it that we found?"

He opened one eye and turned it to glare at her seriously. "We found a compass. Nothing more needs to be said."

"Oh." She sighed gently and looked down. It was disturbing her, and she knew that it had to be something more. If she could somehow find out, she had to say something. "I... I challenge that!" She looked back up at Isaad, as he turned to meet her eyes. "I am a member of the inquisition as well!" She exaggerated herself with a moving hand. "I believe I have a right to know what magic this compass possesses!"

Isaad narrowed his eyes. In that moment, Whispee suddenly regretted opening her mouth. He walked towards her, and even without his armor his figure was muscular and imposing, taller than her. He stopped very near to her, and his eyes flicked as he looked between each of hers. She squeaked quietly, feeling mentally defeated. "S-sorry."

"Yes... you are. You know that we have rank for a reason." He took one of her wrists tightly, and restrained her there. "It is I who decides what you have the right to know and what is to be kept secret. There is only one you may appeal to... and he is dead." Whispee's eyes were full of fear for her own safety, as the High Inquisitor spoke to her in the most dangerously serious tone she had ever heard from him. "Until there is another Grand Inquisitor, I am officially a part of the highest rank. You will do as I say."

She clenched her teeth and tried to relax her hand. The pain of his grip was stinging her, but his words hurt much worse. She tugged gently on her arm and said the only thing that came to mind. "High Inquisitor, you're... you're hurting me."

He pushed her away as he let go of her wrist. She stumbled and tripped back on her own tail, hitting the deck on her rear, and bit her tongue with the landing. This caused a sound of pain, as her hands went to both wounds. Isaad turned back towards the sea and spoke closer to his own tone. "The secrets of the artifact will be revealed to everyone in time, if it is required. If not, then you shall not hear of it again."

She slowly stood herself up a bit before making herself scarce. Isaad sighed gently and watched the beautiful majesty of the sea, and the sparkling of the water, as the sun slowly set on the horizon. He closed his left hand to a fist and closed his eyes. "She will never stop questioning, will she? Great one... give me a sign. What should I do?"

He stood there for a while before he started to hear strange whispers on the breeze. Voices perhaps?

Talking directly to him?

His ears flicked as he stayed otherwise perfectly still. The sounds of the breeze around him were ghostly, and once it passed he nodded. "Yes." He said nothing else, but turned and made his way towards the lower deck to find Whispee, and properly punish her for her insolence.

Rosethorn was equipped in her light gear. She wore a black leather outfit to protect her chest and her thighs, and over that she wore her dark green cassock. Most of her dark brown fur was hidden, and her feet were in boots, while her hands had open-fingered leather gloves on them. She still had her two blades across her back, as there was no sense going outside of the fortress without being ready for combat. The only other rat she took with her was the brown-furred Vorpaal, who was in his regular imperial archer and light sword-fighter gear. "Be on guard," she started to say, as they were headed from the fort, "I do not want us to appear weak, but we cannot be intimidating."

He nodded. "Yes, Anointed Warrior Rosethorn." He was smarter than to shorten her title. Anointed Warriors took years to earn their titles, their rank, and their purpose. They had the permission to kill anyone outside of the faith at their discretion. Vorpaal believed that he was really only along to be an extra number, as the power of an Anointed Warrior could probably take out an entire tribe of these filthy green-skinned ones.

Once they arrived at the camp, two large guards came to greet them. Shirtless, the orcs came with huge amounts of black hair on their chests, naturally grown of course. They were mostly bald with black tails of coarse hair, which were decoratively braided into ponytails with small bones. One spoke with a growl. "We expecting you! We think more come."

Rosethorn looked up at them and crossed her arms. "I need no entourage to feel at ease. Now, show me to Chief Rogar, so that we may meet."

Dumbfounded by her interesting vocabulary, the orcs stared for a moment. Eventually one of the guards shoved the other lightly. "We take you to Chief Rogar's hut."

"Good." She narrowed her eyes slightly as they turned, and she and Vorpaal trailed after the two guards as they were taken through the camp, and towards the tallest of the tents. She looked around a little to see just what this tribe was. Not all orcs were fighters, she observed. There were families living here, and there were many who couldn't, or chose not to fight. Mothers, children, and elderly were what made up most of what she saw. There was one long tent with a stack that puffed smoke from a cooking fire. The lands they lived in probably hardened these people, and their warriors were really their form of hunters, due to the incredibly dangerous monsters that lurked in the area.

As she came into the large tent, she saw the chief near the center. He was sitting cross-legged, and had female orcs on each sides of him, and a strange golden tray before him. He looked up as the guards led Rosethorn and Vorpaal into the tent, and he shooed the women away.

"Sit." He motioned to a cushion not far from him, and then nodded upwards. "Guard wait outside."

Vorpaal looked at her for a moment, and then she nodded and gave him the okay. He reluctantly stepped outside of the tent, and now stood on the other side of the flap, sandwiched between the two orcs that lead them there. He had never been in this kind of situation before, and he was a bit nervous. Lucky for him, the only danger he was in at that time was the orcs' flatulence.

Rosethorn slowly sat down on her knees, and let her cassock cover most of her form as she folded her arms before her chest. "Here I am, Chief Rogar. What is your tale?"

His face was a picture of seriousness, and his mouth parted to lick at his tusks before he began his tale. He pulled a bag from his belt, and poured the contents onto the tray, which was strange purple-colored sand. "Many season back, before I chief, we happy tribe." He pressed his hand into the sand and balled his fingers into a fist, lifting some into his hand as he pulled it up. As he poured grains back onto the tray illusions were created in a smoke that rose like a cloud around them. Once Rosethorn was taken in by the magic that surrounded them, she slowly realized that she could see a picture in this sand, and only the chief was there to witness it with her.

In the images were depictions of the green-skins. It was a more permanent appearing settlement, and the hunters were teaching younger orcs how to spear fish. "We hunted, and we grew." The images followed his words, cascading in to many mixed scenes, too many for Rosethorn to look at all at once. "One season, we learn there less meat for tribe. There was fear, but no fear like when the metal-born monsters came with weapons."

The depiction moved to show one large construct. It was humanoid in form, but completely metallic. With a bulky frame, it was seen thundering into the settlement. A faceless metal bulk made up its head, and while the villagers fought back, it did not budge. It seemed to pull a sword right out of its frame from the side, and stomped to the chieftain's hut. With powerful swings, it destroyed the frame, and from the fabric leapt a mighty orc, yelling in a berserk rage. A huge axe was hefted over his head, and he attacked the metallic being head on... but to no avail. "Its body hold like many shields. Old chief fall fighting." The creature grabbed the chief's arm in the visions, and with a surprisingly swift movement for such a large frame, the blade was brought around, and impaled through the chieftains chest. Bones shattered, and blood sprayed out of his back. His hands went to take the blade and try to wrench it free, but the exertion made him cough blood. It was not long before he was limp, and the metal beast flung him off. "We escape with life. Our honor, destroyed."

The visions turned to the tribe moving off with as many supplies as they could. Another large metal construct came into the picture to try and stop them, murdering many of the retreating orcs. Those that got away did so with quick legs, and the advantage of such a large tribe allowed many to escape in morbid disbelief. "I named chief because I strongest and smartest warrior in tribe." The visions moved to a scene where Rogar was given the large axe that was ceremonially received. "We move for many moon, and come here. First, my warrior tribesmen no trust furred ones, but we no able to fight." He stared at her as the images slowly faded off, and the sand settled onto the tray. He slid the amount that was left back into the bag.

"So..." Rosethorn pondered, "You want peace because you are crippled. In these lands it is hard to survive with smaller numbers, and you need to team up with us."

Rogar nods. "Yes."

She nodded, and was about to speak when her ears twitched to the sounds of shouting outside. She looked at the chief, who also appeared slightly alarmed, so she stood and made her way to the exit. "What's that sound!?"

Rushing outside, the two saw a group of thinner-built and greyer-skinned orcs. They wore armor made of bones, and carried weapons equally made of bones. One dropped the corpse of an orc from Rogar's tribe into the encampment. He screamed wickedly, as Syacin Blade Tribesmen readied their weapons and surrounded the group of eight interlopers. He began to speak in a strange language built up of many growling sounds and differently produced "barking" noises. His motions were to the body of the dead orc, and then back to the land around. Rosethorn approached with Rogar not far behind her. The strange orc was then taken aback, a nasty look in his eyes. This one had hair, though short and pointed backwards as a sign of ferocity. He pointed right at the rattus and shrieked out more words.

As Vorpaal joined her side, Rosethorn looked at the chief and asked; "What is he saying?"

"He say: We go on their hunting ground. He kill all who enter hunting ground, and he issue warning from Rampager Tusk Tribe. He also say; you should be killed because you no orc."

She sighed slowly and brought her hands back over her shoulders, then slowly drew out her hooked swords. "I'd like you to tell him that he is welcome to try if he wishes to die. They may all attack at once if they like."

Rogar stared at her a moment, watching her take a combat stance, and then he looked at the other orcs. He beat the butt end of his weapon on the ground, and spoke in his deep tone in the same language they were using.

The bone-wearing orcs laughed wildly and raised their cleavers and axes made of bone, two of them even produced bows and arrows. They got ready to charge, and the guards of Rogar's tribe cleared the path between them and the two rattus. The leader of the invaders shrieked out more words of their language.

"He say: If they win, they take us prisoner, and eat puny rats." Rogar translated for the rattus.

"That's alright. I don't lose." Rosethorn switched her weapons from hand to hand as she got her arms out of her sleeves. Then with a few tugs, she undid the strap around her waist, and shed her cassock, tossing it to Vorpaal. "Hold this." He caught the dark green robe and looks down at it for only a moment, and then when his eyes rose she had already dashed half-way towards the orcs.

The archers let loose their arrows, and with a quick weave, she dodged out of the way, and with a flash of her blades, the shafts split in two and fell down mid-flight. The archers suddenly felt fear, when they realized that this wasn't just any rat, and they scrambled for the next arrows. The leading orc pointed his bone scimitar forward, and the five around him rushed at her.

There was a collision of gut and blades as she and an orc met, but her movement gets her against his chest before his axe could swing down on her head. With a twist and a tug, she swept her swords out of his stomach, spilling the contents as she dodged back from another enemy. Her feet kicked the dead orc into a live one, sending him straight to the ground under the dead weight and the sticky red ichor. She made a quick roll forward underneath the swing of another orc-weapon. Her blades flashed as she cut through the orc's knees, sending him to the ground without support.

Her skill and movement made the last two find doubts about defeating her. The archers let fly another two arrows, and her ears flicked to the sound of their strings being loosened, even amid the scream of pain from the nearby orc. Her blades twirled and she spun amazingly fast, her metal stopping just in the way of the arrows, and shattering their bone tips on the flat of her blades.

The one orc rolled the dead weight aside and stood up. He roared loudly and beat his chest in anger before throwing his axe. She dodged out of the way as he drew out another one, and rushed at her in a blind rage. She took her battle stance, and just as he raised his weapon, she dashed up against him and pounded her elbow into his stomach. He didn't seem effected by the hit, and his weapon still swung. Her quick reactions allowed her to roll around him as his axe came down, and then with graceful ease and deadly movement one of her arms flicked, and with a flash of steel his wrist was lopped from his arm. His mouth opened wide as he roared in pain, and his hand went to his new stump, grabbing it. Rosethorn took the opportunity to strafe behind him and thrust her swords into his spine from behind, twisting both of her blades outwards and spilling his intestines on the ground before him.

She pulled her weapons from his back and let him fall. The leader of the small group shrieked out to the others. The archers dropped their bows and drew axes, as the two that held back looked at the leader like he was crazy.

She pointed a sword towards the leader. "Your evil shows in your carelessness for your men's lives!" Then she brings both of her swords back and closes her eyes. She begins to chant strange words fairly quickly. The leader laughs and points at her. All five of the remaining orcs charge at her, and as they bear down her eyes opened back up.

A burst of wind circled around her like a small tornado. She swept her blades and pushed them through the wind before her, both of her swords glowing with a bright yellow color. The wind in the vacuum dispersed in the direction of her swings, and grew in a crescent shape as the deadly force of air ripped through the forest at the group of orcs. At the angle she was standing, the crescent of air sliced through the first two's legs, through the leader's stomach, and then across the archers' necks. The archers were decapitated, the leader was at a sudden loss of blood and lower intestines, and the ones who held back got the least of it, getting just major cuts on their shins, causing them to drop to the ground in pain.

The Syacin Blade Tribe stared in awe as she turned her back on the aggressors, and began to walk back, stopping only momentarily to drive her blade through the back of the orc who had lost his legs and ended up on his stomach. She had purposefully left two orcs alive, as they were the only ones showing remorse for fighting her.

Covered in blood she approached Vorpaal. "Come, let's get back to the fort. I require a bath."

He squeaked in shock as he came back to reality. He held her cassock still, and nodded. "Y-yes Anointed Warrior Rosethorn. A-anything you command!"

Rogar approached. "Do we have peace?" He inquired, directly to Rosethorn, who he was impressed with.

She knelt a bit and wiped her blades on the grass a few times. "Yes. I give permission to the Syacin Blade Tribe to come and camp in our barracks, or on our barracks ground. Consider it our protection as a part of the alliance." She then stands and slowly sheathes her swords. "You must learn and obey our rules while you stay with us though, and rule number one is... don't cross me."

Whispee sat in her bed. She was holding the side of her face with a damp cloth that was stained red from her own blood. She was still shaking after her experience... Her mind was torn, and her body had been used to an extent she didn't think the High Inquisitor would go to. At least she had stopped crying... it hurt too much to cry.