No Title as of Yet

A glistening ray of moonlight broke through the canopy of the forest to the bare path below, revealing a recently used mud path, footprints impressed with unusual accuracy, as if with vivid paints. The footprint was that of a hybrid race called the Fremids, a tall hulking thing with three fingers and toes, a direct orcish descendant. They stand two heads taller than a normal man, and twice the width. Few can be seen in civilised and populated areas due to the resemblances to one of man's greatest enemies. Others can be found in slavery and others in the wild, in tribes similar to those of orcish bands of yore. It was unusual however, almost impossible in fact, to find one walking alone, and more so for him to be walking towards the private land owned by a nobleman. Just out of the moonlight, a rustle of grass could be heard, but was heavier than that of a normal dormouse or another animal that inhabited the area.

The ground ahead began to harden and the Fremid prints became invisible. The tall figure of the Fremid crouched. Stopping at the end of a small hill for vantage, which overlooked the manor of Sir Neuville III of Carnath. The rustling stopped and two cloaked figures sat quickly on either side of the hybrid,
“I'm surprised he didn't just go all out and build a castle,” said the one on the left, his black cloak billowing, revealing a small nose and wrinkled mouth, “What about you Juniper?” The second, also in a black cloak pulled the hood entirely, revealing an aged face, definitely of a dwarf with a long grey beard, stretching. He only just reached the top of the Fremid's head while it was crouching,
“I don' really care Markus, jus' get to it.”

Markus giggled effeminately under the cloak, pulling the long sleeves back, revealing slender hands. They began to glow a deep purple at the tips as he dipped his head. The dwarf shuddered,
“He always freaks me out when 'e does that. Hartho', are ya ready?” The Fremid looked up, glared at him at looked back at the house. Juniper snarled, “Why aren;t you talkin'? Don' ya wanna do this? Th' Boss has already told you that you'd get you're family back when it's done. All ya' gotta' do is to signal the 7 champions of Darnesh and join them in takin' Neuville out. Not too hard is it?” They both looked back at Markus. Juniper chaned under his breath, '3... 2... 1...' and Markus shot up.
“Well?” grunted Juniper. Markus gasped for air and gave a thumbs up,
“Neuville's – is – in – there... No guards... his wife as well.” Markus frowned, and took a deep beath, “I think he saw me though.” Juniper laughed heartily,
“He can't see you, you were a spectre, invisible to the eyes of normal men.”

A few seconds went by in silence as Markus caught his breath. A light went on at the near side if the cottage they were looking at,
“I guess he's not normal?” came the shocked reply from Markus,
“Y'think?” Juniper exclaimed, “And the 7 aren't here yet... We'll have to stall him for the few minutes they'll still take...” Juniper pulled off his cloak, revealing a dirty chainmail and a gleaming golden two hand sword with a burnished gold shield. Markus sighed, and got up, pulling his cloak off, revealing an emerald green robeand he pointed at a tree, pulling out a staff of high quality, despite the hole at the top in a perfect hexagonal shape,
“Come on Harthog!” Came the frantic call of Markus. Harthog stood, grumbling in orcish loudlyputting his hands under his sleeves, pulling out two halves of a spear and pulling a sword from behind his back, achoch was concealed from view. A man exited the house with a woman, both in light chainmail and wielding their respected weapons, the man with dual swords in hand and a bow on his back and the woman with a pair of velvet gloves lined in precious gems, wielding a similarly ornate sword in her left hand. She raised her right hand causing Markus to cover his eyes. Juniper and Harthog followed suit, with Juniper shouting,
“Let's get it on!”