The night passes without bloodshed, though the distant wardrums and and crys to battle echo from the mountains to the south, sometime nearing to seem almost upon the camp itself.
Jericho: you infer from the shifting source of the battlecrys and drums as well as the lack of an attack on the camp that the orcs are marching to some specified point in the highlands, probably in preperation for an invasion of the plains and farmlands to the north. Hoping to preserve their numbers, they are abstaining from looting and raiding in small parties. If any orc did sight the camp, they were most likely warded off by the solid defense that you and Tarowyn prepared, as it would cost them too many casualties.
Whitney: A couple of the younger men in the camp, obviously attracted to you and your courtly manner, try to strike up a conversation by disclosing rumors and tails of the mad Hurazrod. Apparantly, he served as a mercenary with the King's army in the east, fighting the barbarian heretics there. In those dark lands, he came under the corrupt influences of a tribe of demon worshipers. He performed so well in battle and had the loyalty of so many warriors, however, that he was given the command of the local royal garrison in these parts, despite his debaucherous ways. It was at this point that he began to sieze serfs off of the King's lands and experimented in sacraficial rituals to call upon demons. He made alliances with the Crooked Tusk orcs, and was said to be building an army in support of the coming Usurper King, who is known to be of Southern stock. Hurazrod was stopped by the intervention of the Paladins of Lothar, who attacked his keep and murdered all those who rebelled against the rightful King. These included multiple peasents who served the fiendish warlord as well as sever local Southern Lords, causing widespread local discontent.
The sun rises in the very early hours, a faint mist hanging over the caravan camp. Few are up except for the guards on the last shift.
