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Message: <blockquote data-quote="doghead" data-source="post: 2192898" data-attributes="member: 8243">"Unfortuately I know them. They have been in the service of the warmonger for the last few years."As she talks, the life seems to leech from the plants. They cease their gasping motion. They wither and shrink back to their former size.The shaman climbs to her feet with a groan of tiredness. She helps the rider to his feet. With a growl the worg lurches to his feet. It staggers a little, and a little fresh blood flows from it's wounds. The shaman says something to the rider, who nods. From outside the ruins there is a worried hail in the tongue of the goblins. The shaman responds in kind.Those at the gate see the other rider and the two worgs making there way across the open area around the ruins. They shepherd a rather battered looking orc before them. He baulks when he catches sight of the humans up ahead, but a wicked snap at his heels makes him hastily jump forward. His shield is gone, as is his mace. His armour is bloody, and his legs are bleeding heavily from a number of gashes. He is covered with bits of dirt, grass and twigs.</blockquote>