Balin the Elder, Abjur (4)
We head east for three days and look for the orc fires and listen for the screams of innocent people getting killed.
Stopping and turning around slowly, Balin waited until Zyrial and Alton were a few paces closer before speaking.
"Goodland is to the east of here, and if my memory hasn't failed me completely, it is a small town much like this one is. The Sheriff is more than likely this great guy, who hasn't drew his sword since he was courting his plump apple pie baking wife, and while I am sure he would help us if it wasn't for that pesky knee injury he got from racing wild stallions when he was more wet behind the ears than you are. This means that while you may not believe it now, we are more the best chance that Goodland is going to have. So if you want to be alive to spend that double bag of coin from Comere, I would suggest you start thinking of ways that you can stop a group of orcs that will gut wound you just to watch you bleed out nice and slow."
Resisting the urge to let his shoulders slump back to their more comfortable position, Balin looked over Zyrial before turning back around and resuming his walk down the hill.
While he had said nothing out loud, he was sure that Zyrial understood his mounting frustration. Destroying some mindless skeletons before taking out the ghouls that had given into the blood urge of their undead state would be greatly different than going after orcs that were capable of plans and tactics.
Let them be strong and dumb like we used to like them Shal, and let their Sheriff be a mountain of man who only needs us to keep the edges held while he takes them all on with his companions...