Orcs! At least, I think they are orcs.

Five large figures surround the fire. Three are asleep, stretched out on the bare forest floor and with no blankets, heedless of the cold at their backs while the flames illuminate their grey green faces. They are indeed orcs. One of the ones on watch is eating from a deep bowl - more like a bucket - and scraping his spoon against the dull metal with every mouthful. This sound seems minute and indistinct to you, yet was what alerted Ramos to the presence of this camp when you were more than twice the distance away. Warrior though he claims not to be, his talents have saved you from stumbling headlong into a very dangerous situation indeed.

You look a little closer at the other orc on watch. This one is female, and she sits on a dark leather pack with a dagger in one hand and one of a bundle of long sticks in the other. She is painstakingly splitting feathers and binding them to the twigs, using some grayish gluey substance and lengths of thin cord. You are no fletcher, yet have practiced enough archery to see that these arrows are true, tipped with a broad, flat head which will punch great holes and sever vital blood vessels in any target, be they animal, orc, or human. Craft of this skill is not commonly associated with orcs. Indeed, they are not famed for archery of any kind.

The ravenous male who sits across the fire, facing you rather more than the one doing her fletchery, has finished his meal and leans against his tree looking content. He closes his eyes after a few moments, head back against the rough bark, but is woken in an instant by a sudden movement from his companion. She has thrown an acorn scooped from the ground, striking him on the nose, having barely looked up from her work to notice that he is sleeping - or, for that matter, to take aim. As his eyes jerk open, there is a flash of light reflected from them which glimmers red, more so than you would expect in the firelight. He turns to look at the female, and the changing shadows reveal a complicated network on lines on his face, darting and flickering in the uneven light but it is clear that these are deep scars in the flesh. They are wicked curves, jags and spurs that form a circular pattern of runes... and which elicit a jerking reaction from deep in your belly. Taken by surprise at the feeling, you almost stumble back around the tree and into Ramos, who puts one hand out to steady you without turning away from the firelit scene.

With your back against the tree, you sink slowly to the ground, trying to regain control of the feelings in your stomach. It seems to take a long time, but as it's calming down Ramos turns to you with dark intent in his eyes.

"These are the first I have seen up close in my life, but I am sure they are no ordinary orcs. Have you noticed they do not speak to each other? And those... markings." At their mention you nod, gripping your sword and standing again. "To have two on watch would seem unusually professional, also. From the tales I would expect them all to be drunk and for just one - if any - to be awake."

"Those arrows..."

"Look fine, do they not? I would be pleased to have such an arrow. It would bring down a great stag quickly. Are we to fight them? They still haven't noticed us, so we could slip away, but would have to leave your horse. Otherwise, we must fight."