Right.

With every fibre straining, you heave yourself to the right, gathering some speed after the first roll and the thick rim of the shield smashes into the ground just behind you. Looking up at the rage-filled eyes of the orc, you see him raising the shield and turning, readying to deliver a kick with his vicious, armoured boot. You're not sure you can get away from this one, as he'll be able to adjust his aim more easily and even if you do get away he can bring another smash down with the shield, knowing where you'll be once your roll stops.

Determined to meet your end face on, you look up at him defiantly, propped up on your elbows, shouting the name of the Burning Rose and cursing his vile race. But then he staggers, raised foot smashing back down to earth. Another impact strikes him from behind, and he turns, thrashing the shield around but too late to stop another arrow lodging itself deep in his eye socket.

There must not be a great deal of brain in there to damage, as he keeps on moving, albeit even more clumsily, dragging the shield ahead of him and starting to thunder on, directly away from you. You cannot see Ramos behind his massive bulk, but cannot leave the hunter to face this brute alone.

Your shoulder screams as you heft the sword of St. Magdalena and struggle to your feet, but the arm seems to move normally. Drawing on your rage, you set off after the huge orc, closing the gap quickly as he seems to be slowing down somewhat, probably due to blood loss from the arm or to the length of wood and barbed metal lodged in his brain.

Readying for another swing of the shield, the orc is clearly in striking distance of your companion. Not a moment too soon, you swing the holy sword in a perfect backhand that takes the creatures head off cleanly, sending it tumbling away as the the body slows, stops, and crumples to the ground. As it falls, it reveals Ramos to you, bow discarded, with his dagger at the ready and attempting to move around the beast in emulation of your earlier antics. He looks at you with relief and concern, eyes flicking down to your shoulder where you took the hit from the shield.

The adrenaline starts to subside but your combat training continues to guide you. It is not yet the time to let your guard down. Ignoring the hunter, you regard the chaos around you. You are only a few feet away from the campfire now. Four orcs lie dead amid the debris of the fight... Four? That's not good. Where is the female?

You catch sight of her, standing at the edge of the clearing, stiff and straight like a scarecrow. Her eyes are blazing red and staring at the scene by the fire. The ugly scars on her face pulse and shudder under your gaze, causing another jolt of nausea deep in your stomach. You approach the unarmed orc, sword on point to strike her down if she makes a move. Her front is stained by a cascade of blood from the wound in her neck, in which the arrow is still lodged, and there is something horrifying about those eyes.

You come to a hesitant pause just in front of the orc, sword poised, trying hard not to look at the hideous lights in her eyes. It is a crimson fire, raging and burning the flesh around the sockets which sizzles with a ghastly smell. Deep in the pits of fire you can see two very black eyes that regard you with lust and hatred. The shivering, coursing lines on her face seem to rearrange themselves constantly and there is a burning heat accompanying your nausea now.

"You." An impossibly deep, male voice rips itself from the orc's throat. "I have found you. Your sisters lie broken before me, playthings for my legions; your precious war mother could not wait to split herself in two upon my cock, and you dare to resist? Prepare yourself, girl, for I will have you before the week is out and you too will glory in the debasement of your vows."

You've heard enough. A heavy blow cleaves the orc in two from shoulder to hip and she falls in two pieces to the ground. The awful lights flicker out, the revolting runic scars still themselves, and some kind of peace descends upon the clearing. Your stomach is calm once again, and the darkness which had drawn itself around you seems softer and more comforting. There is one more flickering light still that draws your attention: from one of the orc's hands has tumbled a black stone which glows like an ember and gradually dies away. You can see that it has burned into her flesh where she has gripped it, and realise this is what she was struggling with as her comrades fought. It must be some kind of locus that released the... spell? That allowed the orc to see and speak on behalf of her commander.

You can only assume the voice who spoke to you was Thoros, the daemon lord. And now he knows you have escaped, and possibly where you are. Clearly these orcs are minions of his and were out hunting for you... and he believes he will catch you within the next few days. Wonderful.

Turning to Ramos, you struggle to think how you will explain to him what he's just seen.