Surprise attack.

It is agreed. You must fight these strange creatures, though the odds do not favour you.

Your only hope is to take advantage of the element of surprise, to try and even the numbers while only two are awake. Ramos believes he can put an arrow in each, from the right angle, within just a few moments, hopefully giving you some time to get close and slay at least one of the sleeping ones before any alarm is raised. He will remain at the large tree and you must creep forward, staying out of sight as best you can.

After putting up your hood to hide your very visible hair, you touch your hand to his for luck, and set off around your side of the tree. The undergrowth is a touch thicker to that side and will cover your advance somewhat, though the challenge then becomes to move quietly enough.

Slowly, slowly, you edge yourself into the agreed position. You are behind a fallen tree, on your belly, completely flat to the ground. The top of the log is mere inches above your hooded head, and through a small gap beneath it you can see the camp. With a moment of relief you see that the two orcs are not alerted, gesticulating to each other with rude movements although keeping no less of an alert eye out to their surroundings as they do so.

You look back to Ramos, who lurks behind his tree with one arrow nocked and two more in his forehand. He nods. You hold up one hand, fingers outstretched, and gently fold them one by one.

Three, two, one... none. The hunter steps out fluidly and you leap up. You are on the move towards the camp when the first arrow streaks ahead and into the neck of the seated female. There is no time to assess the situation further; you must reach the sleeping ones to dispatch one as quickly as you can. Only a few steps further though, and the the male, barely half standing in response to the attack, is knocked clean over, head split by an expert shot.

Very close now. With St. Magdalena's sword in your right hand with a loose, couched grip, you have one of Tully's daggers in the left. You skid to a kneeling stop by one of the rising orcs, and without a thought bring the dagger across its neck in a reverse hand strike, biting deep as you pull the blade back towards you. No creature could survive a blow like that, so you turn to the next, who is now kneeling and reaching for a weapon, eyes locked on you. Beyond him you can see the stricken female, who has a foot of bloodied arrow protruding from her throat, as she tries to gain some footing. The other watchman has not moved, lying where he fell across the struggling body of the last orc.

You fling the dagger at your nearest enemy. The left-handed throw is clumsy, but you have no training in thrown weapons anyway. It is not your intention to strike, only to distract, and free your left hand to complete the two handed grip on the holy sword. The blade clatters into his face, making a shallow, superficial cut across his nose and cheek but most importantly it gives you a moment's advantage over him in making ready.

On your feet now, with the blade in a guard position across your body, you brace for the orc's charge. He carries a heavy curved cleaver the right hand, and a small fighting axe in the other. His face, marked in the manner of the others, snarls at you, tusks bared by a grimace of rage. A welling bead of dark blood finally breaks and tumbles down his cheek, channeled by the scarred grooves on its way down. Foamy spittle flies as he charges with a grunt. This brute is huge, close to three times your body weight, and you cannot tangle with him for long, unarmoured and unshielded as you are.

His axe comes in for the first strike, but the arm and shoulder holding it is slightly forward, betraying the feint. You step to his right, outside the swing of his scimitar and use your motion to lend momentum to a back-hand swing at his side. It connects, but he is already twisting away and you score a shallow cut across his abdomen that appears not to trouble him. He is still at the disadvantage though, with feet askew and his balance off, so you press on with a vicious strike on the return swing, forehanded and strong. This one cuts down on the diagonal, parried at the last minute by the thick cleaver but not enough to deflect it completely. It bites into his shoulder, juddering against the bone, and escapes his flesh much lower, near the elbow. That will give him a little more to think about.

Stepping back, left foot planted ahead of your semi-crouched stance, with your blade on point, you allow yourself a glance beyond this adversary to the scene around the fire. The last orc has made it to his feet and is moving toward your combat with a shield held towards Ramos' position that already has one shaft lodged in it. He hefts an ugly mace, swinging it vigorously to waken his stiff muscles. The female, first one to be hit, is still not dead. She is now on her feet, holding something small at waist height and fumbling. It looks almost like she is using a flint and tinder, but you do not have time to dwell on her activity: the orc with the shield will be upon you in moments and you do not fancy your chances against both at once, even with your current adversary wounded.