You find a band of Orcs

Faintly, you begin to hear the sound of voices. They are low and guttural noises, and they are coming from just over the next ridge. You drop flat against the ground and begin crawling over the rocks and dirt, toward the edge of the outcropping. When you reach the top of the ridge, you look over and catch sight of a small camp.

The camp is nestled between two crags, jutting at an angle that makes them lean against one another. The campfire burns with an acrid smell, and you can see something cooking, or rather burning, on a spit over the fire. There are several figures around the camp, about six or seven of them, some are sitting while others are pacing back and forth around the perimeter, but it's hard to make out who they are though. After scrabbling to another, closer vantage point, you can clearly make out the sharp tusks protruding from their mouths and the leathery, green skin-tone that mark them as Orcs.

You had never actually seen an Orc before, and you thought that the stories told were widely exaggerated, but looking down on them, you can see that every word they said was true. Standing at five to six feet, each and every Orc was practically rippling with muscles, and despite your own considerable strength and skill, you would be hard pressed to kill even two or three of them. Many of them are also wielding evil-looking weapons, like hooks, axes, and serrated blades. They have a wild, ferocious look about them, their eyes are bloodshot and you can see them aggressively antagonizing each other.

You watch as a small scuffle breaks out amongst three orcs, something about the remaining food cooking on the campfire. The half-eaten carcass of some mountain goat or similar animal lies knocked over, on the side of the campfire, and the two, smaller orcs are roughly shoving the bigger one, trying to grab it from behind him. The fight ends quickly, with the biggest of the three unsheathing a wickedly jagged blade from his hip and threatening the other two in Orcish. The other two back down swiftly and leave the last to feast on the corpse. It is a wonder that they managed to stay as a group at all, considering their hostile attitude to each other. Perhaps they are a raiding party, judging by how few of them there are, here for spoils and slaves. But why would they be so far out east? There's nothing out here except stone and shale......and then you remember that, no, there's something else out here: the Druids.

A cold fear pierces your lower back and crawls its way up your spine. Were these Orcs sent by the demon overlords to exterminate the Druids? Did that mean they know about your quest? When you look again, the Orcs do seem exhausted and battered. Their mix-and-match armor is dented in several places and some of them are bleeding freely, as if they had just escaped a pitched battle. You can only expect the worst.

There is a rustling from behind and you turn around, seeing Tri'lanna crawl up next to you on the ridge. Peering over the ledge, she looks down at the camp and scowls. The young elf lets out a low hiss, making clear her hatred for the Orcs, and quietly pulls an arrow out of her quiver, nocking it to her bow.

She looks at you expectantly, ready to strike at the word. They've yet to see you, so you still have the initiative to decide what to do.