Morg Wolfsong had been searching the planes for a wolf ever since he was allowed outside his tribe walls. The Wolfsong tribe didnt take kindly to outsiders. They always hated humans anyway it went. Morg was raised to kill humans and become allies to those strong enough to be. Morg Wolfsong was a Orcish hunter looking to tame a rideing wolf. If he could catch one, he would be able to ride to war soon enough. He carried a staff with a spiked top. It was sharp and stained with blood from recent victims. Many never survived the horde's attacks. Many never was able to escape, even though some did. The tribe marched like a shadow across the land, spreading havoc and chaos to the land. All Morg knew was that his tribe was the only orcish tribe left. Many never believed that because they had gotten outsider orcs before. Many from caves or ravaged cities. They never though of attacking the Village of Kellen because it would be to risky and dangerous. The city had been heavily guarded ever since the fall of the last town. Many of the wolfsong tribe members ravaged or raided small nearby houses built out in the land. They only did to escape laws and taxes collectors, but they made a big mistake doing it. Many nowly moved into Kellen, some of the surviviers fomr other burned down or destoried cities. They useally came out from places the orcs never looked over. A celler, a passage inside the castle walls. Some bother but never found no one. The horde always held a bounty ot kill the most powerfulest in all cities. Useally they were bounty hunters or heros of the kingdom.

Phedre walked slowly through the plains, her loose, night black hair hidden under the hood of a matching, heavy black cloak. She hated the sun, and there was at least half an hour of it left in the day. The cloak's hood cast shadows over her face and kept her out of the sun's aggravating rays. Her eyes were a yellowish gold, seeming to reflect the color of the grain in which she walked through. She had wandered aimlessly into the prarie and had mistakenly not remembered the path in which she took to get there. She figured she would just walk until she saw something familiar, and if she didn't, it would be night soon anyway, and she could move comfortably. She stiffled a yawn with a gloved hand, it was early for her to be awake, but she couldn't sleep when morning finally came.

A slight breeze blew through her cloak making it seem to float eerily behind her. She walked with her arms limp at her sides, ready for an attack if one arose. She winced, smelling the scent of an orc, and made a face. A few feet ahead she saw a tall figure sweeping through the grain. She rolled her eyes, the orc wouldn't notice her if the race proved as dumb as other's she had met. She didn't say a word, just continued to walk closer and closer to him, hoping, out of boredom, that he would turn to see her.

Morg felt the air. The air had a stinch of dry leaves. The air was calm and the breeze was nice. He began to keep walking with his staff. He looked around. Everything was almost normal. He then thought about some of things he had been told about. Recent orcs falling to unknown creatures. Morg wasnt scared. Morg was just like the rest of the horde. Strong, Brave, and never scared. The battled liked honored heros from times past. After this land was taken away from them, they had been attacking settlements of humans. They never gave them enough time to build. They would charge out with huge axes in hand, or on wolves with deadly sharp teeth and claws. Morg always wanted to ride a wolf to war. He would hopefully get the chance someday. The air blew a hard breeze and then stoped. Morg then noticed he wasnt alone. There was a smell of a strange creature nearby. Morg lifted his Staff like a warrior would do a pole arm. Staff in both hands ready to attack. He knew he wasnt alone. He looked at the grain and stoped dead. It was coming from there. Something was in that grain. "Who are you human?!" he called out, "Speak or be killed.".

Morg was a dangerous fighter. He had been training with that staff ever since he had became a hunter. The staff wielded the souls of brave as they said. One that could wield a staff like that was consider a big hero. They believed that it held great powers from later uses. Many used staves like that to kill weaker creatures like wild boar and undead that came into the area.