Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24510587-20160913141844/@comment-35609040-20161022215903

(Sorry for my absense.  Just a bit of a technical error)

It was the strangest thing, thought Boshrug, thunder yet no rain. At best, it was a rockslide or an earthshake in a far quadrant of the woods. At worst, it could be that the others- No, no, they would be able to handle themselves. Otherwise they wouldn't have left him to look after the camp while they were gone. To think that the one who yearned for death was left in safety. The Orc felt something of an indignancy about it all. Perhaps the wolves might take him before the Daedra does. Malacath would hopefully count it.

For no reason in particular (defintely not the strange noise, mind you), Boshrug then decided to go for a stroll. It wasn't a bad place, in detail. Fine wood trees, newly dewed grass, a complete lack of birds (this was good, for birds were nothing but an annoyance). But put together, there was something eary about the woods. Something off. Something that seemed to be calling out for help. Warning about "pure insanity". The woods had a voice much like a Bosmer.

Or could it be? A familar face, at last! It was Evusil, the archer. Perhaps he knows about the distant clamour.

"Hullo, there!", Boshrug runs over to the elf's side, "My word, look at you!  Beaten like an apple, you are!  What have you been up to, having a war?"