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07/22/09(Wed)05:53 No. 5224357 The elf panted heavily under the weight of his master's baggage, and the pile of cases in his arms obscured his vision. The master's voice picked at his sensitive ears with unnecessary volume. “Pick up the pace, Bitterman, the game is afoot you know!” “Sir, it is inadvisable-” Bitterman stopped to catch a fallen racket with one foot, and carefully raise it up to his fingers, “-to pursue the Pugami in this terrain, at this time of day, they will smell us coming from miles away, we'll be walking into an ambush,” “Nonsense old chap, nonsense, these Pugami orcs are savages, they couldn't ambush their way out of an overturned tea saucer, much less pull a fast one on a MacTavish!” Bitterman sighed. Master Bully was rather proud of his heritage. Being the XVIIth Earl of Konugsanshire might have meant a lot back in the Dwarifish Isles, but here it just meant he had to introduce himself twice when people forgot. “Sir, perhaps-” “Not now Bitterman, I think I see them up ahead, put the luggage down, we'll make camp here to observe them, get a feel for the enemy, don't you know.” Bitterman carefully set down the leather suitcases, and heaved the immense pack off of his aching back. He hadn't seen where they had been going, through the magnitude of his load, but now he realized that they were atop the plateau, under scarce tree cover, and likely visible to every orc on the savannah. “Sir, perhaps this is not the ideal location, we are very visible at this-” “Not now, Bitterman, I'm conducting Reconnaissance.” Bully said, waving the elf off. Bitterman sighed, and set about gathering fuel for some tea. Bitterman had been a scholer once, back in the Gray Marsh. He had studied the standing stones of Old Osterth, and seen the sunken pillars of the great lost elven city of Aaladil. Now he was making tea for a dwarf in a silly hat. Could things get any worse?