“Bah, you’ll get notting from me, Yellowskin. I know your kind…and your smell. Scent of a coward, it is. Heh. You’ll do notting wit that blade. Ain’t notting you can do to hurt mees.”
“‘Hurt’ you? Who ever said anything about hurting you, Orc? If you don’t talk, I’m not going to simply ‘hurt’ you. I’m going to torture you to death.”
“N-no, you wouldn’t! You–it isn’t–I’ll–“
“You’ll…what? My patience wears thin with you, creature, and my dagger works faster than your tongue, so out with it!”
“The–there out among the fallens, specters roam, collecting souls and bones. Be wary of their paths, Yellowskin. To thems, plastic is plastic. Won’t matter much should you be breathing…least not if they getcha, eh? Heh! Oh, lookit dem trees across the field. The specters be comin!”
Your party sees an ominous glow coming just over the trees. It would be unwise to remain here. You begin making your way back to the path.
“Oi! Yellowskins! C’mon, huh? You can’t just leaven me here!”
The Ranger turns back over his shoulder, “Won’t matter much in a bit, will it, Orc?” He looks to the trees, “Plastic…is plastic.”