Gold and Glory (Closed to Niko)

“Sure fuckin hope I’m going the right way…” Crunch, Snap, Thwap.

The massive tower of jade known as Ravosh Irontusk found himself strolling through a rather dense jungle, the dried roots beneath his feet snapping with each step. He’d long opted from paths, and was in the process of forging his own trail to...wherever it was he was going. Stray branches and vines scratched ineffectually at his scarred upper body as his massive green hand batted at the wood like one would a pesky fly, sending splintered branches tumbling to the ground behind him as if he were snapping toothpicks. In his other hand he grasped a half crumpled piece of paper, although the text on it had long since bled into nothingness from the sheer perspiration of his body. It didn’t matter much anyways, he already knew what it said. Er, perhaps that was an incorrect statement, he’d seen “Reward” followed by a number he deemed to be worth his time, and inquired about the rest in person to spare him the headache of trying to decipher the cryptic secrets of written language.

“I can see how the dumb fuck got lost…” he grumbled out loud. “Fucking tree’s, all look the same. Not a ruin in sight...why would some archeo...guy be stumbling around out here looking for ruins?” His steely gaze rose from his feet and scanned the surrounding jungle. Trees, trees, oooh look a deer, wait no, that’s a tree. He glowered, gritting his teeth a bit. The only thing keeping him from going in circles was the fact that he could CLEARLY see where he’d already been. “Fucker better not be dead, his daughter wants him back in one piece or there’s not much of a reward.” That was Ravosh Irontusk for you. The orc didn’t particularly care much for people, just the things people could do for him, or give him. The way he saw it, live revolved around three G’s.

Gold.

Glory.

Getting Laid.

There was no glory in bringing back corpses, nor was their usually a lot of gold, and a grieving daughter would almost assuredly not reward him with a good time. Therefore, Ravosh had to work fast. The man had been gone for three days, had he been without water he would be dead by now. Without food? Probably a starving wreck. Had some fuck stabbed him? A corpse worth nothing to him. His train of thought was interrupted by an irritating buzzing, and the jade giant’s hand bolted to his neck with a wet THWAP.

“Fuckin bugs…” he growled.

The locals had warned him of “Disease bearing insects” whatever the fuck that meant. They’d tried to get him to take some tea with “Medicinal properties” but he’d told them to fuck off with that pansy shit. Instead they gave him a pouch of bitter herbs to chew on, which he’d much rather deal with over some prissy elven beverage. He grabbed a pinch and packed it into the lower corner of his mouth and chewed a bit, holding his pause while he figured out what to do. He refused to admit he was lost, but that didn’t stop it from being any less true...