After the others readjusted themselves atop their respective mounts, Ivorygate nodded and directed his horse after Aransandorian's stag. He made sure to keep his horse close behind the leader--as much as he wished to take command of the situation, he realized that these individuals may have as much of a reason to attempt to stop any further destruction from the vyldkin as the humans and have just as much of a right to help the cause as he did to lead them. Besides, he had no idea how to manuever through these woods, and Aransandorian was more than capable of leading the group through.
The others were rather quiet, which was interesting for a change. They all knew of the severity of the situation, and of course they knew that another destroyed settlement would only rile them further. Silently, the ambassador hoped that it would not come down to an entire settlement raining claws and steel down upon their ragtag group for even looking at someone in an awkward manner. If there was one thing that they all knew, it was that the vyldkin were not to be trifled with.
After a quick warning by their elven guide, the Bloodrazor settlement came into view, a small band of vyldkin standing by the outskirts of some of their large tents. They appeared to be packing and relocating to another part of the badlands--an ill-timed attempt for negotiation on the king's part, but they had managed to find the settlement before too much had been packed away. There was indeed that small fortune that graced the ambassador's current predicament, and he welcomed any extra luck that might help their cause.
The newcomer elf dismounted and walked toward the observing vyldkin, motioning back toward the group after a brief moment. Their members appeared displeased to see the approaching diplomat, especially one that stood next to a silver-furred vyldkin that wielded a greatsword nearly as large as the diplomat himself. He held his breath until the very moment that the group turned back toward their settlement, leaving the elf alone.
Taking the suggestions of the others into account with regards to his guards, Ivorygate dismounted and stood next to his steed. "Captain, you and your men will stay behind with the girl, make sure she does not come to harm while we discuss a potential peace deal."
"Sir, I will not allow myself to stay outside while you are putting yourself in peril," the captain protested, dismounting as well. "I insist on coming inside the settlement with you."
"Captain, I order you and your men to protect the girl. Take yourself a ways away and guard her with your lives. They already feel ill at-ease that we are even here, and allowing armed men into their complex will only serve to fan the flames. Besides, what difference will one armed guard make against dozens of vyldkin armed to the teeth with weapons and claws and physical superiority. As your quarry, I command that you stand down and allow the vyldkin their comfort and your absence." Ivorygate was not very pleased with the idea of an armed guard entering with them and being perceived as a threat to the very thin patience that the vyldkin had for their entire situation.
He turned to the others aside from Jura, grim-faced and stern. "Anyone that doubts their words and desire for peace stays out with the guards. They will protect you outside of the walls better than you would be able to help the cause." With that, Ivorygate turned back toward the elf and the retreating vyldkin, intent on continuing forward with diplomatic action, something that he was keen to begin. He had a feeling that the elves, the dwarf, and the dwehga would be interested in assisting him, but in what way? He supposed that they would undoubtedly have their reasons for making sure that war did not break out between the humans and the vyldkin, but would the elders of the Bloodrazor clan feel as if they were conspiring against their race in doing so?
The vyldkin of the camp shot the ambassador and the others dirty looks, wondering whether or not they would follow them to the large tent in the center of the camp. Ivorygate sighed and pushed ahead, leaving his guardsmen and Jura behind to wait for their return.
She realized what she had done. Fleeing from a hunt was hardly the most honorable thing one could do for the tribe, especially the final hunt before an Exodus, but she had done what she felt was necessary to keep herself from lashing out at her tribesmen. They technically had done nothing wrong, but her pride dictated that she was to have been the one to have landed the killing blow--none but the greatest of hunters were able to slaughter those massive beasts, even with help; but did that mean Gnash was a better hunter than she? Impossible! There was no conceivable way that Gnash was any better of a hunter than she! He was never as adept at combat and stealth as she!
The vyldkin continued to run across the badlands, not knowing whether the others cared enough to follow her--she highly doubted it--but still running with her axe at her side nonetheless. She needed to get away from the others for a bit, let herself cool off, perhaps kill a few smaller creatures on her own before returning back to the camp. They would not just up and leave without her, after all. Even if they had, she knew where they would be heading next.
Up ahead, though, she saw a few slight puffs of black smoke on the horizon. Her eyes grew wide as she sprinted ahead to see what exactly was causing this disturbance. She figured that it would be some sort of fire, but what was burning out in the middle of nowhere? Perhaps a settlement was out this far into the wilderness, but she never remembered the smoke being so black--
The stench overwhelmed her nostrils as she ventured closer. Burning bodies. Shredded tents. Charred fur. Funeral pyres. The entire clan had been killed. By whom, she did not know, nor did she care. In her anger, she unlatched her blood-stained axe and stood up on two legs before hurling it down into the ground and roaring in anguish. The cry echoed off on the winds, carrying as far as the vyldkin could see before disappearing across the horizon.
A rare sight indeed for a vyldkin to be brought to her knees, but sure enough, the sight of her blade-brothers smoldering before her very eyes was a powerful one. She knew this clan--the Whisperblades. They were a clan that managed to produce fine razor-sharp weapons; even she used a Whisperblade-crafted axe despite her clan's insistence that Bloodrazor steel was stronger. She had even received a blessing for this particular blade, but now... with their crafters slaughtered and their legacy only perpetuated by tales and legends...
The vyldkin felt a feral growl building in her chest as she released it toward the pyre ahead of her. She picked up her axe and reattached it to her belt--someone was going to answer for these crimes, and she herself would be judge, jury, and executioner. Turning to the south, the vyldkin bent back down on all fours before running away from the gristly site. Her clan had to know that the time for action was now before they were all slaughtered like the Whisperblades...