Spoiler: OOC: A Barren
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Indeed, it is a barrel; that was a typo. Well spotted, 10 points to Gryffindor.


You wait a little longer, but Zachary doesn't reveal himself. He's not immediately nearby, it seems; but he couldn't possibly be far. He might be on the other side of the village, watching from some vantage. It doesn't seem unlikely that a veteran of the Alliance-Horde wars is apprehensive about wandering alone into an ogre village, regardless of how technically not affiliated with the Horde they are and technically not affiliated with the Alliance he now is.

Felix looks at the smashed barrel, and gives one of the wooden spars a little kick. "Looks like an ale keg. But I can't tell smells out here in the bog. Do ogres even drink ale? And not... Blood, or something?"

Mor'Lag is too cautious and internally drawn to rise and scold him for such a statement. The eyes of both heads look up, and you can trace her eyeline to a set of bluffs overlooking the village; the foothills belonging to the mountains that make up the border to the Southern Barrens. An upright shape - perhaps the size of a small ogre - is visible there; some kind of icon, or graven image. "That's Stonemaul ancestor stone," offers Mor.
"Probably carved from elven runestone in the Second War," appends Lag.
They offer no qualifier, but it seems obvious from the ogress's expressions that something about this icon, despite its typical sounding function, is unsettling Mor'Lag on an instinctive level.

Spoiler: Isaera's Investigation
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You pick through the scene with your critical elven eyes, and it seems to come together for you. The fragments of the barrel have stenciled fragments of ogre lettering that it would take a while to piece together, but you don't need to. On the busted baseplate of the barrel, you see traces of greenish residue that a less keen eye would mistake for mould. It's a yeast growth, stained green by the contents - Gordok Green Grog. You've never tasted the stuff yourself - Light, ugh, perish the thought - but the Brewfest celebrations that happen yearly across Azeroth now feature some ogre offerings prominently, and it's hard to forget the sight of your young cousin Lestavael, dared by his friends to down a pint of the stuff, violently ejecting it from his mouth as it overwhelmed his delicate elven palate.

This is high end grog, for the ogre consumer. And the puke nearby - ugh - is old enough that it must have been ejected from an ogre gullet this morning. Ogres are late risers, so it's unlikely they tied one on at breakfast to the point of sickness. And even though it's probably possible to alchemically examine this unpleasant expectoration to determine if there's poison involved, the more likely answer is that the ogres are having some kind of long celebration that has taken atleast a full day and then some; something worth breaking out the good stuff for. As for why the barrel is smashed - you can only assume an ogre wandered out here - alone, or perhaps in a pair - and made some room, only to begin refilling themselves with the last of that barrel. The smashing must just have been good, honest, destructive fun. What inebriated reveller doesn't enjoy smashing something, needlessly?