Wonderful 84.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

Mira Reinholt the mage looks away from lord Farque when the undead warlord turns his head to the wall behind them, lifts the visor of his full helm and drinks the small glass of juniper berry flavoured distilled spirits.
The once powerful mage glances at Dorc da Orc, and finds the large ork who is busy drinking from a tapped barrel of ale, has also turned his head away so that he isn't looking at the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
Somethings never change, Mira Reinholt thinks to himself, who then looks at the other patrons in the tavern as the heavily armoured deathlord finishes drinking, then closes the visor of his full helm, and looks forward again.
"Not surprised Dorc picked the more rowdy tavern in town" dryly says the exiled Vexilian mage, as the mostly human customers, are a rowdy lot to say the least. Well those who aren't staring at the ork warleader as he sits upon the floor drinking from a large barrel of ale.
"No wonder there's hardly any elves in here" says the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, as a bit of an argument breaks out. Which comes to a complete halt, when one of the serving women, takes a truncheon from beneath her apron, and thumps one of the argumentative men across the back of the head, knocking him out. Causing a fair bit of laughter from those nearby, and others who saw what happened.
"Ooohhh foods" says Dorc da Orc as one of the other serving women, and the tavern keeper bring out platters of food from the kitchen to him "Fucken yums" murmurs the large ork as he sees not single vegetable or piece of fruit on the platters, just meat.
Behind the visor of his full helm, lord Farque slightly frowns as he senses throughout the town and the surrounding area. The deathlord of Farque is sensing the two customers who hurriedly left the tavern earlier. They've met up with a group of elves at a building on the west side of the town, six of those elves, as well as one of the customers are heading quickly back this way.
The lord of the death realm senses two more of the elves from the same building, are rushing to the stables nearby. The undead warlord slightly nods his full helmed head as he figures those two elves will soon be riding out of town, heading south over the mountains.
"We're going to have company" quietly says lord Farque to the mage Reinholt "Oh?" says the once powerful mage who then asks "Who?". "House guards most likely" replies the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster lifts an eyebrow in an inquiring manner, and the heavily armoured deathlord tells him "I'm guessing they'll try to apprehend us".
"Great" dryly says the Vexilian mage in exile, who then nods his thanks to the serving woman who has just delivered him a plate of food. The spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, until he accidently went through a rift/void he miscast, and went offworld. Shrugs his shoulders, and starts eating, he might as well enjoy a good meal, it isn't as though he's had many good ones in a while, not since they left Belinswae, because they've been on the move all the time.
Lord Farque glances at Dorc da Orc and thinks about warning the ork warleader they're about to get some company fairly soon. But he decides not to, and will tell the large ork, who is busy stuffing links of sausages into his mouth, what he wants done when the time is right.
The lord of the death realm senses the group of elves outside, one hurries around to the rear of the tavern, where there must be a door that leads outside from the kitchen.
Draugadrottin as he's also known by to the people of his lands faraway to the south across the equator, senses other elves from the building on the west side of town, leaving it, and heading in this direction.
As he does, he senses one of the customers who left earlier, who is now out the front with the group of elves, approaching the front door, which opens a few moments later.
A man looks inside, and looks to the back wall, to the table where the lord and ruler of the lands Farque and the exiled Vexilian mage are sitting. The man then quickly closes the door, the swordmaster Reinholt who sees this, quietly says "That's one of the customers who took off earlier just after we entered".
"I know" says the deathlord of Farque, who then quietly says to the once powerful mage "He's brought the guards who are outside" the mage Reinholt who isn't wearing his cloak at the moment, nods his head, and after quickly checking that his swords are close to hand, goes back to eating his meal, and drinking from his goblet of dry red wine.
The front door of the tavern opens again, and five Haldéilv house guards file inside, though this would normally cause a stir in the tavern that's owned and run by a human, and is frequented by mostly humans.
It barely causes a ripple of murmur from some of the patrons this late afternoon, due to the fact of who is sitting on the floor, drinking and eating as much as he can.
Seeing the elven house guards look their way, Mira Reinholt murmurs to the heavily armoured deathlord "I'm pretty sure i recognise one of them from when she held me prisoner at her father's tower" the lord of the death realm slightly nods his full helmed head, then he glances sideways at Dorc da Orc, and after a brief moment as he contemplates something, lord Farque shrugs his broad, heavily armoured shoulders.
"Cunt, those elven fuckers are going to arrest you for not paying enough for all that fucking grog and food you've got" says Draugadrottin in the ork language "Huh?" says Dorc da Orc in his native language "Da fuck?" adds the ork warleader with a scowl upon his face, who then mutters "Me pays plenty of fucken coins for this shit".
"What pointy eared cuntholes?" asks Dorkindle "Those one's" replies the undead warlord who nods towards the elven house guards who are drawing their weapons as they cross the tavern floor and make their way to the back wall, heading to the table where lord Farque and Mira Reinholt are sitting.
"Those fucken assholes" growls the ork weaponsmith, who only sees a group of elven house guards drawing weapons and heading this way, not seeing they're not paying particular attention to him, and that they're focusing on the deathlord of Farque and the exiled Vexilian mage.
"Are we going to do anything?" murmurs Mira Reinholt as he watches the approaching Haldéilv house guards "We are" quietly says lord Farque, just then a loud roar comes from their left where Dorc da Orc is sitting on the floor, then a large ale barrel, now empty, goes flying through the air.
The empty barrel smashes into one elven house guard, who goes flying. While it clips another, who spins away like a top before hitting the floor. There's a brief moments pause throughout the tavern, which is shattered by a roar from Dorc da Orc who is getting up off the floor. Bedlam ensues.
People get up from their benches and chairs and flee, while the three Haldéilv house guards still on their feet, who were focusing on where lord Farque and Mira Reinholt are sitting, looking at the large, menacing figure of the ork warleader, who shouts something at them in the ork language, which of course that don't understand.
"Fucken Dorc's grub and grog ya cunts" shouts the ork weaponsmith in his native language, who then adds "Fuck off me pays for it already" as he moves towards the elven house guards who are still standing and conscious.
"Out of the way cunt" growls Dorkindle who shoves a customer away, sending him flying over a table as he tried to run by the large ork to the kitchen, so he could escape the carnage.
As the tavern keeper yells "My tavern! Don't wreck it!" the mage Reinholt quietly asks the deathlord of Farque "What did you tell him?" the undead warlord quietly replies with "They're going to arrest him for not paying for his food and drink" the once powerful mage snorts, then briefly chuckles before saying "Well that'll do it alright" he then leans back against the wall behind him and watches the ensuing chaos.
"Get some" growls Dorc da Orc who throws a punch, which one of the elven house guards easily avoids. Not so the other house guard, who comes at the large ork from the side, and ends up with Dorkindle's other arm, which is swinging, smashing into his chest, sending him flying over a table and bench behind him.
The warleader of the ork race grunts as he's hit in the flank by a sword, which catches the edge of the black breast plate he wears. A plate of natural dragon armour. The elven house guards sword shatters in two.
He stands their blinking in surprise, looking at just the hilt and a few inches of the blade that he still holds.
Until he's grabbed by Dorc da Orc, who flings him away to the side, where he slams into a one of the goblins in the tavern. Who has just got up after tripping over the other goblin, who is on the floor dazed, after slipping over.
The ork weaponsmith growls as he turns to confront the remaining house guard, the one he threw a punch at and missed. The guard in the service of lord Haldéilv, is a bit more cautious, and he backs up, flinging a throwing dagger in his left hand, while he clutches the hilt of his sword in the other.
Dorkindle grunts, then mutters "Cunt" after the dagger slices along his face, cutting open his left cheek, before thudding into the wall right between where lord Farque and Mira Reinholt are sitting, neither of who moved an inch as the dagger came towards them.
The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks glances down, and picks up a fallen sword, he flings it underarm at the elven house guard who is backing away.
"Ha!" laughs Dorc da Orc who then adds "That'll learn ya" as the elven house guard falls backwards dead, with the sword through his mail shirt, the large ork then looks around when he hears lord Farque say "Cunt".
"Huh what?" murmurs the ork weaponsmith who sees the lord and ruler of the lands Farque nod his full helmed head to his right, the ork warleader looks that way, to the kitchen. And sees the elven house guard who was at the back of the tavern, at the kitchen door, looking in, with his mouth open in astonishment at what he sees.
Dorkindle picks up an overturned bench and throws it. The bench narrowly avoids the goblin who slipped over, and is now trying to get up. And passes over the head of the serving woman, who is on her hands and knees, trying to flee towards the kitchen.
The bench crashes into the astonished looking house guard at the kitchen door, he disappears from view when he goes flying backwards into the kitchen.
"Good" declares Dorc da Orc, who then adds "That's all of them cunts" the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks picks up a tankard of ale on a table to his right, he downs the ale in one gulp. Then throws the empty tankard at the goblin still trying to get up off the floor. The tankard smashes into the goblin's head, who drops to the floor.
"Fucken gob-a-lin" mutters the large ork, who takes a step back to where he was sitting, as he wants to eat what remains of his food, when lord Farque says to him "Cunt".
The lord of the death realm points at the front door, and says to the big ork he named warleader "More of them are coming for you".
"What the fuck?" mutters Dorkindle, who turns and looks at the front door of the tavern, which is open as a couple of the remaining customers flee out through it. The large ork sniffs, then scowls as he smells a number of elves quickly approaching the front of the tavern.
Dorc da Orc looks at the open front door, then at the table to his right, his eyelids slightly narrow as he looks back at the front door, then again at the table next to him.
The large ork grunts, then picks up the table, and holds it infront of him, the table is a good twelve feet long, and the ork warleader holds it upright as he stomps his way towards the open front door of the tavern.
"This should be interesting" says Mira Reinholt after he takes a drink from his wine goblet as he watches Dorc da Orc picking up speed as the large ork heads to the front door of the tavern, with a long table held up infront of him.
The once powerful mage is nudged in the right elbow by lord Farque who says to him "See if they've got anymore of that distilled spirits" the mage Reinholt shrugs and gets up and heads to the bar.
As he does, Dorkindle shouts "Get some!" and crashes through the tavern's front door frame, and the wall immediately surrounding it with the table he's holding . . . . . .

Wonderful 83.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

After yawning, Mira Reinholt the mage asks "Which one are they up?" lord Farque points and says "That one" the once powerful mage squints as he looks at the mountain in the distance to the south that the undead warlord has pointed to.
Hell, we're not to going to catch up to them anytime soon, the Vexilian mage in exile thinks to himself, who then stretches his arms above his head, and leans back against a tree trunk, taking a deep breath as he does so. While nearby, Dorc da Orc stands panting beneath the branches of another tree, glaring up at the late afternoon sky. The large ork is feeling the heat, as they've walked much of the day since the battle in the air this morning. And when they haven't walked, the mage Reinholt has teleported them, though only short distances, he can only go about a half a mile by himself at most, with all three it's barely quarter of a mile.
His lack of power is telling when it comes to spells that deal with weight, which teleportation is one.
After glancing at the ork warleader, the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, switches to the elven language and says to the heavily armoured deathlord "Why don't you just go ahead and catch up to them" Mira Reinholt who knows the lord and ruler of the lands Farque could easily catch up to Helbe the elven thief and the others, adds "Me and Dorc will catch up later on".
The lord of the death realm who has contemplated that very thing often throughout the day. First looks at the once powerful mage, who needs to rest and recuperate to gain back some of his limited power he's used during the day. Unless he wants to drain the remaining spell gem he's got, which he tends to only use during a battle or fight, like he did this morning.
Then looks at the ork he named warleader five years ago in the city of Vexil. Who is struggling in the late afternoon heat, especially since he hasn't had much to drink today. The only thing he has, was when the undead warlord forced him to drink some water, when he dunked the large ork's head in a stream, and held him under until Dorc finally opened his mouth and drank.
"No" says lord Farque in the elven language, who spent too much time finding the two of them when they were prisoners of Kaldeàlil Haldéilv. He doesn't want all that time to be wasted again, as the two of them are bound to get into trouble if he's not around. Well, really that's Dorkindle. But the swordmaster Reinholt can easily get into trouble at times too.
"We stick together" adds Draugadrottin as he's also known by, to the people of his lands "Just like old times" dryly says the exiled Vexilian mage, who then softly chuckles when the heavily armoured deathlord glances at him, and in the eye slots of his full helm, the once powerful mage sees the deathlord of Farque roll his eyes.
"Dorc we're going" says lord Farque in the common language "Nah we waits until nights" says Dorc da Orc who then adds "Nots so fucken hots then" the ork weaponsmith then mutters "Fucken cunty hot at the mo".
"There's a town not far, we'll stop there for a drink" says the lord of the death realm who knows exactly what to say to get the large ork moving "Booze?" says the ork warleader whose mouth starts to water, the heavily armoured deathlord nods, then Dorkindle says "Why didn't you fucken say so" then he hurries up to the road to their right, stumbling the first few steps as he does so.
The mage Reinholt shakes his hooded head, then he along with the undead warlord walk up the short incline to the road, which once they're on, they continue on their way south.
For the most part they've kept off the road, because there's been quite a bit of traffic on it, riders going both south and north, many of them guards in the noble house of Haldéilv. While others have clearly, for those who know what to look for, been mercenaries. Even though they've taken measures to hide the fact they're hired mercenaries.
Now in the late afternoon sunshine, the only others on the stretch of road they're on, is a wagon to the south, heading north. And it's not long before the horse drawn wagon goes by them on the otherside of the road.
The human farmer at the reins, and by the looks of it, his son on the wagon bench beside him, just stare at the large ork as he walks by, who eyes their horse up, before looking at the baskets in the back of their wagon, until he snorts when he finds them empty.
"How far to this fucken town?" asks Dorc da Orc when the wagon is about a hundred yards behind them "About two and half miles or so" replies lord Farque "You said it was fucken close" growls the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, who then shuts up when he sees the lord and ruler of the lands Farque just looking at him.
Krom! Me fucken thirsty now! Dorkindle thinks to himself, who grunts, then lets out a long, whistling sigh when lord Farque points to the mountains and says "It's closer to them, it's not that far".
The road, which is paved, eventually turns to the west, where at the turn, is a blind of trees, which leads to the forest at the foothills of the close by mountains. They turn west, and head to the town a few hundred yards away. On the road they see just a pair of riders, who gallop by them, heading northwards. The two mounted men openly stare at Dorc da Orc as they ride by. "Fucken mercs" mutters the large ork who could easily identify who they were, even though they've got no weapons that are that visible, and by outward appearances, they aren't wearing any armour.
"Well?" asks lord Farque who sensed Mira Reinholt expend a little bit of power to read the mind of one of the riders who went by "She hired them" says the Vexilian mage in exile, who continues with "Messengers to find out anything about the others". "They know anything about us?" asks Des'tier as he's known to an older generation of elven kind in the Southlands who might know who he is.
"No, nothing" replies the swordmaster Reinholt who continues with "She doesn't seem to of told any of them about us" then he nods towards the town ahead, and he adds "Though there's a good chance a lot of the town folk, and any house guards there will know about the two of us" Mira nods at the mountains close by and says "Her father's tower is just on the otherside of those, i bet most people in the area will of known what happened two weeks ago when you broke me free".
"I know that" dryly says lord Farque, who then tells the mage Reinholt "Take your cloak off, you'll be less recognisable without it on". "What about you?" asks the highly skilled swordmaster as he starts taking off his black hooded summer cloak, he then adds in a slightly dry tone "You're pretty hard to forget".
Draugadrottin shrugs his broad, heavily armoured shoulders then says in the elven language "Hopefully everyone is distracted by the fat fucking idiot here" as he nods his full helmed head slightly in the direction of Dorc da Orc "He garners attention like flies to shit". "That's for sure" murmurs the spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, who then silently adds, and the fact he also smells like shit.
The three of them from south of the equator enter the town, with Dorkindle making a beeline straight to the nearest inn or tavern that he's caught wind of. The deathlord of Farque and the Vexilian mage in exile follow him.
Finding what he wants, the ork warleader stomps up the steps to a tavern, he pushes open the door, ducks down and enters. Inside he looks to the long bar, when people turn and stare at him "Booze!" calls out Dorc da Orc to the tavern keeper.
"Ah what would you like?" asks the proprietor of the tavern who is a human, who caught the gist of what the large ork asked for in his deep, growling voice "Fucken all of it!" replies the ork weaponsmith, who makes his way to a table against the back wall.
Those patrons who are up and in his path, scatter quickly out of the way unless they want to get bowled over. Dorkindle glances at one of the benches around the table, then he grunts and sits on the floor next to the table, leaning up against the wall behind him, and he calls out to the tavern keeper "Hurry up with that booze cunt!".
Lord Farque and Mira Reinholt enter the tavern, they don't garner nearly as much attention as Dorc da Orc as they cross to where the warleader of the ork race is sitting. Though both of them do notice a few people frowning as they look at the two of them.
After sitting down at the table which the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks is sitting next to, the mage Reinholt looks around and sees that the patrons in the tavern are predominantly human, with just four elves, and even a couple of goblins here as late afternoon edges towards sunset.
After seeing a couple of townsmen quickly get up from a table and exit the tavern, the once powerful mage whispers to lord Farque "We might of been recognised" knowing that the undead warlord will be able to hear him.
"It can't be helped" quietly says the lord of the death realm, while the tavern keeper rolls over a barrel of ale, and one of the serving women hurries over with an arm full of ceramic wine bottles for the large ork.
"Here, fucken keep 'em coming" says Dorkindle who gives the serving woman a handful of coins, golds, silvers and coppers, after she gives him the half dozen bottles of wine.
"And you sirs?" asks the serving woman who looks at the two from south of the equator sitting at the table "A dark, dry red wine" replies Mira Reinholt, who glances at the heavily armoured deathlord, who slightly nods "Any distilled spirits?" the Vexilian mage in exile asks the serving woman, who replies with "We do, the juniper berry, or the greenberry one".
"Juniper" says the once powerful mage, who then adds "And something to eat for me as well" he then nods to where Dorkindle is downing the last of the six bottles of wine he's got, and he points at him and says "And all the meat you've got, cooked or otherwise, for him".
After the serving woman hurries off, and the tavern keep taps the barrel for Dorc da Orc, which the large ork prefers instead of the lid being taken off, as he tends to spill a lot of booze if he drinks from a barrel without a lid.
The mage Reinholt who is holding his power within himself, murmurs to the lord of the death realm "Any elven nobles in town?". "None" is the quietly reply of lord Farque, who then adds "One on a griffon to the north, and another further away to the west in a village".
After glancing at Dorc da Orc who has lifted up the barrel of ale, and has turned the tap open so that it's contents streams out and into his open mouth, the deathlord of Farque who senses the rest of the group going over the saddle of a mountain nearby, quietly tells the exiled Vexilian mage "Though there's a bunch of them on the otherside of the mountains".
And as the serving woman makes her way back to the table with their drinks, the undead warlord quietly says to the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster "Including her" he continues with "Feels like she's in that town across the river at the other end of the valley from her father's tower".
"The bitch" sourly mutters Mira Reinholt who despises the elven magic user Kaldeàlil Haldéilv because she kept him prisoner for nearly two months, cutting him off from his magic at that time, something he finds unforgivable, and which he intends to make her pay dearly for.
"Thank you" says the mage Reinholt after the serving woman puts their drinks on the table, he pays her, then pushes the small glass cup of distilled spirits to lord Farque, while he takes a sip from his goblet of dry red wine . . . . . .

Wonderful 82.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

"I don't know why, but I've got a feeling they're near" says Kaldeàlil Haldéilv the elven magic user not long after coming out through a rift into the lands of the Walashàele family "How near?" asks Harrick the mercenary guard as he looks down at the riverside town a half a mile away, then further west in the long valley, into the lands of Kaldeàlil's father, lord Haldéilv.
She looks that way too, looking more to the northwest, to the mountains, some of which are only five or six miles from her father's seat of power, which she can see in the distance, which the tor the palatial like tower sits upon, bursts out from the forest around it.
"Not far" quietly says the attractive elven maid, who continues with "Near" followed by a nod of her head to the mountains to the northwest of where they are, and she adds "In those mountains, I'm sure of it".
"Crossing over into your father's lands?" asks Linden the younger of the two mercenary guards from the south of the region of Belinswae "Yes,  more than likely" says Kaldeàlil Haldéilv who doesn't know for sure that those they're after are there, she just has a feeling that's where they're most likely to be.
"Well if they are, our men" says Harrick, who briefly pauses then adds "And elves, have a good chance of finding them" he pauses once more, before continuing with "Your father's guards too" he gestures away to the mountains that are predominantly on the Haldéilv side of the river, and he says "They're crawling all over the mountains since yesterday".
The elven magic user nods in agreement, then she briefly glances directly south to the dry, arid plains in the distance where the nomad tribes make their home. Then she looks down the hill road they're just off, and sees the small squad of hired mercenaries who came through the rift with them, are making their way down to the riverside town below.
The attractive elven maid who knows she can't be sensed by other spellcasters, quietly says to the two human mercenaries she hired on the coast of southern Belinswae "If they are in the mountains, i might have to make myself known to my father and others".
"You still going go ahead with that part?" asks Harrick, Kaldeàlil Haldéilv nods her head yes, then quietly says "I am" the mercenaries from Belinswae briefly share a look, then the older of the two quietly says "There's talk that justifier is still in residence at your father's, there's a good chance he'll get involved too, especially with what happened when we were last over there".
"I'm hoping he does" murmurs Kaldeàlil Haldéilv in the elven language knowing that the two human mercenaries only know a few basic words and greetings in the language of her people, the  attractive elven maid switches back to the common language as the three of them sit upon their horses just off to the side of the hill road, and says "If he does, it'll be to our benefit" she then adds "The more confusion the better for us, especially when it comes to dealing with that tricky princeling I'm after".
The elven magic user, who is too faraway from her father's seat of power to sense that he's actually there at the moment. Suspects the head of the Haldéilv family is there at this point in time. Just hopes that her father is more than angry when he discovers her, which she is planning on him to do.
Which she hopes will help her incapacitate or kill prince Helbenthril Raendril who she's been after for the past three years, ever since he killed her lover, Xanderlith Karlavilt the elven magic user in his homeland, the elven principality of Alínlae, in the Southlands.
"Well whatever happens, you can't do it until we know they're in the immediate area for certain" says Harrick, who along with his fellow mercenary guard from Belinswae, Linden, is privy to pretty much all of Kaldeàlil Haldéilv's plans. Though not all of it, as the illegitimate daughter of lord Haldéilv has held back some of her plans from Harrick and Linden.
With a clicking sound from her mouth, and a nudge from the heels of her boots, the elven magic user sets her horse into motion, the two mercenaries from southern Belinswae do likewise, and the three of them are quickly back onto the hillside road, which they then head down to the town on the banks of the river, here at the edge of the Walashàele family's lands.
As they ride downhill, Kaldeàlil Haldéilv looks back behind them, to the east, where she senses something approaching. Soon she sees a griffon fly over the cliff walls at the eastern end of the valley "One of lord Walashàele's offspring i think" quietly says the attractive elven maid as the two mercenaries look back to the east, and soon spot the griffon in the afternoon sky on the late summer's day.
"No doubt he's getting worried with everything going on here near the edge of his lands, and he's sent one of his kin to see what's happening" quietly says the astute Harrick, who was once a justifier's guard in southern Belinswae, until he quit and became a mercenary for hire.
"More than likely" says Kaldeàlil Haldéilv as they watch the griffon which looks like it's heading to the town down next to the river, the attractive elven maid looks at the two mercenaries who she hired to guard her former prisoner, the mage Mira Reinholt, and tells them "This might work to our advantage too" the elven magic user silently adds, nothing like a little cross border rivalry to add to the mix.
The illegitimate daughter of lord Haldéilv faintly smiles at the prospect of what could happen with elven nobles who are fierce rivals, basically enemies, though never publicly admitting it. Being in close proximity to one another. Even better if one or the other were to cross into one another's lands.
"You know who it is?" quietly asks Linden as they see the griffon is more to the north of them, and is approaching the river town from that direction, than due east like they are.
"One of the heirs" says Kaldeàlil Haldéilv who vaguely recognises who the griffon rider is "Heirs?" says Harrick with a frown upon his face "Lord Walashàele has three offspring, the first two are twins" she nods towards the griffon in the afternoon sky and adds "That's one of the twins".
"That's rare for you elves isn't it?" says the older of the two mercenaries from the southern coast of Belinswae, who then adds "Twins" the elven magic user nods her head, then says "Extremely rare" she continues with "Even more so amongst the nobility".
They watch as the griffon slowly circles in the air just to the east of the river, north of the town itself. It's obvious to all watching it from the ground, that the rider is looking and watching what's happening to the west of the river, in the lands of the Haldéilv family. Before the griffon eventually drifts down to the ground, and lands on the north side of the town bellow.
Not long afterwards and the three of them enter the town that sits on the east bank of the river. A town that sees a lot of cross river activity, with many going across the bridges from either noble lord's lands to another. Though never the nobility themselves, or their house guards. Well that's to say, not their guards in uniform.
Kaldeàlil and the two human mercenaries from Belinswae stable their mounts at the inn they stay at while in town. Then the three of them, without acknowledging any of the mercenaries the attractive elven maid has hired, who happen to be in town at the moment. Wander northwards through the riverside town.
As they do, the elven magic user quietly says to the two mercenaries "The daughter, Jalindílth i think her name is" the three of them make their way to a bakers, where they sit down at one of the small, round tables on the covered porch infront of the bakery.
They look down to a large stone building, near one of the bridges about fifty yards away. The building is a toll house, where one has to pay a toll if you're taking goods across to the Haldéilv lands. It's one of only a handful of places in the entire principality of Maladimbáh where tolls actually exist. Though those on foot or riding may cross without paying a toll if they're crossing over without any kind of goods.
After Linden goes into the bakery, and comes back out a short while later with some pastries, both savory and sweet. And one of the baker's assistant comes out and pours a rich sweet, red wine into small glass tumblers for them.
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv who is looking at the griffon asleep behind the toll house, who can sense the elven noble Jalindílth Walashàele within the building. Spots a Walashàele house guard, come out of the toll house, get on his mount, and head quickly north on the road that runs next to the river.
The attractive elven maid who has read the mind of the house guard, quietly says to the two mercenaries from the south of Belinswae "Seems we're going to see more house guards coming into town". "A build up of troops?" quietly asks Harrick, the elven magic user nods her head yes, then the older of the two mercenaries asks "Conflict between the two lords?".
"Could very well be" quietly says the illegitimate daughter of the local lord across the river, who then adds "There hasn't been any serious battles between the two families since i was very young" Kaldeàlil Haldéilv continues with "And from when we were staying over there with our prisoner" she nods to the otherside of the river before adding "I didn't hear of anything major happening between my father's and lord Walashàele's forces in the near seventy years I'd been away".
"Nor did we hear anything" says Linden as he and Harrick would often speak with the house guards in the palatial like tower that's lord Haldéilv's seat of power "Well nothing major that is, just the odd cross border skirmish, usually away from where people live" adds Linden.
The elven magic user who takes a sip of the sweet wine in her tumbler after finishing a pastry, continues to watch the toll house, where they see two other house guards, both mounted, ride away, one down the road that goes south before curving east. And the other through the town, to the hillroad that goes east, the road that the three of them came to town on. A short while later, two elves come out of the back of the toll house, make their way around it, and walk across the bridge to lord Haldéilv's lands.
"House guards" murmurs Kaldeàlil Haldéilv to the two mercenaries as she nods to the two elves, one looking like a forester, and the other a crafter of some kind, who have just gone over the stone bridge to her father's lands.
"Things are definitely getting more complicated" quietly says Harrick "Good" murmurs the attractive elven maid who then silently adds, the more complicated the better, especially if I'm to pull this off.
As the elven magic user continues to sense the elven noble in the toll house below, who has no idea that Kaldeàlil Haldéilv is about, thanks to the amulet she wears on a silver thread chain, around her neck, which shields her from other spellcasters.
Linden quietly says "One of ours" as he nods to the road that comes out of the trees on the otherside of the river.
There one of the human mercenaries Kaldeàlil has hired here in lord Walashàele's lands, can be seen riding to the bridge below, which he crosses into the lands of the Walashàele family.
Linden is already up, and walking down to the road that goes through town, which the rider soon comes up. The younger of the two mercenaries from Belinswae has a brief word with the rider who stops nearby. Harrick looks quickly at the elven magic user who he knows can read the mind of the mounted mercenary if she wants to. So he's not too surprised when Kaldeàlil Haldéilv murmurs "Shit".
As Linden hurries back to the bakery, and the rider heads further into town, the older of the two mercenary guards from Belinswae asks the attractive elven maid "Is it them?".
"No something else" says the illegitimate daughter of lord Haldéilv who gestures to the mountains to the northwest and adds "One of our lookouts up there" Harrick knows that would be one of the elven mercenaries, the attractive elven maid adds "Watched an aerial battle early this morning further north in my father's lands, about twenty miles north of the mountains".
"Griffons?" quietly asks Harrick as Linden rejoins them "Between nobles?" adds the older of the two mercenary guards "Between griffons and wyverns" says Kaldeàlil Haldéilv, Linden nods his head as he sits down, as that's what the mercenary rider told him.
"Wyverns?" says Harrick in surprise, who then murmurs "Who the hell could that be?" the elven magic user refrains from grimacing as she has a good idea who it could exactly be.
Great, that's all i need, that thing and that damn mage turning up and making a mess of everything I've planned, Kaldeàlil Haldéilv thinks to herself, who there and then decides to move forward with the rest of her plans . . . . . .

Wonderful 81.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

Riley Hait the mercenary ranger looks from the screen of trees that they're behind, to the close by mountains away to his left. On the otherside, the southside, they've learnt is the seat of power of lord Haldéilv. The mercenary ranger looks back at the screen of trees, and figures someone must of spotted them on the road to the right, that leads to the town that's less than few hundred yards away.
The ranger Hait refrains from sighing, and turns and makes his way back through the trees to the others. Glancing at the close by peaks to the south. They're not as heavily wooded as the mountains they've already crossed or seen further north in the principality of Maladimbáh.
He figures it must have something to do with the close proximity to the Nomads Plains, which apparently you can clearly see from the otherside of the mountains.
Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman slightly nods his head as a few clouds scuttle by in the late morning sky. The brief shade they offer is soon gone, as he walks back to others, and waits for Helbe the elven thief and Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy to come back from the nearby town.
Looking more or less line like one of the local towns people, Dalinvardél Tanith walks by a wheelwrights, then a coopers, he turns into a short lane, where the shops of many of the smiths in the town are located.
He walks by both coppersmiths, and a silversmiths, then by a tin and pewter merchant, the only human owned business in the lane.
The elven spy form the principality of Alínlae in the Southlands has a few words with the wagoner to the side of the tin and pewter merchant, who is dropping off some stock there.
Dalinvardél who the others in the group often call Dalin, thanks the wagoner after speaking to him, and continues on, walking to the end of the lane, and turning left onto one of the roads that cuts through the town.
The elf who once served one of the noble houses of his homeland faraway to the south, glances left up at the mountains that look like they loom over the town as he makes his way along the road. Dalinvardél Tanith from what they've learnt while traveling south, know that lord Haldéilv's tower, is just four or five miles from the southern side of the close by mountains.
And from what he's learnt in the short time he's been in town, the local elven lord is after them. Or groups of mercenaries in general. Lord Haldéilv seems to be also after his illegitimate daughter Kaldeàlil, who apparently has returned to his lands after fleeing nearly two weeks ago. His illegitimate daughter who is not welcome here by all accounts.
Seems she's as popular as ever, Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy dryly thinks to himself, who then crosses the road when he spots a familiar hooded figure walk from a shop, the elf from the principality of Alínlae joins prince Helbenthril Raendril who waits for him outside the bakers he's just exited.
"Seems a fair bit has happened lately" quietly says Helbe the elven thief when the other elf from south of the equator joins him, the young elven noble who has a cloth bag of freshly baked bread loafs, nods his hooded head the way Dalin has just come from, the two of them start walking back that way.
"I guess you've found out we're wanted, well all groups of traveling mercenaries are wanted?" quietly says Dalinvardél Tanith, the elven princeling from Laerel nods his hooded head that he has, then he quietly says "She is too".
"So I've heard" murmurs the elven spy, who stops as the elven masterthief gestures for him to, and they look at the open door of a leather workers shop, and the elven magic user starts talking about getting a new set of reins, as behind them on the road, a squad of five mounted house guards ride by.
Once they've rode by, barely glancing at the two elves from the Southlands, Helbe the elven thief and Dalinvardél Tanith continue on their way.
They walk by the lane that the elven spy went through, and as they walk eastwards through the town, the elven magic user quietly says "She's up to something" a tight grin briefly appears on the face of prince Helbenthril Raendril, before he quietly adds "Most likely something to do with me".
"Well no surprises there" dryly murmurs Dalin with a slight shake of his head, then he nods when the young elven noble says to him "Though she's not exactly liked by her father for some reason or another". "Could you find out why?" quietly asks the elven spy from the principality of Alínlae "Something happened at her father's tower a couple of weeks ago, whatever it was it was apparently her fault" then by way of quick mindspeech spell to Dalin, the elven magic user informs him that he hasn't been able to find out what exactly happened there from the people's minds he's read in town, including the house guards who just rode by a short time ago.
The elven masterthief who is shielded so that other magic users can't sense his magical power and abilities, glances at everyone on the road he sees, reading their minds to see what people, mostly elves, know about them as a group, and about Kaldeàlil Haldéilv.
Most have heard the general rumours that they've already found out. That mercenaries have been seen throughout lord Haldéilv's lands, and that some of them, have apparently attacked his guards. While the illegitimate daughter of the local lord, is supposed to be brought before her father if she's caught in his lands, for an incident that's supposed to of happened at his palatial like tower that's located to the south of the mountains close by to the town.
"Wait a moment" quietly says the grandson of Prince Raendril of Laerel as he looks across the road to a tavern, where a man and an elf have just exited "Mercs" the elven magic user whispers to his fellow elf from south of the equator.
Dalinvardél Tanith glances at the two across the road, who are walking east, there's no apparent weapons on the two in question, apart from belt knives. But the elven spy can see the telltale signs of hidden weapons, and that they're wearing armour beneath their cloaks and tunics.
Dalin glances at the young elven noble beside him, who lifts both eyebrows up, then quietly says "Interesting" the elven master assassin follows that up with a whispered "Not here". The two of them continue on their way, watching the two mercenaries on the otherside of the road, who soon turn onto a street to their left, and head down a public stables.
Dalinvardél Tanith and Helbenthril Raendril continue eastwards along the road, that goes out the town, the two of them from the Southlands, leave the town, walking behind a farm wagon, that's brought in produce this morning. The wagon goes along the stone road that turns northeast, while the two elves from south of the equator, make their way along a track that leads to a screen of trees.
"Well i know part of what she's up to" quietly says Helbe the elven thief, who glances at the slightly taller elven spy, and tells him "She's hiring mercenaries to find us, as well as others to attack her father's guards".
"Why would she do that?" asks Dalin with a slight frown upon his face as they enter the screen of trees "Blame it on us, so that her father and his house guards are after us too" says the elven magic user, who then adds "Stop here for a bit" then he turns and looks back the way they've come, where they can see the road that heads northeast, about eighty yards away, where it turns in a slight dip.
As the two of them stand behind the trunks of a couple of trees, they soon see a pair of riders coming from the town, one an elf, the other a man, it's the two the elven prince identified as mercenaries.
Both Helbenthril Raendril and Dalinvardél Tanith look back behind them and see Riley Hait the mercenary ranger approaching them, once he joins them, the grandson of Prince Raendril quietly tells the other two "No one can see us" as he's blurred the three of them.
They watch the two riders go along the road that heads northeast, once they're out of sight, Riley Hait the mercenary ranger quietly asks "Who were they?" he then adds "By the looks of them,  i would say they're mercenaries".
"They are" replies the young elven noble, who drops the blur spell he has on the three of them, then he tells the ranger Hait what he and the spy Tanith found out in the nearby town.
As they walk back through the trees to where the others are waiting, the elven masterthief gestures to the mountains that are close by, and he says "There's a busy road that goes through the mountains" he continues with "We won't be taking that" Helbe the elven thief then adds "There's a little known trail that goes right up one of the mountains, we'll use that instead" he looks at the other two, before saying "Even so, there's a good chance that there could be both house guards and mercenaries along it waiting for us, I've sent her up to see how things are".
Both Riley Hait and Dalinvardél Tanith nod in understanding, then the mercenary ranger who is in actual fact is really a hordes outrider from the southern tundra, says "She's determined to stir things up to catch you isn't she?" the elven princeling nods his hooded head, then says "That she is" after a brief pause, Helbenthril Raendril adds "Did you expect anything less?".
They rejoin the others, and after the elven magic user puts the fresh beard he purchased in town in the saddlebags of the pack horses, he along with the rest of the group mount up, and ride through the trees.
"Up the mountains then chaps?" asks sir Percavelle Lé Dic who points ahead to the mountains infront of them, Helbe the elven thief nods, then points at one mountain in particular, not as tall as some of the others, but still stands in excess of six thousand feet, and he says "That one" the elven master assassin continues with "We should be up and over to the otherside by nighttime" he then adds "There's a sacred grove on the otherside of it, some of the locals spend time there, hopefully we can find out some more information if anyone is there when we get there".
The group from the Southlands are fairly quiet as they ride towards the mountain they're going to go up and over, with an occasional comment said by one of them, mostly Tamric Drubine or Lisell Maera. Even the usually talkative sir Percavelle is fairly silent as they ride through the forest that goes up into the foothills.
The peaks themselves are quite devoid of trees, with the one they're going to head up, one of few that has trees going quite a way up the mountainside. Apparently on the south facing side of the range, the tree cover is even less, though down off the mountains on that side, is long valley, liberally covered in forest, where the tower of the lord Haldéilv is located. While at the eastern end of the valley, across a river, lies the lands of the Walashàele family, rivals and neighbours of the Haldéilv's.
As they pick their way through and between the trees and they head uphill, both Helbe the elven thief and Dalinvardél Tanith look away to the west, where far in the distance in the sky, they spot a griffon flying over the mountains, heading north.
Probably looking for us, the elven masterthief thinks to himself, who after a slight pause, silently adds, or for her.
The young elven noble leads the others to the mountain trail, and after he dismounts and hands the reins of his horse to Tamric Drubine, he tells the others "You'll have to dismount and lead the horses in some places" he continues with "Some of the switch backs are a little rough".
The spy Tanith nods his head as he looks up the mountain, and sees this to be so, then prince Helbenthril Raendril tells them all "I'll get in contact if i find anything" then the elven magic user disappears as he shifts away up the mountain.
The others start up the trail too, with Riley Hait taking the lead, if the trail is a little rough in places, the mercenary ranger who is really a hordes outrider from the southern tundra, wants to be infront, showing the others where to ride.
"Things are getting more interesting aren't they Zubutai?" the ranger Hait murmurs to himself in the hordes dialect of the southern tundra as he leads the way up through the trees on the start of the mountain trail "Yes they are Zubutai" adds Riley Hait in a murmur to himself in the native dialect of the person he really is . . . . . .

Wonderful 80.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

"A relative of yours?" asks lord Farque, the elven noble beside him nods his head yes as the two of the look to the sky to the south. They can't see what happened because of all the trees in the way, but they both sensed what happened about four miles away, when a mageglobe finally exploded.
"Not anymore he isn't" dryly says the undead warlord, the elven noble grimaces as tears threaten to fall from his eyes. Then he continues walking, as the lord and ruler of the lands Farque is doing, as he holds the left arm of the cousin of lord Haldéilv.
"You were saying" says the heavily armoured deathlord as they make their way eastwards through the forest, the elven noble clears the lump in his throat, then he says "She's been seen here in my lord's lands again" he continues with "She isn't welcomed, and her father's guards and others, like myself have been ordered to bring her in for what happened the other week at my lord's tower".
"You're welcome" says the lord of the death realm in a cheerful tone, the elven noble sourly smiles at the reminder that the large, heavily armoured figure walking beside him is the reason for the attack on lord Haldéilv's seat of power.
"If she hadn't brought that damn human spellcaster she had prisoner" mutters the elven magic user whose mother is a first cousin of lord Haldéilv "Easy there, I'm a human too" says lord Farque, who then silently adds, a dead one though.
The elven noble sourly smiles, and they turn a bit to the left, more north after the lord and ruler of the lands Farque nods his full helmed head in that direction, and says "More that way".
"What else?" asks Draugadrottin as he's also known by to the people of his lands faraway to the south of the equator, after sourly smiling again, the elven spellcaster rather reluctantly says "Word we got early this morning, before dawn was that some of my lord's patrols had been attacked recently" he continues with "Add that to the sightings of mercenaries in my lord's lands, more of his house guards along with others like myself, are on patrol to quell the unrest".
"I blame that daughter of his" says lord Farque who ignores the muttered "Illegitimate" from the elven noble and continues with "She's a major shit stirrer if I've ever seen one" the undead being known as Des'tier by an older generation of elves who might know who he is, silently adds, she'll do anything to find Helbe, and draw him into whatever trap she has planned.
"If you find her, you'll find the cause of all the problems you've been having recently" says the lord of the death realm, who pauses for a moment as the two of them hop over a fallen tree, then he adds "Kill her, and no more problems".
"Oh so you'll disappear if she's killed too?" says the elven noble who doesn't do anything to hide the sarcasm from his voice, the heavily armoured deathlord slightly snorts behind the visor of his full helm, then he says "I'm not a problem to you and your lord" he continues with "I might remind you, you attacked me and my acquaintances this morning, not to mention your lord allowed her to hold her prisoner in his tower" he pauses for a moment, then adds "So who was the problem again?".
The elven noble falls silent at that, and remains so as they walk through the forest, passing beneath tall pines, and around smaller junipers as the morning continues on. After a while, the lord and ruler of the lands Farque asks "Is that justifier from Belinswae still in attendance at your lord's tower?" the undead warlord then adds "The one who was there, when i ah, paid a visit?".
The elven noble sourly smiles at another reference to the attack upon lord Haldéilv's seat of power, then he says "Yes the mage Kaellin and what's left of his routine are still there" he continues in slightly dry tone of voice with "He's not exactly happy with his situation, nor is my lord".
"But Haldéilv is still willing to take the justifier's gold to allow him to station some of his guards in your lord's lands, so they've got easy access to raid into the plains to the south" knowingly says lord Farque "I'm not privy to my cousin's decisions" says the elven noble, who after he sees the large, heavily armoured figure, who stands even taller than he is, glance sideways at him from the eye slots in his full helm, he adds "But I suspect you are correct".
Of course i am, any idiot could work that one out, the deathlord of Farque dryly thinks to himself, who then gestures to a knoll in the forest just up ahead, and he says "Beyond that" as they walk that way, the two of them, the elven magic user, who knows whatever spell he could cast, would be useless against the large heavily armoured figure who has a tight grip upon his arm. And the undead warlord continue their conversation in the language of the elven nobility.
Dorc da Orc scowls as sunlight streams down onto his face through the branches above, or what's left of them. The large ork gets a few moments of respite as a small cloud passes overheard, but the morning sun is soon shining on his face again as he lies there on the forest floor on a pile of dry pine needles.
"Krom" mutters Dorc da Orc, who grunts and winces slightly in pain as he lifts his rift arm, and covers his face with his forearm "Fucken cunt sun" growls the large ork, who still has plans to fly an airship to the sun and destroy it. How and when he's going to do this, he hasn't exactly figured out.
The ork warleader who has left his nose uncovered, turns his head slightly to the right, and ignoring the babble of voices in his head, the loudest of which is his 'Mother' he sniffs deeply a couple of times, and grunts in satisfaction. He continues to lie there and wait, listening carefully as he does so.
Not too long afterwards, Dorkindle hears voices, one of whom is very familiar. The ork weaponsmith sourly smiles as they're talking in one of the elven languages. Which one, he has no idea, he doesn't care, he thinks both of them are shit. And he's perfectly fine in not understanding either one of them.
The large ork grunts after he smells and hears two people standing close by, he lifts his arm away from his face, slightly wincing in pain as he does so. Then Dorc da Orc says "Nah me just lie here for a fucken bit" the ork weaponsmith adds in a mutter "Me a bit hurties" in response to lord Farque telling him "Get up cunt".
The undead warlord looks down at the ork warleader, sensing as he does so, and notices the big ork has shattered ribs, as well as internal injuries. And though Dorkindle's fast acting natural healing abilities are already taking effect. It'll be a day or two before he's fully healed, and the deathlord of Farque hasn't got time for that.
"Take one of those fucking potions you've got, we need to go" says the lord of the death realm "Nah those things taste like veggie shit" mutters Dorc da Orc who like the large figure in the blue, black heavy plate armour, is speaking in the ork language, he then says "Who the fuck is this leaf eatin' cunt?" as he looks at the elven noble beside the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
"No one" says undead warlord who then nudges the prone ork weaponsmith with a steel boot, and tells him "Hurry up, take that healing potion you cunt". "Neh" says Dorc da Orc in a belligerent tone of voice.
Lord Farque rolls his eyes, then reaches down and takes a small glass vial out of a slot in the belt of the ork warleader. Draugadrottin sees the large ork firmly shut his mouth, so when the deathlord of Farque stands up, he puts a steel boot on the throat of Dorkindle and pushes down.
Before he's able to move his arms, Dorc da Orc opens his mouth and gasps for air, the small glass vial drops into his mouth, and lord Farque takes his steel boot off the big ork's throat, reaches down and slaps the bottom of the ork weaponsmith's chin, causing him to shut his mouth and swallow.
Dorkindle makes a face of disgust, then says "Yuck!" he groans then sits up as the lord of the death realm slightly shakes his full helmed head, as he feels like laughing, but he refrains from doing so.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque knows Helbe the elven thief specifically makes the healing potions for the large ork to have a strong, concentrated vegetable taste. He wonders what that one tasted like. Like all of them, whatever it was, it was disgusting to the sense of taste of the big ork from the wolf tribe of orks.
As Dorc da Orc sits there, mouth open, tongue out, which he's rubbing with a large hand, and repeatedly saying "Yucky" lord Farque tells him "Get up, we're going cunt".
Eventually, with a scowl plastered on his big, broad, feral looking face, the ork warleader gets up, groaning as he does so. Dorkindle who is unsteady on his feet for a moment or two, heads after the deathlord of Farque and the elven noble he's holding by the arm, who have turned and are walking back the way they've come from.
The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks stumbles the first few steps he takes, then once he rights himself, he's walking normally and he soon catches up to the other two, no longer feeling the tired ache that's the result of taking a magical healing potion.
With the scowl still on his face, Dorc da Orc growls "Who's the cunt?" as he gestures at the elf, who like he did when he stood over the large ork when he was prone on the ground, has put his free hand over his nose and mouth, because the ork weaponsmith has a rather pungent aroma to say the least.
"No one" repeats the deathlord of Farque, who then switches from the ork language to the language of the elven nobility, and continues the conversation with the cousin of the local lord, lord Haldéilv.
Dorkindle sourly smiles as he walks beside the other two, listening to them talk in a language he has absolutely has no idea about.
It's mid morning by the time Mira Reinholt crosses the farmland and the road and enters the forest proper. The once powerful mage just walks directly eastwards, knowing that the other two will find him more easily than he will find either of them.
The Vexilian mage in exile has only gone into the forest less than a thousand yards, when he spots lord Farque, Dorc da Orc, and an elf through the trees, walking towards him.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster stops, and waits for them. It's not long before the three of them reach him.
The once powerful mage nods his hooded head at the elf who he senses is a magic user, making him nobleborn. Lord Farque says to the exiled Vexilian mage "Is everything he's told me true?".
"Wait a moment" says Mira Reinholt the mage who then casts a spell to see if the elven noble has been telling the truth or lying to the undead warlord, the spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, nods then says "He's been telling the truth".
"Good" says lord Farque with a slight nod of his full helmed head, then the lord of the death realm lets go of the elven noble's arm, and quickly grabs his head instead, and twists it. There's an audible crack, and the lifeless body of the elven magic user drops to ground.
Dorc da Orc chuckles then says "He dead" the mage Reinholt lifts an eyebrow, for the lord and ruler of the lands Farque looks down at the elven noble he just killed, and mutters "Shit".
"What is it?" asks the exiled Vexilian mage "I should of got him to teleport us south before i killed him" says Draugadrottin, who continues with "Cause you can't exactly teleport us far and both of the wyverns are dead" the swordmaster Reinholt just shrugs to that, for that is true enough.
They start walking west to the edge of the forest, and Mira Reinholt says "So we continue southwards?" lord Farque nods his full helmed head, then says to the other two "The others are there, about twenty miles away, near those mountains to the south" he continues with "Too far for Narladene to sense you Mira" .
"At least we know where they are now" murmurs the mage Reinholt, the heavily armoured deathlord nods in agreement, then he says "Just a pity there's just about everyone you can think of after them now, thanks to that scheming bitch Kaldeàlil" lord Farque then he adds "Whether they know it or not, they're heading right into her trap, whatever it may be" . . . . . .

Wonderful 79.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

"Your name?" asks lord Farque, the elven noble is reluctant to give it, but a simple squeeze on his left arm that the undead warlord is holding, is enough for him to answer.
After giving his name, the elven noble says "My mother is cousin to lord Haldéilv" as the two of them stand near a pair of intertwining trees on the forest floor, he continues with "I was at my lord's tower when you attacked the dining hall, when you freed that prisoner of my lord's ungrateful get".
"I see she's popular with the rest of her family" dryly says the heavily armoured deathlord, the elven noble sourly smiles at the reference to lord Haldéilv's illegitimate daughter, Kaldeàlil.
The two of them look up, and the lord and ruler of the lands Farque says "Looks like your mount won't return for you" the lord of the death realm who can sense how badly injured the elven noble's griffon is, continues with "It'll die soon anyway if it keeps flying" as they hear the large winged creature screeching in pain with every beat of it's wings.
"What do you want?" asks the elven noble who like the deathlord of Farque is speaking in the language of the elven nobility "What's been happening lately in your lord's lands?" asks Draugadrottin as he's known by the people of his lands.
"Will you kill me?" warily asks the cousin of the local lord, who knows his magic is ineffective against the large, heavily armoured figure who has a tight grip upon his left arm. "No" replies lord Farque who then silently adds, well not yet.
"Well, what's been happening since i attacked your cousin's tower?" asks the lord of the death realm, who after sensing, and slightly shaking his full helmed head, behind the visor of which, he wryly smiles, gestures away to their right, and says "That way" followed by "Start walking" then he adds "Come on, don't go fucking quiet on me now, spill".
A long, low groan issues from the mouth of Dorc da Orc as he lies, gut down, over one of the bottom branches of the tall tree he's fallen through. Above him is a path of broken and snapped branches that he's smashed through, until finally coming to a stop on the thick branch he's lying over.
"Bads birdy cat" mutters Dorc da Orc, which he can barely get out as he's winded, and it hurts to breath, probably from broken ribs. The large ork grimaces, and he looks down at the ground about fifteen feet below. Not caring, he slides backwards, and falls to the ground, which he hits with a thud, this illicits another low, long groan from the ork warleader.
"Fuck" gasps Dorkindle, who over the years has taken untold falls, many of them through trees as tall as the one he's just smashed down through. Though this time it particularly hurt, because the griffon he was holding onto, smashed him into the trunk of the tree a couple of times before he fell.
Hope that fucken birdy cat gets killed dead, the ork weaponsmith thinks to himself as he hears the griffon far in the distance, constantly screeching in pain as it flies away, Dorc da Orc though in pain, grins as he knows the spear he thrust into the griffon's breast will kill it, if it's not removed quickly, or if it continues to fly for too long.
"Got you cunt" murmurs Dorkindle, who then chortles, then hisses in pain and grimaces as it hurts to laugh.
Neh get fucked, the warleader of the ork race thinks to himself after the voice of his 'Mother' within his mind suggests that he takes one of the healing potions he has tucked in a slot in his wide belt.
"Me just lie here for a fucken bit" murmurs Dorc da Orc as he lies on a bed of dry pine needles, in a bit of shade, so the morning sunshine doesn't hit him. The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks sniffs deeply a few times, even though it hurts to do so.
He grunts at what he smells in the distance heading in this direction, and thinks just lying here and waiting is probably the best thing for him to do at this moment in time "Could do with some fucken booze" murmurs Dorkindle as he lies there waiting.
"Bloody hell" mutters Mira Reinholt the mage as he looks back to the east in the direction lord Farque, Dorc da Orc and the other wyvern went off after the griffon. The once powerful mage who saw in the distance, the other wyvern, the large glossy green, black one fall out of the sky, and into the forest.
Spots far in the distance, heading further east and south, the griffon which seems to be laboured as it flies away. The Vexilian mage in exile can't see the undead warlord or the ork warleader. Though he thought he saw the deathlord of Farque falling through the air with someone else, probably the griffon rider.
The mage Reinholt who with his limited power, is too far away to sense the elven noble who was on the departing griffon, has got problems of his own.
Another griffon, this one from the mountains to the south, is rapidly approaching him and the maroon coloured wyvern that he's on.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster sourly smiles as he knows the smaller wyvern he's on, will easily been caught by the fast moving griffon. Which is the fastest things in the skies of Volunell, with the exception of dragons, and Greater Dragons.
Mira Reinholt who is over the western edge of the forest, and is now heading over farmland in an area that's less than twenty five miles north of the seat of power of the local lord, which is on the otherside of the mountains to the south.
Has the wyvern slow down a bit, when he pulls the reins back. The exiled Vexilian mage who knows the smaller wyvern cannot flee the approaching griffon, also knows that's what it will instinctively do when the griffon gets close to it.
Knows his only chance is to try take out the elven noble riding the griffon, or take out the griffon itself. After his brief encounter with the previous griffon, and seeing what lord Farque did, he knows his best chance will be to eliminate or incapacitate the griffon. For more than likely, the nobleborn elf will certainly be far more powerful than he is at magic.
The swordmaster Reinholt who figures the approaching griffon rider probably saw some of which just happened, does the unexpected, he pulls back hard on the left rein, and the wyvern, which lets out a protesting squawk, starts to slowly turn in a wide arc, so that they start heading south, directly towards the approaching griffon, that's heading this way fast.
"Need a bit of a top up there Mira" murmurs the mage Reinholt, who puts a gloved hand into a hidden pocket in his black cloak, and drains some of the spell gem he has there. The once powerful mage who instantly feels a boost in magical energy, creates a trio of mageglobes, one after the other. Promptly losing most of the magical power he just drained from the gem he took a hold of. The spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands doesn't care as he watches the three mageglobes shoot forward towards the approaching griffon and it's rider.
"You won't be expecting that" murmurs the practitioner of magic who was once the youngest member of the mage council of his homeland, as he knows he must of been sensed by now by the elven magic user on the fast approaching griffon, and the last thing they would expect from him is a mageglobe, three of them as well.
The swordmaster Reinholt puts up a barrier and protection spell as he fights the wyvern by pulling down on it's reins, as it's reluctant to fly straight at the approaching griffon. With a tight lipped smile Mira Reinholt watches as his fast moving mageglobes home in on the griffon and it's rider. From which comes a wave of green fire towards the exiled Vexilian mage and the maroon coloured wyvern he's on.
"Fuck" mutters the highly skilled swordmaster who is pretty sure he also sees a disturbance in the air behind the tall wave of fire coming towards him. He looks quickly down as he hears his first mageglobe explode, he then looks up and sees the griffon and it's nobleborn elven rider fly through the cloud of fire from the mageglobe exploding unharmed.
The mage Reinholt pulls on the right rein, and the wyvern turns sharply, all too willing to veer away from the oncoming griffon. The once powerful mage grimaces as the green wave of fire turns in mid air, and continues towards him and the wyvern.
He hears his second mageglobe explode, the spellcaster from south of the equator looks more to the left, and sees the griffon and it's rider are fine, though they've turned away, and are being chased by the last of the mageglobes created by the Vexilian mage in exile.
Although he gets some satisfaction at what he sees, Mira Reinholt mutters "Fuck, fuck, fuck" as the wave of green fire continues towards him and the maroon wyvern, which has turned northwest, while the griffon and the elven nobel on it, has turned southeast as they fly from the last mageglobe that's pursuing it.
The once powerful mage knows his barrier and protection spells might save him against the high, wave of green fire rippling through the morning sky. But it definitely won't stop what's behind it.
And as the wave of fire gets closer and closer to the maroon coloured wyvern from it's left side, the mage Reinholt looks quickly down again. The spellcaster who is a highly skilled swordmaster keeps his spells up, hoping to give the wyvern a slim chance. But all the same, he disappears, as he teleports down to the ground, just over five hundred feet below.
As Mira Reinholt appears next to a low barn on one of the farms to the west of the forest, the maroon coloured wyvern is broadsided by the wave of green fire. The large winged creature lets out a loud screech, but it flies through the wave relatively unharmed. With just wisps of green coloured smoke coming off it's flanks and wings.
The Vexilian mage in exile as he looks up winces, as the wyvern which has just survived the wave of green fire, is hit side on by the blast spell that was directly behind the rippling wave of fire. "Damn" murmurs Mira Reinholt, who then quietly adds "I didn't even like the stupid thing" as he shakes his hooded head, and feels sorry for the maroon coloured wyvern as he watches it drop out of the sky, with a large hole in the side of it's left flank, and most of it's left wing missing.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster glances towards the nearby farmhouse, then around the side of the low barn. He sees a few elves out in a field who have been watching what's been happening in the morning sky above, walking away in the distance, to where the dead wyvern has just hit the ground.
The once powerful mage who is too far away to sense either his last mageglobe, or the elven noble on the griffon it's chasing. Turns and walks behind the low barn, he hops over a low stone wall, scattering a few chickens. In the distance to the east, a few miles away, he can see the forest on the otherside of the road, that goes through this part of lord Haldéilv's lands, in a north, south direction.
Mira Reinholt teleports that way, he goes about half a mile, and after he reappears in the middle of a wheat field, he walks not wanting to waste anymore of his limited power.
"Hope they're not too far away" mutters the swordmaster Reinholt after he takes a drink from his water bottle as the late summer's morning gets warmer and warmer, and he heads towards the forest to the east, hoping to find lord Farque and Dorc da Orc as soon as possible . . . . . .

Wonderful 78.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

The griffon drops towards the ground with it's injured left wing, folded up against it. Lord Farque has the large glossy green, black wyvern dive after it.
The undead warlord briefly looks back up into the sky, and sees Mira Reinholt the mage on the smaller maroon coloured wyvern, looking away to the south. No doubt the once powerful mage has spotted the other griffon approaching from the mountains to the south.
The heavily armoured deathlord looks down, and though the griffon is injured, and only really has one wing to fly with, it's still moving fairly fast, though no where near it's top speed, or even half speed, but its still dropping towards the ground in excess of seventy knots.
The large glossy green, black wyvern is catching up to the injured griffon which is trying to level out before it reaches the treetops of the forest below. As it does, the lord and ruler of the lands Farque senses the nobleborn elf upon the injured griffon is going to cast a healing spell upon it.
"Fuck it" mutters lord Farque who wishes he had something heavier, and larger than the longspears he's been throwing at the griffon and it's rider, to be specific the barrier spell around the two of them.
The lord of the death realm then looks quickly back at who is sitting at the rear of the saddle, who is grinning from ear to ear as the wyvern dives straight down as quickly as it can. Behind the visor of his full helm, Draugadrottin as he's also known by the people of his lands, briefly grins too.
"Dorc!" shouts the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, who then adds "Get up here!" as the injured griffon slowly levels out, and the undead warlord with just the pressure of his knees, has the wyvern flatten it's dive out.
After grunting, Dorc da Orc shuffles forward on the saddle, nearly falling off as he does so "Bads wyvey" murmurs Dorc da Orc, who though nearly falling out of the saddle, is still grinning from ear to ear as the mad flight continues.
"Take those cunts out" says the heavily armoured deathlord to the large ork as the wyvern gains on the injured griffon "Er?" says the ork warleader who wonders how he's exactly supposed to do that. When the undead warlord reaches back, and grabs him by the left arm.
"Keep still cunt" orders lord Farque, who then shouts out a command in the dragon language to the wyvern, as the injured griffon flies a few hundred feet above the canopy of the forest.
"Krom" gulps Dorkindle as the large glossy green, black wyvern goes into a spin as it gains on the fleeing griffon, then the large ork, who can't help but grin, as he can't exactly tell up from down at the moment, feels himself being lifted up by his left arm.
The spinning wyvern is higher up, about fifty feet or so, and probably that far behind the struggling griffon, when the deathlord of Farque senses the elven noble casting to heal the griffon with the damaged left wing.
When suddenly Dorc da Orc is flung forward and down by lord Farque.
In mid air, the ork weaponsmith blinks as he realises he's basically flying, well falling really, down and forward.
"Heh" murmurs the warleader of the ork race, who doesn't even have enough time to shout a quick "Get some!" when he smashes into the fleeing griffon, he feels a slight resistance before he does so, and he catches the brief flash of blue, that's the telltale sign of a barrier spell, he also smells the magic.
The large ork slams into the back of the griffon, which lets out a loud squawk just as it's healed by it's rider. "Fuck" growls Dorkindle as he grabs a handful of feathers and fur, knocking the elven noble in the back as he does, as tries to keep a hold of the now healed griffon, which has suddenly dropped closer to the treetops, due to the added seven hundred and fifty pounds of ork on it's back.
The elven magic user is knocked out of the saddle when the ork weaponsmith grabs a hold of what he can, to stay on the griffon that has increased speed after being healed.
The nobleborn elf falls off, and drops towards the forest, while Dorkindle hangs onto the griffon, hanging over one side, with what can only be called a perilous grip, as the now healed griffon lets out a panic screech as it realises it's rider has fallen off.
Seeing what's happened, and sensing what's about to happen, lord Farque commands the large glossy green, black wyvern higher into the sky, close to where he knows someone is about to be.
An instant later and the falling elven noble disappears just above the treetops, and as the climbing wyvern increases in speed, the elven magic user reappears higher up in the sky, in the path of the rising wyvern.
Sensing again, Draugadrottin gets up, and runs forward across the neck, and the top of the head of the wyvern, and leaps up and forward, just as a bolt of lightning slams into the maw of the wyvern.
The head of the large glossy green, black wyvern slams back, and is almost torn from it's body, it drops away to the ground dead. As lord Farque crashes into the levitating elven noble, who was just able to get off his lightning bolt spell, just forty feet before the wyvern would of flown into him.
"You know if you don't teleport us safely to the ground, you're going to die" says the lord of the death realm in the noble elven language, as well as a reasonable tone of voice as he holds onto the nobleborn elf as they start tumbling out of the sky.
Sensing what the elven magic user is doing, the heavily armoured deathlord, who has a, well death grip on the elven noble, says "It won't work, teleport or die".
With a look of anger on the face of the elven magic user, the undead warlord senses he's finally going to teleport, Des'tier as he's known by an older generation of elves who know who he is, loosens his grip a bit, allowing the elven noble to cast.
Just before they disappear, lord Farque sees in the distance, Dorc da Orc barely hanging onto the griffon, that has turned, and is heading back in this direction. The large ork has fallen to one of the front legs of the large winged creature, and is swinging one of his hammers at the other front leg, that's trying to claw at him.
"Idiot" dryly murmurs the deathlord of Farque in the ancient language of command as he rolls his eyes, then he and the elven noble disappear just before they're about to hit the top of a tree in the forest.
"Bads birdy cat, no!" shouts Dorc da Orc as the griffon with it's front left claw takes a swipe at him, as he holds onto it's front right leg.
"Fucken cunt" growls the large ork after he swings his hammer, wildly missing the the claw that's trying to rake him. Hmmmmm, the ork warleader thinks to himself as he glances down, he murmurs "Me hit that one instead" Dorkindle silently adds 'I wouldn't do that fatty'.
"Quiet whore" mutters the ork weaponsmith to the voice of his 'Mother' in his head. Then as he holds on to the griffon's leg with one arm, and his legs wrapped around it. He swings down at the talons below him.
There's a raucous squawk from the griffon, that sounds like a bellow or roar from a feline, more than an avian screech. "Fucknuts" growls Dorc da Orc as he holds on as the large winged creature vigorously shakes it's front left leg after he shattered one of it's talons.
The griffon which is slightly listing to one side due to the added weight on it's front right leg, drops down towards the forest below, as it increases in speed.
Dorkindle who dodges another swipe from the other front leg, is just glad the more lion like rear legs, and their large paws, are stretched out backwards in flight, even more so as the griffon increases speed.
"Naughty fucken birdy cat" mutters the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks as the griffon continually shakes it's front right leg trying to dislodge him. Dorc da Orc frowns as the griffon which is flying back to the area where he was thrown onto it, drops even lower towards the forest canopy.
"Uh oh" murmurs the large ork, who quickly returns his hammer to his weapon harness, and holds on with both hands, as the large winged creature drops down so that it's just a few feet above the tallest of the trees below.
The ork who was named warleader of his race by lord Farque, winces in anticipation, then the griffon slightly turns to the side it's listing to, extending downwards the leg that Dorc da Orc is holding onto.
The ork weaponsmith growls as both he and the griffon's front right leg are slapped by a branch, then another, and another. Dorkindle shakes his head, when a fairly thick tree branch smacks into the side of his head, as the griffon basically flies through the canopy of the forest, with it's front right leg, with the large ork holding onto it, extended down below it.
"Bads trees" and "Bads birdy cat" along with a lot of "Fucken cunt" and "Krom" punctuated by a fair few growls, and grunts, issue forth from the large ork, as he's continually buffeted, slapped and whacked by tree branch after tree branch after tree branch.
"Eeeeewwwww yuck" says Dorkindle as he makes a face of disgust after he spits out half a sappy branch, and a lot of pine needles that went into his open mouth.
'My son the fucking tree eater' the ork warleader thinks to himself, Dorc da Orc refrains from replying to that comment from the voice of his 'Mother' inside his head, instead he grunts as the griffon basically stops in mid air, and just hovers there.
The large ork looks up, then he ducks down, slipping down the leg he's holding onto to. As the griffon after looking down at him, goes to bite at him with it's beak. Though the ork weaponsmith is a raving idiot, he's not exactly stupid, as he knows the griffon could easily rip his head off with it's beak.
Dorkindle grabs a shortspear from his weapon harness as the large winged creature as it hovers there, swings it's right front leg that the large ork is holding onto.
The ork warleader grunts, then hisses in pain after thumping, back first into the trunk of a tree. He almost looses his grip on the leg of the griffon. Then the large winged creature swings his leg again.
"Fuck you" growls Dorc da Orc who shoves his shortspear, short being relative here, as it's six feet long, up into the breast of the griffon. Just before he hits the tree behind him again. The spear lodges into the breast of the large winged creature, which lets out a loud screech of pain.
Unfortunately for the large ork, he used both hands to stab his spear into the griffon. And when he hits the tree trunk this time, he losses grip with his legs.
"Fuck" yelps Dorkindle as he goes to grab anything as he starts to fall, above him the badly wounded griffon reels away out of sight, struggling to flap it's wings, screeching in pain every time it does so due to the spear stuck in it's breast.
"Krom" mutters Dorc da Orc as he slams into the first branch as he falls down to the ground below . . . . . .

Wonderful 77.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

Once again, lord Farque along with Dorc da Orc are flying to the west, sweeping out in that direction. While Mira Reinholt the mage upon the smaller, maroon coloured wyvern, is away to the east, and further south.
The undead warlord looks away to the east towards the rising sun of the clear morning, after what was a relatively cool night, the coolest so far since they've been in Maladimbáh. Then he looks away to the south, sensing as he does so.
Behind the visor of his full helm, the lord and ruler of the lands Farque slightly frowns, then he nods "There they are" murmurs lord Farque, he hears an inquiring grunt from the large ork behind him. The heavily armoured deathlord switches from the ancient language of command, to the ork language and says "I've found them".
"Oh, fucken who?" asks Dorc da Orc in his native language "Who you fucking think, you daft cunt" says the lord of the death realm "Oh" says the ork warleader, who after a slight pause, continues with "Helbe and them other cunts" the large ork then mutters "That's right, we been looking for them silly cunts" while lord Farque rolls his eyes and shakes his full helmed head.
Draugadrottin as he's known to the people of his lands, has the large glossy green, back wyvern turn eastwards, as it does, the deathlord of Farque spots something in the distance to the southeast.
"Fuck" mutters the undead warlord, a few moments later and Dorc da Orc says "Hey Farque, you fucken see that?" the lord of the death realm slightly nods, then says "I see it".
Away to the southeast is a griffon, who along with it's rider, is flying straight towards Mira Reinholt and the maroon wyvern. The heavily armoured deathlord knows that the once powerful mage probably hasn't spotted it, unless he's looking straight at it through his cylindrical eyepiece, or if he's cast a farsight spell upon himself. And the undead warlord senses that the mage Reinholt hasn't done the latter.
Seeing that the swift moving griffon, which can easily fly more than twice as fast as a wyvern, which isn't exactly slow, as the large reptilian like flying creatures can easily fly in excess of a hundred knots, will get to the Vexilian mage in exile and the maroon wyvern, before they get there.
Lord Farque commands the large wyvern he and Dorc da Orc are on, to fly as quickly as it can, the large ork at the back of the saddle, chuckles as he holds on as they pick up speed.
The heavily armoured deathlord who is low in the saddle, glances back and seeing that warleader of the ork race is sitting upright, grinning like an imbecile, being a massive form of wind resistance doing so, says in the ork language "Lie flat cunt".
Dorkindle does so after grunting, as he knows not to argue with that tone of voice directed at him by the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
Then Des'tier as he's known by an older generation of elven kind who might know who he is, pops his full helmed head up and looks directly south as he senses again, and he spots another griffon heading north, this one from the mountains in the distance, on the otherside of which, lord Farque knows lies the palatial like tower, that is the seat of power of lord Haldéilv.
Dorc da Orc after seeing the heavily armoured deathlord pop his head up briefly as they lie near flat in the saddle of the fast flying wyvern that's just gone over a hundred knots in speed as they head to the southeast. Briefly pops his head up too, and sees what the lord and ruler of the lands Farque has just spotted.
"Hey Farque, there's another fucken birdy cat!" shouts the ork weaponsmith over the noise of the wind whipping past them "I see it!" calls back the lord of the death realm, who then adds "Keep low, and fucking hold on" then in the dragon language Draugadrottin commands the large glossy green, black wyvern for more speed.
Mira Reinholt the mage who has just taken out his leather wrapped, brass cylindrical eyepiece, that's of elven design and is also elven made, looks through it, down at the ground where he spots a track through a forest on the edge of some farmland, where a road is a couple miles to the east of the forest.
"No movement there" Mira Reinholt the mage murmurs to himself, who then adds "Yet" as it's still early in the morning, just after dawn, and though there's people in some of the fields in the farmland, he sees no one as yet going along the track through the forest.
Taking his eye away from the eyepiece, and frowning as the wyvern suddenly squawks in agitation, and almost back wings, before it starts circling west, the mage Reinholt mutters "Not that way idiot" as he pulls back on the reins after returning his brass, cylindrical eyepiece to a large inner pocket of his black summer cloak.
The once powerful mage sighs, then sourly says to himself "It's going to be one of those mornings is it?" as the wyvern ignores his pulling back on the reins, as he attempts to get it heading back to the south and east, instead of circling west, which it's doing at the moment.
The Vexilian mage in exile looks westwards, and blinks in surprise, when he sees in the distat to the northwest, the other wyvern, that lord Farque and Dorc da Orc are on, is heading this way fast. Infact the mage Reinholt figures the large glossy green, black wyvern is flying about as fast as a wyvern can possu fly.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster looks back behind him to the east, he squints into the rising sun, and he quickly casts a spell so that he can see more clearly, as well as see into the distance.
"By the shape of fire" mutters Mira Reinholt at what he spots heading straight towards him out of the rising sun, the once powerful mage grimaces as he gives the wyvern more rein, as he sees that the approaching griffon must be flying well over two hundred knots, and will be upon him quickly.
Well you're not going to run from it Mira, the mage Reinholt dryly thinks to himself, as he stops holding his power within himself, and puts up a barrier and protection spell around himself, as he sees the elven noble upon the rider upon the fast moving griffon, doesn't look to be in an inquiring type of mood. He actually looks pissed off to see a lone rider upon the back of the maroon coloured wyvern.
The Vexilian mage in exile briefly winces as he knows the wyvern will be no match for the griffon in a fight, and he knows the elven noble will be far more powerful than he is when it comes to magic, so the once powerful mage knows he only really has surprise as something of an advantage.
"Surprise fuckface" Mira Reinholt murmurs to himself as he quickly creates a mageglobe and flings it backwards, it takes off towards the fast approaching griffon, the highly skilled swordmaster silently adds, bet you won't be expecting that.
The spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, gets low in the saddle, as the wyvern flies as quickly as it can. The highly skilled swordmaster glances back, and sees the small coloured dot that is his mageglobe, fast approaching the fast moving griffon.
The mage Reinholt slightly frowns as he sees the griffon and the rider upon it, is still coming straight at him, and isn't trying to avoid the rapidly approaching living piece of magic, even though the elven noble must of sensed what the mageglobe is.
There's a loud explosion and a large ball of fire in the morning sky that rapidly grows, one moment the griffon is within the expanding ball of fire, the next it's flying through it, then out of it, with both the large winged creature and it's rider completely unharmed.
"Fuck" mutters Mira Reinholt as he realises the elven noble is indeed powerful, and has a barrier spell up around himself and his griffon, strong enough to withstand a fairly decent, in power at least, mageglobe.
The exiled Vexilian mage who isn't exactly brimming with power, feels himself shunted forward, and he barely holds on, stopping himself from being flung forward out of the saddle, and over the head of the wyvern.
The mage Reinholt winces, and he forgoes creating another mageglobe, and puts up another barrier spell to replace the one that's just been torn to shreds by the blast spell that the elven noble just cast, trying to knock him off the fleeing wyvern.
The swordmaster from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands looks back when he hears the approaching griffon, he sees that it's almost upon him and the wyvern. Which instinctively drops, to avoid a swipe from the griffon.
"Fuck me" mutters the mage Reinholt as the talons of the front left claw of the griffon miss him by just a few feet, bouncing off his barrier spell that's just able to withstand the force of the blow. He knows his spell can't hold up to many hits from the physically powerful creature's claws.
As the wyvern drops, and the griffon basically stops in mid air, tucks it's wings in, then dive at the dropping wyvern. The once powerful mage looks west, and spots the other wyvern, rapidly approaching this part of the sky.
He hurriedly creates another mageglobe, and it goes shooting away from him, heading up at the diving griffon. Mira Reinholt knows the elven noble will withstand it, he just hopes for a brief distraction, as he needs all the respite he can get, until the other wyvern gets to him.
There's another loud explosion in the morning sky, the Vexilian mage doesn't even bother to look up to see what happened, he just holds on to the reins and saddle as the maroon coloured wyvern levels out a bit, as it squawks as it flees the quick flying griffon and the elven spellcaster who is riding it.
The swordmaster Reinholt whose guts lurch up and down with every sharp movement from the wyvern, sees that it must of spotted the larger, glossy green, black one, as it's heading towards that one.
The Vexilian mage in exile chances a look up, and he flinches as he sees the screeching griffon, with it's front claws extended, just above him, about to strike him and the smaller wyvern.
Suddenly the griffon moves sharply to the right, and veers quickly away with an indignant screech, after raking at the wyvern and missing. "What the fuck" mutters Mira Reinholt who looks around to see what's happened.
"Another!" shouts lord Farque, and Dorc da Orc hands forward another of his long spears to the undead warlord. Guiding the wyvern with his knees, the heavily armoured deathlord slightly stands up in the saddle, ready to throw another of the ork warleader's long spears. The first of which the elven noble narrowly ducked as it went through his barrier spell.
As the smaller maroon coloured wyvern that Mira Reinholt is on, flies free and puts some distance between itself and the griffon. Which stops, and almost turns within it's own wingspan, as it circles so quickly.
The lord of the death realm pulls back his right arm, as the large glossy green, black wyvern flies towards the smaller one that the Vexilian mage in exile is on.
The mage Reinholt looks ahead, and sees lord Farque standing up in the saddle of the larger wyvern that's rapidly approaching him. "What the fuck?" murmurs the once powerful mage as he sees the lord and ruler of the lands Farque has one of Dorc da Ork's long spear gripped in a gauntleted hand.
Mira Reinholt ducks low in the saddle and slightly winces as he sees the lord of the death realm throw the long spear. The highly skilled swordmaster is pretty sure he feels the long spear pass just over him and his barrier spell, then he looks quickly back.
This time the undead warlord doesn't throw the spear at the elven noble upon the griffon, this time he throws it at the fast flying griffon itself, which has it's front claws extended as it rapidly approaches the maroon coloured wyvern again. And though the elven spellcaster sees what's about to happen, and the griffon quickly dodges to one side.
The spear is thrown with such force and speed, it goes through the barrier spell of the elven noble, and hits the fast moving griffon in the left wing.
It lets out a screech of pain, and instantly drops, as it's left wing folds in to itself. Mira Reinholt lets out a pent up breath, then murmurs "Fuck" as he sees the griffon drop away behind him. He then ducks down again, as the larger glossy green, black wyvern passes directly overhead, less than twenty feet away.
The once powerful mage then frowns as he heard lord Farque shout something at him as he passed overhead "Another?" the swordmaster Reinholt murmurs to himself, who looks around in the morning sky as he adds "Where?".
With the farsight spell he still has, Mira Reinholt spots something away to the south in the sky heading this way, he sourly smile and says in a tone of voice that matches the smile "Great" as he sees another griffon in the distance flying in this direction . . . . . .