The General & The Knight 22.

Winter. Northwest Farque.

Hamblin the teenage recruit creeps forward through the forest, and soon comes across his fellow recruit Dammis.
Who is crouching behind a tree, looking forward through the fog shrouded forest this morning.
Without speaking, Dammis with his hands, signals towards a nearby stream that they know about.
It's run off from the water course on the nearby grounds. As they're in an area of the forest further to the west of the town of Gildin Dale.
Hamblin, who is from the farming village of Polsten, nods his head in agreement, as the stream or at least near it, is the most likely place.
Then the teenage recruit who is the son of farmers, who will likely be a runner, then a scout, and after that, probably a ranger when he joins one of their lord's armies.
Moves quietly and deliberately to take off his pack, in which he's brought a number of things along with him this morning.
After getting their orders this morning back in town. Hamblin quickly ran back to the house the first group live in.
And packed a handful of brands, or torches. Which he now takes out of his pack, and hands one to Dammis.
And another to Maselle, who has quietly moved up behind him.
Taking one for himself, Hamblin nods to his fellow group members. And gives them by hand signals, the direction he wants them to go.
They both nod in understanding, then slowly move off through the fog.
The tall, lean recruit from the farming village of Polsten slowly moves away too.
Taking from his belt pouch, his flint and striker, which he holds in one hand, and the torch in the other.
Hamblin knows that Dammis and Maselle are doing likewise, as they make their way through the forest, heading towards the nearby stream.
The thirteen year old, dark haired recruit from Polsten, who usually leads the way for the first group.
Looks away to his right, and spots movement through the fog.
He stops, and soon makes out Jinsa moving slowly and deliberately forward with her bow in hand.
When she sees him, Hamblin signals for her to take a more circular route to the nearby stream.
Jinsa nods in understanding, and moves off towards the right.
Hamblin knows that Jinsa has wrapped cloth around the broadheads of some of her arrows.
And that she too has her flint and striker ready to use. As their group moves forward through the area of the forest, a few miles to the west and south of the town of Gildin Dale.
Here in the northwest of the lands Farque, where they've been based this winter. As they undergo training to join their lord's armies.
As he moves, Hamblin looks down, to place his feet carefully. As to not step on anything, that will make any unnecessary noise.
As a boot on a fallen branch or the like, will give him away. As it will his fellow group members if they did the same.
Hamblin's just glad that it's especially foggy this morning here in this area of northwestern Farque, and that it has yet to burn off.
The fog is helping to muffle the sounds in the forest. Though the young recruit form the farming village of Polsten knows that it isn't that much of an advantage to him and the rest of the first group.
It really doesn't even put them on even terms against what they're facing this morning.
Though he knows every little thing counts. Considering the group of ten of them, are out matched this morning.
Hamblin peers ahead, and spots a narrow trail less than five yards away. It's a game trail by the looks of it.
And if goes along it to the left, it will lead him more or less to the nearby stream.
The recruit from the farming village of Polsten that lies about forty five miles to the southeast of the town of Gildin Dale.
Moves quickly and quietly onto the trail, that he figures game use to get to the stream to drink.
Avoiding any low branches, and bushes so he doesn't make any unnecessary noise.
Hamblin moves along the game trail, looking through the fog and trees, towards the direction of the stream that he knows is close.
He then sees a glow of light up ahead, quickly followed by another.
And knows that Dammis and Maselle have lit their torches.
And he can now see the burning brands swinging back and forth, apparently low over the ground.
But he knows infact, that his fellow group members are swinging their torches low over the stream that he's approaching.
Ready to light his own torch, Hamblin hops over a puddle in the middle of the game trail.
He takes another step, then strikes his flint, putting it to the cloth doused with pitch, wrapped around one end of the brand.
Spinning around as he does so, as he knows there hasn't been any rain lately. So there shouldn't be a puddle on the game trail, a dozen yards from the nearby stream.
With a the burning torch in hand, Hamblin grimaces as a quiet voice says to him "Got you".
As there's a figure, taller than him, standing in the middle of the trail, basically human in shape. But made entirely of water.
The teenage recruit from the farming village of Polsten looks through the figure of water.
Then slightly smiles and quietly says "You did" Hamblin briefly pauses before adding "But".
As also on the trail, about ten yards back, stands Jinsa with her recurve bow drawn, that has a flame lit arrow to it.
The human shaped figure of water grunts, then there's a shimmer along it's entire surface.
Then the next moment, Alisian the water elemental stands there in his human form, and quietly says with a slight grin upon his face "And you lot got me" he briefly pauses before he adds "Though i did take out seven of you".
Hamblin winces when he hears that as puts out the burning brand by dropping it on the ground and standing on it.
He sighs as he realises out of the group, only Dammis, Maselle and Jinsa survived.
While he and the six others were taken out by the water elemental spouter.
Still, that's better than a couple of days ago. When they first went against Alisian. Who took out the entire group that morning.
"Would it hurt?" asks Jinsa as she walks up, then puts out her burning arrow, by shoving the broadhead into the damp ground of the game trail.
"More of annoyance really" says the water elemental who is a gangly youth of fourteen.
"A burning torch will hurt a bit more" adds Alisian who continues on with "Though not that much" he follows that with "I can take a lot more fire damage than other water elementals".
Both Hamblin and Jinsa nod, as they know spouters are the most powerful, and most destructive of all the water elementals.
"Usually only a fire spell that will cause me any harm or kill me" states Alisian after Hamblin yells out to the rest of the group to join them on the game trail.
"Good thing you're not training with Sarill today" says the teenage recruit from the farming village of Polsten.
Hamblin pauses for a moment or two, before he dryly adds "Good thing we're not training with her too".
Both Jinsa and Alisian nod in agreement, as they've trained with and against Sarill over the last five days since she and Alisian arrived in Gildin Dale.
And to say that being around the young mage in training is more than a little adventurous, and more than slightly dangerous. Is an understatement to the extreme.
On the grounds to the west of the town of Gildin Dale. Tamric Drubine the field commander shrugs his shoulders, then says "Just don't kill them".
When Sarill glances back at him with a questioning look upon her face, as she stands with the recruits of the fourth group.
The nobleborn teenager who is originally from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin, continues with "Remember don't use a mind spell upon the general" followed by "You'll regret it for the rest of your life if you do".
Next to the young field commander, his lover, Saanea the witch nods in agreement to what he just said.
"And the fact it will take you out, and render you useless" says the senior officer in the armies of Farque.
Sarill nods in understanding, as she knows that warning from field commander Drubine is absolutely valid.
Besides, she had read in a book that practitioners of magic should not cast a mind spell of any kind upon an ork.
No matter how powerful they are, or their ability at casting.
The consequences can be unpleasant from what Sarill has read. And she has absolutely no interest in finding out what those unpleasant consequences are.
The young mage, who is quite small for a thirteen year old, nods her head when behind her, Tamric Drubine the field commander tells her "No mage globes".
Then the son, and former heir of a previous knight of castle Drubine, which can be found in the forested north of the kingdom of Sarcrin.
Says to the practitioner of magic who is from The Winter Palace "You can hit them a lot harder than you think" followed by "Especially the general".
The senior officer in the armies of Farque, who is in charge of the training of the army recruits here in the town of Gildin Dale, then says to all the recruits "You may begin" followed by "Stop them from crossing over to here".
The them Tamric Drubine is referring to, is Dorc da Orc and sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
The large ork who is a general in the armies of Farque, and the heavily armoured knight, who isn't actually in the armies of Farque at all.
Are over on the second course, near the field that's next to the grounds.
And their objective is to get across to this side of the first course.
Where field commander Drubine, and Saanea the witch are standing on the path just to the side of the first course, on the grounds, just west of the town of Gildin Dale.
And the recruits of the fourth group, along with the mage Sarill, who is training with them today.
Are to stop the general and the knight from crossing over to here.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world. And the nobleman originally from the kingdom of Druvic.
Who are at the edge of the trees next to the second course. A good twenty feet apart, as they actually can't stand one another.
Are looking this way, then they start moving, after they see Tamric Drubine, or Tam as he's more commonly called by those who know him well.
Lift up his right hand, high above his head, and drop it down, signalling them to move out.
The ork warleader and the former paladin move quickly, running from the trees so that the recruits have to try and deal to them as quickly as possible.
The teenage recruit who usually leads group four, defers to Sarill this morning after he quickly tells them to spread out.
When they spot general Dorc and sir Percavellé Lé Dic heading this way across the grounds.
How they're actually going to stop the two of them, is up to the young mage.
Who is slight, and fairly short. Quite small for a thirteen year old girl.
Though without doubt, is the most destructive individual here in Gildin Dale with the exception of sir Morcin the undead avenger and Axe the undead dog.
With a look of disdain directed at his bitter rival Dorc da Orc. Sir Percavellé Lé Dic moves away from the large ork as he runs from the trees.
Likewise for the ork warleader as he heads out across the second course. He looks with disgust at the former earl of Lé Dic.
As they head across the grounds, to where the fourth group of recruits are this morning with the young mage, Sarill.
The ork weaponsmith who made sure to where his armoured breastplate this morning. Which is actually a plate of armour from a dead dragon.
Is closer to the muddy field next to the grounds. While the heavily armoured knight who is running with his large footman's shield out infront of him. Is further away to the right of the large ork, who is a general in the armies of Farque.
The two rivals, one a big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world. And the other, a nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic.
Know that they're going to get attacked with magic this morning. And they've both prepared for it.
And while the former earl of Lé Dic, which is his family's fief in eastern Druvic. Is weaving from side to side as he runs across the second course.
Dorc da Orc, or Dorkindle which is his given name. Doesn't bother doing that. He just runs as straight as possible, as he heads across the grounds.
Which, along with his size. Makes him an easier target for Sarill the mage.
The warleader of the ork race grunts as he's hit dead in the chest by something.
And he's slammed backwards onto the muddy field he's been running along the side of.
The ork general groans, then mutters something in the incomprehensible language of the orks as he gasps for breath.
Before he rolls over, then with a groan of effort, pushes himself up, then staggers to his feet.
Meanwhile, sir Percavellé Lé Dic or Percy which he's more commonly called by those who know him well.
Chortles when out of the corner of his eye, he sees his bitter rival Dorkindle knocked down, by a spell most like.
Peeks over the top of his shield, to where the fourth group of recruits, along with the young mage Sarill, are on the otherside of the grounds.
The member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che. Who is heading in their direction, though at an angle.
Grins behind the faceplate of his full helm, as he hopes the young mage attacks him in the same way she just did the ork weaponsmith.
For if she does, she'll be in for a surprise that she will instantly regret.
For her part, the small teenage girl who comes from The Winter Palace.
Looks closely at the shield sir Percavellé Lé Dic carries as he runs this way.
She knows it's magical. Infact she senses it's an extremely powerful magical item. She just doesn't know what it exactly does.
Sarill who like all mages. Studies more destructive spells than anything else. After all, it's in their nature. Hasn't totally neglected other types of spellcraft.
The practitioner of magic from further south in the lands Farque. Who was thinking about hitting sir Percavellé Lé Dic with the same force spell she knocked down Dorc da Orc with.
Instead casts an identify spell upon the large heavily armoured knight's magical shield.
And though it takes her a few moments to actually cast it. As it's spell she's only recently learnt.
She soon identifies the magical shield that the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic carries out infront of him.
And as the unofficial leader of the fourth group of recruits, quietly and clamly informs the young mage that general Dorc is back on his feet, and once again heading this way.
Sarill casts a spell at the nobleborn knight who is rushing across the grounds towards them.
Percy as he runs, is in mid stride. When he yelps as his legs go out from under him.
The large, heavily armoured knight grimaces as he hits the ground on his side.
With the faceplate of his full helm swinging open as he does so.
The former paladin who realises that he was attacked below the knees, because his shield wasn't covering them.
Goes to quickly close the visor of his full helm, as he looks across the grounds at the recruits and the teenage mage.
Sir Percavellé Lé Dic sourly smiles just before a young teen's voice in his mind, tells him to just sit there, and to not do anything.
Dorc da Orc looks away to his right, and chuckles as he sees his bitter rival the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic. Just sitting on the ground, doing absolutely nothing.
The big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world. Who kind of hopes Sarill the mage casts the same spell she just used to take care of sir Percavellé, on him as well.
Isn't all that far from the recruits and the young mage now.
The ork general who has just run around one of the obstacles on the second course.
And is now running across the path that runs alongside the course.
And is less than fifty yards from where the ten recruits and the young mage are on the side of the first course.
When all of a sudden there's a large explosion right infront of the warleader of the ork race.
The ground erupts upwards, sending dirt flying up through the air on what's a foggy morning, here in this area of northwestern Farque.
Dorkindle growls as he's pelted by flying dirt and ground as he runs forward.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks takes another stride as he runs.
And finds that his right foot comes down on nothing, and he falls forward into a large hole in the ground.
Deep enough that he yelps when he hits the bottom of the hole. He grumbles as he looks up, and sees he can reach the top, and haul himself up and out, as the hole is about twelve feet deep.
As he goes to do that, he's suddenly hit by water. A lot of it, and all at once too. Enough to fill up the deep hole in the ground.
Over on the edge of the first course, as Dorc da Orc bursts up through the surface of the water in the hole in the ground.
Screaming and yelling in the ork language, as he drags himself out of the water. Then just lies there next to the water filled hole in the ground. Utterly soaked, and breathing heavily. Not caring what's happening around him.
Sarill the mage turns and says to field commander Drubine "I think that pretty much took care of them".
"I'd say so" says Tamric Drubine as he looks at sir Percavellé Lé Dic and Dorc da Orc who have just been bested by a thirteen year old girl . . . . . .

The General & The Knight 21.

Winter. The Lands Farque.

If the teenage army recruits based in the town of Gildin Dale, in northwest Farque.
Thought it was going to be easy immediately after the midwinter's festival. They are sadly mistaken.
For the next morning, they're woken well before dawn. And all four groups, are ordered out onto the grounds just to the west of the town.
Where they're told to do one of the courses twice before midmorning.
Many of them as they struggle through the courses. Regret all the food they ate yesterday. As well as all the wine and ale they had to drink.
Quite a lot of them in all four groups, can be seen getting sick throughout the morning. Wishing that they didn't partake in yesterday's festivities so much.
After they complete the courses before midmorning. They spend the rest of the morning completing a number of equations they're given.
They have to complete them verbally, unable to write them down. As they work out range and distances, and angles for imagined artillery attacks.
Then after a rather spare meal at midday. All four groups are sent off along the north trail from town.
And this is an out and out race. For whoever completes the trail first as a team.
Will get the rest of the afternoon and early evening off to clean, polish and detail their weapons and gear.
While the other three groups will be made to do one of the courses out on the grounds when they get back to Gildin Dale.
Even though the teenage recruits from throughout northwestern Farque.
Have run the five or so miles to the north through the forest, to the bluff that sticks up out of the forest floor. And the same distance back. Numerous times so far this winter, as they've trained.
It's never been done so quickly as it's been done this particular afternoon.
For even though nearly all of the Farqian army recruits are exhausted after this morning. Following the long, and rather indulgent day and night they had yesterday.
Not one of them wants to do another of the courses out on the grounds when they get back to town.
Unfortunately for the first, second, and fourth groups.
That's exactly what they end up having to do. As the third group are the first to complete as a group, the north trail.
Which they're more than thankful for. Especially after the violent beating a lot of them took in the kickball game they lost to the first group yesterday morning.
After the day's training is complete in the early afternoon. All four groups are totally exhausted. Especially groups one, two and three.
Then early the next morning, well before dawn. They're up early again. And the training gets even more harder. Making the previous day's look absolutely easy in comparison.
Then four days after the midwinter's day festival. New recruits arrive in Gildin Dale by airship.
There's only two of them, and they disembark as the crew starts unloading the supplies they've also brought along.
The first group who have just spent all morning on the grounds, made to do all three of the courses before the midday meal.
Are heading back to the large house that is their barracks. Where they'll have a quick bite to eat. Before the training for the afternoon starts.
They see the two new arrivals speaking with field commander Tamric Drubine and sir Morcin the undead avenger.
And though the two new recruits, one a girl, and the other boy. Both look to be human. One of them isn't.
While the other, though a human being. She is more than what she seems.
Seeing the first group, soaked and mud covered. Heading back to their house.
The field commander who is a senior officer in the armies of Farque. Waves them over, and tells them to take the two new recruits to what's essentially the barracks and show them around.
And the two teenagers who have just arrived into town on an airship. Won't be joining one of the groups specifically. For they'll be training alongside all four of the groups of recruits at various times. And with good reason.
For the teenage girl who has just arrived in Gildin Dale, is a spellcaster. To be exact, a mage.
While the teenage boy who has flown in upon an transporter. Is even more unique. As he's not a human, but is a water elemental from one of the fishing villages along the coast of the lands Farque.
And unlike the teenage army recruits who have been training throughout the winter here in Gildin Dale.
The two newly arrived recruits already know what they're going to be doing once they're in one of their lord's armies.
They've been training during the winter too. But now they've been brought here to Gildin Dale to see how they work together with others.
Sir Percavellé Lé Dic walks into town, in the afternoon. Following behind the second group. Who have been out on the north trail this afternoon.
They didn't really run the trail to the bluff more than five miles to the north through the forest and back again.
Considering all ten of the recruits in the second group are carrying packs weighing eighty pounds each.
From the smallest to the largest in the group. They all had packs with eighty pounds of rocks and stones in them.
And they all had to bring them back, still weighing eighty pounds. Which the exhausted recruits have done under the fairly watchful eye of sir Percavellé Lé Dic. 
Who sourly smiles as he hears a grunt, followed by a muttered oath in a language, the heavily armoured knight doesn't understand. And definitely doesn't want to understand, ever.
For Dorc da Orc also came along this afternoon. And didn't keep much of an eye upon the recruits.
The large ork, who suggested the recruits should of carried even heavier packs along the forest trail to the north of Gildin Dale.
Loudly sniffs, and once again grunts, and mutters in his native language.
"What's up that sizeable nose of yours, beast?" demands sir Percavellé Lé Dic the knight, who glares back at the ork warleader following behind him.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world, is about to tell the former paladin to get fucked, and to fucking die.
When he reconsiders, and slightly grins, for if he tells the nobleborn knight originally from the kingdom of Druvic.
It's bound to annoy the member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che.
As they head through town, following the recruits, carrying the heavy, rock filled packs.
Dorc da Orc says to the former earl of Lé Dic "There's a new fucken magicky cunt in town".
Sir Percavellé, or Percy as he's more commonly called by those who know him well. Has a disapproving look upon his face as he lifts up the visor of his full helm.
For the nobleman who hails from the east of the kingdom of Druvic, dislikes spellcasters, and practitioners of magic.
The ork general softly chuckles, then all of a sudden, he too frowns as he catches the scent of someone else new to the town of Gildin Dale.
"The fuck?" says Dorc da Orc, or Dorkindle which is his given name, as the scent of this new person, is something he is certain he doesn't like.
A scowl appears on the broad, green, brutish looking face of the ork weaponsmith.
As the person's scent he dislikes so much, smells like water.
The big ork, who is the son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks.
Then sourly smiles, and loudly mutters "Fucknuts". As he recalls who has such a scent. A water elemental.
The two of them, the knight and the general. Follow the group of recruits back to the houses on the northeast side of town, that's essentially their barracks.
There, many of the returning group have to be helped with taking their packs off, and taken inside by the other recruits who have already finished for the day.
The nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic and the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
Spot field commander Drubine on the front portico of one of the houses the recruits use.
And as evening takes hold, Percy and Dorkindle make their way over to the nobleborn teenager who hails from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin.
As they're to report to him, how the recruits fared this afternoon on the north trail through the forest.
As sir Percavellé Lé Dic speaks with the young field commander.
The ork warleader who won't voluntarily say anything about what happened this afternoon, unless the senior officer asks him to.
Frowns as he looks in through one of the glass windows at the front of the house, as the temperature drops as nightfall takes effect.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks spots one of the new arrivals inside.
A teenage girl, who absolutely stinks of magic to the warleader of the ork race.
Who figures she must be quite powerful in magic, even though she's fairly small for a human that age.
The ork general in the armies of Farque then sourly smiles, then makes a face of disgust.
As the second new arrival walks into view inside the house.
The teenage boy, only thirteen or fourteen, is quite tall, already standing over six foot. Though very lean. Gangly is the best word to describe him.
Who if the teenage girl reeked of magic. Then he absolutely pongs of water to the nose of the large ork.
Dorkindle grunts as the young field commander tells the general and the knight.
What exactly, the ork warleader isn't that certain about. After all, he wasn't paying attention.
So he turns to see what the nobleborn teenager from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin is going on about.
"They're two new arrivals" says Tamric Drubine the field commander, who continues on with "Sarill is from down in the Winter Palace, she's a mage".
Both the knight and the general scowl when they hear that. As they know how unpredictable mages can be. Not to mention how powerful in magic they are.
"And the other is Alisian" says the young field commander who then adds "He's from a village on the coast, and he's".
"One of them water fucks" says Dorc da Orc in disgust as he interrupts the senior officer in the armies of Farque.
"If you mean a water elemental Dorc, then yes he's a water elemental" says Tamric Drubine or Tam as he's more commonly called by those who know him well, who continues with "The most rarest of the water elementals too, a spouter".
The ork weaponsmith grunts, while the nobleborn knight murmurs "Hmmmmm" in an unconvincing tone.
The two of them have never liked things or people that are out of the ordinary. Which is exactly what they are. Though they would never admit it to anyone, or themselves.
The son and former heir of a previous knight of castle Drubine, which is located in the forested north of the kingdom of Sarcrin.
Looks at the heavily armoured knight, and the large ork. Who are more alike than they realise. It's why they're such fierce competitors, and such bitter rivals.
Not that they'll ever figure that out, Tam dryly thinks to himself, who then tells them "They won't join one of the groups as such" he follows that with "But they'll work with each group of recruits".
The senior officer in the armies of Farque, then says "They're actually much further along in their training than our groups, which is necessary considering who they are, and what they can do".
Field commander Drubine continues with "Though they're here to see how they work alongside others, the main reason they're here is to see how our recruits can work with such powerful people".
The nobleborn teenager originally from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin, who was found by Dorc da Orc and a couple of the others in the group when he was just eight years old.
Briefly pauses before he says "They're also here to see how our recruits can face adversary, and how they react to it".
Both the nobleborn knight and the ork warleader look in through the window.
Where they see the two new arrivals, the mage Sarill, and the water elemental spouter Alisian. Chatting with a few of the recruits of the first group.
Once again the ork weaponsmith grunts, and the former paladin murmurs "Hmmmmm".
The two new arrivals glance out the window at the same time. And are taken aback at the sight of the two looking in through the window at them.
Well, more taken aback at the sight of the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world. Than they are at the sight of the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic.
As the recruits in the first group they're chatting to, explain who the large ork, and the heavily armoured knight are.
Outside on the portico, Tamric Drubine is saying to Dorc and Percy "I trust you two can work with the two new recruits then?".
The young field commander who knows exactly how both the ork general and the knight, can be when they're around spellcasters and others with extraordinary abilities.
Continues on with "No complaining and moaning about them?".
"I, the great sir Percavellé doth not complain and moan about anything" says Percy, who then with a sideways glance at his bitter rival, adds "Unless it's this smelly, overgrown by blow of a demon here, wot".
"What you call me cunt?" says a confused looking Dorc da Orc, who follows that with "And you fucken bitch about everything and anything ya dickface shithead".
"Doth not" says the former paladin, which illicits a snort of derision from the large ork.
Field commander Drubine rolls his eyes, then says to the two of them "No matter" followed by "You'll start work with the two new recruits in the morning".
The bitter rivals scowl as they glance sideways at one another.
Then the ork general grunts, while the heavily armoured knight murmurs "Hmmmmm" at the prospect of working with the two new arrivals . . . . . .

The General & The Knight 20.

Winter. The Town Of Gildin Dale.

In the town of Gildin Dale, like everywhere in the lands of Farque. And for that matter, pretty much everywhere across The Southlands.
Midwinter's day is a festival day, a day of celebration.
And though much of the morning was taken up with the games of kickball on the field next to the grounds, to the west of Gildin Dale.
The rest of the day, and now into the night. The celebration of midwinter has continued.
As a lot of cooking and baking has taken place over the last couple of days, and throughout the day itself.
And people go from house to house throughout town, eating and drinking, as they celebrate the auspicious day.
The midpoint in winter, where the turn towards spring is brought into the concious of the nation.
And elsewhere in the Southlands, and pretty much right across the world, south of the equator.
Equally north of the equator, today is celebrated as the midsummer festival.
The teenage army recruits, join in on the festivities. As this is the only day off they get during their training, here in the town of Gildin Dale.
And though pretty much all of them are battered and bruised in some way after this morning's rather vigours games of kickball.
That doesn't stop them joining in on the celebrations.
As this is about the only time they interact with the townsfolk for more than a few moments.
As ordinarily, they help with the support of the training with the recruits from throughout northwestern Farque.
They don't get to talk to them that much. As the recruits are busy from before dawn, to late in the evening most days.
While at other times, the teenagers who are being trained for the armies of Farque.
Are away from town, especially if they have to do the east trail through the forest. Where they're gone from Gildin Dale for more than a day at a time.
There's a few flakes of snow in the air this night. As people go from house to house.
After the town's priest, has a quick service to usher in the turning towards spring, which the midwinter's festival is pretty much all about.
Like throughout the nation of Farque. A sole priest can be found in most towns and citadels.
And though you'll not find clerics, or clergy with the ability to cast magic.
You will find priests and priestess of various gods and goddess throughout the lands of Farque.
Which one might think is surprising, considering who it is, that's the lord and ruler of the lands.
And how many beings who are similar to him, who can be found right across the nation, that bears the name of the warlord who rules it.
One such individual, is sir Morcin the avenger. The nobleman, whose nation of birth no longer exists.
Who is the sentinel for this area of the northwest region of the lands Farque.
A sentinel is the undead being who protects a particular area in the nation from outside forces.
Mostly along the border region of the lands that bear their lord's name.
The undead avenger is making his way through Gildin Dale, carrying a pair of bottles.
Something he's kept for such an occasion. As he heads to the pair of houses. That are side by side. In which live field commander Tamric Drubine and Saanea the witch.
While in the other lives Shur Kee the monk, and sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
The former knight, who willingly left his knightly order, making him what's known as an avenger.
He left to travel to the lands Farque, to join the famous mercenary armies, he had seen in battle.
This was over four hundred and fifty years ago, before he actually died.
Makes his way around the house that the short, statured monk from the far east coast of the continent, shares with the nobleborn knight from the kingdom of Druvic.
Where inside they have a number of the townsfolk visiting. Who from the sounds of it, are listening to an exaggerated account of a battle from sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
The undead avenger makes his way to behind the next house along. Where the nobleborn teenager from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin lives with the spellcaster from the Maldin Hills.
They too have some of the townsfolk visiting. Who thankfully don't have to listen to what their friends and fellow Farqians are listening to in the house next door.
At least one can have a conversation, and get a word in whilst speaking with the young field commander and the witch who is his lover.
You can't really do that next door with sir Percavellé Lé Dic droning on and on, about how he won such and such battle.
Usually against his bitter rival. The ork general, Dorc da Orc. Who sir Morcin the undead avenger has come to see.
He finds the large ork sitting by himself, next to the woodshed behind the house that Tamric Drubine and Saanea are living in together.
The ork warleader, who is drinking from a barrel of ale.
Looks both contented, and annoyed. Contented because he's drinking after having a lot to eat today and this evening.
And annoyed because he had to give away some of his booze that he keeps locked in the woodshed he's sitting next to.
He didn't want to, but he was ordered to by field commander Drubine. And the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
Handed over four barrels, two of wine, and two of ale. To the townsfolk. To help with the celebrations for the midwinter festival.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks looks up. And through the swirling flakes of snow in the air.
He spots sir Morcin the avenger approaching the woodshed he's sitting next to.
The large ork who is a general in the armies of Farque. Grunts with interest as he sees the glass bottles the undead being is carrying.
The warleader of the ork race becomes even more interested when he quickly sniffs. And identifies what drink is in the bottles the avenger has with him.
Crouching down next to the large ork, sir Morcin the undead avenger says in orkish "Here cunt".
And hands the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world one of the bottles he's brought along.
It's a clear glass bottle, and the liquid within it is clear too.
Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle, which is his given name, grunts in appreciation when he takes the bottle.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, pulls the cork out. And though he'd like to drink it all in one go.
He just takes a small mouthful, a sip really. Just like he sees sir Morcin do with the other bottle that he's just opened.
The ork who is a general in the armies of Farque, makes a face at the taste of the liquor.
Enjoying the taste, after only drinking ale and wine ever since he and the others arrived here in Gildin Dale at the end of autumn.
"Fucken good shit" states Dorc da Orc in his native language after he smacks his lips a few times, savoring the taste of the distilled spirits, that is extremely high in alcohol.
So much so, it would probably make a normal human blind. Or kill them if they drank too much of it.
"What's that fucken flav?" asks the son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks. Whose rather large skull, he has tied to his belt.
"Juniper" replies the undead avenger, in the common language, as the word juniper doesn't translate at all in the ork language.
Dorkindle grunts, as he has absolutely no idea what that is. Though he knows lord Farque sometimes drinks that flavoured distilled spirit.
After taking another sip, then putting the cork back into the top of the bottle. As he intends to make it last. Well, at least through the night.
The ork, who to this day, is still the largest member of the wolf tribe of orks, says in his native language "Thanks cunt".
The local sentinel nods, and says in orkish "No worries cunt" before he sticks the cork back into the top of that bottle he's holding.
And then as he crouches near the ork general, the undead avenger says "There's some fucking sky lights going up later".
A look of anticipation and excitement appears on the broad, green, feral looking face of the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
"Aww fucken sweet" says the warleader of the ork race, who continues on with "Dorc likes sky lights".
The large ork has enjoyed the craft of skylighters. And though there aren't any here in the town of Gildin Dale.
There's enough of the townsfolk, who know how to set the sky lights off.
As they were dropped off by an airship from the Winter Palace at the start of the week.
Along with a number of supplies. Predominantly foodstuffs, that's difficult to find or grow here in the small forest town of Gildin Dale.
The son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks. Who he killed, because she was doing her best to kill him at the time.
Chats with undead avenger who speaks his native language. Something he enjoys hearing, even if spoken by a human. Who admittedly speaks orkish even better than he does.
Inside the kitchen of the house he shares with his lover, Saanea the witch.
Tamric Drubine the field commander looks out one of the glass windows.
And by the light of the hanging lamp in the back portico.
He spots Dorc da Orc and sir Morcin out by the woodshed in the yard behind the house.
The two of them are chatting about something as the occasional flake of snow can be seen falling this night.
The nobleborn teenager, who is originally from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin.
Watch as the two outside in the backyard, next to the woodshed. Chat about something. As they occasionally drink from the bottles they both have.
Though Dorkindle does drink more steadily from the barrel of ale he has also broached.
Tamric Drubine, or Tam as more often than not, he's called by those who know him well.
Turns and makes his way into the main room of the house, where Saanea the witch has just farewelled some of the townsfolk.
And just welcomed some of the teenage recruits into the house.
Some of whom are little tipsy, as they've been drinking this night in celebration of it being midwinter's.
The nobleborn teenager originally from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin, who is now a senior officer in the armies of Farque.
Listens to the conversations of the recruits who are from throughout the northwest of the lands Farque.
He hears about their hopes for placements in their lord's armies.
As well hearing about who they actually are. As he's never really got to know any of them since they arrived at the start of winter.
The young field commander only knows the basics about the recruits, who are four and five years younger than him.
So from the seven or so in the main room of the house he shares with his lover, Saanea the witch.
He learns more about the teenage army recruits. Their hopes, and fears before be selected for recruitment.
To how they're actually dealing with their time here in the town of Gildin Dale.
Tam who is the son and former heir of a previous knight of castle Drubine, which is located in the forested north of the kingdom of Sarcrin.
Is actually pleasantly surprised at how well the young teens are coping with their time in training, whilst based here in Gildin Dale.
He along with the other instructors, haven't run across any recruit who is homesick.
Though no doubt, plenty of them probably were when the training first got underway.
Nor has field commander Drubine found any of them, absolutely hating what they're doing.
With it being halfway through the winter now. The teenage recruits from here in northwestern Farque have become accustomed to their training.
And have got used to both the physical and mental challenges. Which will get more difficult as the winter continues.
As the Farqian army recruits, eat some of the food that's been left out, and they drink from the barrel of watered ale that Tamric Drubine has opened.
They tend to speak with Saanea the witch more than they do the nobleborn teenager from Sarcrin.
Due to the fact he's in command of the recruits training here in Gildin Dale.
Though a few of them open up to the young field commander. Telling him about their lives before they were recruited. And talking about what they hope to achieve once they're placed in one of the armies of Farque.
Tam speaks very little, occasionally saying something. More likely to nod, as he gets some of the teenage recruits to open up more.
Until finally there's a call from outside, as it's nearing midnight.
The recruits, followed by the couple make their way out onto the front portico.
Field commander Drubine looks to the right and left, and sees others have come outside from their homes.
Including sir Percavellé Lé Dic and Shur Kee the monk from the house next door.
They all make their way onto the street, and start heading to the west side of town.
The senior officer in the armies of Farque looks back, and sees Dorc da Orc and sir Morcin are heading this way too.
And soon, most if not all of the people living and working in Gildin Dale this winter.
Have made their way to the west side of town. Overlooking the grounds just outside of the forest town.
And though there's only one moon up high in the night sky at the moment. It's enough to see that there's movement out on the grounds.
Tamric Drubine puts an arm around his lover Saanea the witch. As flakes of snow light drift around in the air.
As they and everyone else wait with anticipation.
The young field commander faintly smiles as he hears Dorc da Orc say something in orkish. In a quite an obvious impatient tone.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world doesn't have to wait too long.
Because there soon comes the sound of a dull thud that echoes across the grounds.
And all those waiting and watching here on the west side of the town of Gildin Dale.
See a small spark of white light shoot up into the night sky, going a few hundred feet up.
Before there's an explosion of colour, along with a rather loud bang, as the sky lights are lit.
Appreciative awwws and ahhhs, come from those watching. As the townsfolk on the grounds tasked with letting off the sky lights.
Set one after the other off. Sending a myriad of colours, and sounds. Flashing and banging across the night sky above Gildin Dale.
And though all of those watching enjoy the midwinter festival sky lights.
It's the children who have been allowed to stay up late. Along with general Dorc who enjoy it the most.
Sir Morcin the undead avenger who has stepped back. As the ork warleader claps with enthusiasm, and shouts for joy each time a sky light explodes in the night sky.
The undead being watches the townsfolk, the teenage army recruits, and their instructors.
Having an image of them in his memory forever.
As he does every midwinter's night here in Gildin Dale for the last few centuries.
Ever since he was appointed the sentinel for this area in the northwest of the lands Farque . . . . . .

The General & The Knight 19.

Winter. The Nation Of Farque.

On the grounds, there's an open area of ground to the side of the first course, that's the closest thing to a field anywhere near the small town of Gildin Dale, which is a forest town.
At this time of the year, the patch of open ground is pretty much devoid of grass, and is quite muddy.
And today, which is midwinter's day. It's the place where the teen recruits, who have their only day off from training all winter.
Are playing the game of kickball, while the majority of the townsfolk, along with their instructors, cheer them on from the sides of the field.
The game, which was Dorc da Orc's suggestion. As he has played it quite often in the past. Though usually with a severed head, and not the leather ball like the recruits are using today.
Has fairly simple rules. Two of the groups of ten are on the field at the same time, opposing one another.
At either end of the field, a pair of wooden stakes, about four foot tall. That have been hammered into the ground, about fifteen feet apart.
Each group of recruits has to defend their end of the field. While the other tries to get the leather ball through the gap between the wooden stakes, and vice versa.
Contrary to it's name, you don't have to necessarily just kick the ball to score a point.
One can pick it up and carry it if they want, as they try and score a point against their opposition.
Apart from that, anything goes. The only real rules is that no weapons are allowed on the field.
And that there's no eye gouging, or hits to the groin, for both boys and girls.
Though by accident, and deliberately, that does happen from time to time in the vigorous, and often violent game of kickball.
On the field at the moment, is the first group, playing the third group of recruits, who are based here in the town of Gildin Dale this winter.
On the sidelines, are the second and fourth groups. Who have already played a game.
And by the looks of some of the bruised and bloody teenage recruits in those two groups. Their game was a rather brutal affair.
As is the game out on the field beside the grounds at the moment.
For Marshay of the first group picks up the ball that Lamis has just kicked across the field to her.
And as she sets off for their opponent's end of the field.
A rather large teenage boy from the third group, runs across to Marshay, and with a swinging arm, hits her across the chest.
Sending her flying backwards to hit the muddy ground, and to spill the ball from her grasp.
As Marshay lies on the ground groaning after that hit.
The large fourteen year old boy, who when he's completed his army training, will definitely be in a heavy foot division of their lord's armies. Triumphantly picks up the ball, and goes to turn around to head the other way.
When he's suddenly hit in the back, as Dammis does a leaping, jumpkick. That hits the larger teenage boy, square in the back.
The larger teen hits the muddy ground face first. And the ball goes flying away.
There's a mad scramble for the leather ball. As three recruits from both groups try to get it.
A melee ensues, and punches, kicks, and elbows go flying as six of the teens on the muddy field fight for the ball.
Hamblin of the first group, who is fairly large, though lean and muscular.
Finally gets the ball, after he gets a punch in the guts, and a kick to the legs.
Though he retaliates with an elbow to the head of his assailant. Which sends that recruit from the third group, staggering away, totally dazed, not knowing exactly where he is, and what he's actually doing.
Hamblin gets free of the melee with the leather ball.
Simply enough, as Jinsa. Who in the short time this game between the first and third group has been going on.
Is without doubt the dirtiest player on the field by far.
Knees an opponent in the groin, dropping him to the ground.
And throat punching a girl in the third group. Who has tried to wrestle the ball off Hamblin.
The teenage boy from the farming village of Polsten, which lies about forty five miles to the southeast of the town of Gildin Dale.
Kicks the ball down field, to where Maselle is wide open, by herself, closest to their opposition's end.
Hamblin is tackled from behind just after he kicks the ball away.
And as he lies on the ground winded, with a face full of mud.
He grins as he sees Maselle, who has picked up the ball. Run through the gap between the two wooden stakes at their opponent's end of the field. Scoring a point for the first group.
Then he's punched in the side of the head by the recruit who tackled him to the ground, and is lying beside him.
Dorc da Orc bursts out laughing, slapping his thighs in exuberance as a fight breaks out between the two groups of recruits on the field, after the first group scored another point.
The large ork, whose idea it was to play kickball today. Is sitting at the base of a tree, drinking from a barrel of ale.
On what is now a sunny, but cold midwinter's day, that started off foggy, here in the town of Gildin Dale.
The ork warleader is enjoying the games of kickball. As the teenage army recruits from here in the northwest of the nation of Farque.
Play with enthusiasm, and a fair amount of violence. That the ork weaponsmith hasn't seen much of when he's witnessed the game of kickball played elsewhere in the Southlands.
Of course it can't compare to when he played the game as an orkling, back in his homeland, the Ork Range. Which is in the southern polar region of the world.
The game there isn't called kickball. It's called cuntball. And it's not played with a leather ball. Considering leather is near impossible to find at the frozen bottom of the world.
Cuntball is usually played with the head of an ork from an enemy tribe.
Or an animal. Which was usually a seal in the case of when Dorc da Orc, or Dorkindle which is his given name, was a youngster.
And in cuntball, there are absolutely no rules whatsoever.
And the ork who is now the warleader of his race.
Can clearly remember a number of fatalities whenever cuntball was played.
It didn't help that there was no actual teams. As it was every orkling for themselves.
And instead of stakes at one end of the field you had to get the head or seal through.
You just had to keep possession of the cuntball. Until everyone else playing, was unable to continue.
Either by being knocked out, too injured to continue playing, or just dead.
Dorkindle as an orkling won quite a few games of cuntball.
It helped that he was largest of the orklings in the wolf tribe at the time.
The only time he can't remember winning. Was when one of his best friends, Onka Donka would play.
Onka would always win those games. For the simple reason no one else would play against the young shaman.
Who by far is the craziest, and the most mentally unstable of all the orklings at the time.
And that's saying something, considering they're all crazy and mentally unstable.
As there's no denying it, the entire ork race are totally mad.
The ork general chuckles at the memory of playing cuntball as an orkling.
Which had the added bonus, well for an ork at least. Where you got to eat the enemy's head or seal if you won the game.
Dorkindle doesn't think eating a leather ball can compare.
Even though leather is from a cow. It certainly doesn't taste like a cow. As the large ork has eaten a few leather kickballs in his time.
And he didn't find them particularly appetizing.
"Smack the cunts in the face!" calls out Dorc da Orc as the two groups out on the field continue to fight.
The recruits only stop fighting when Tamric Drubine the field commander shouts out to them to resume with the game.
The two groups break apart. And head to their respective ends of the field.
None of them need healing. Though a few of them are more than a little wobbly on their feet.
And are staggering as they join the rest of their group, at whatever end is their group's.
Where he sits, drinking from a barrel of ale. The ork general looks away to his right.
Where a little bit away, is his bitter rival, sir Percavellé Lé Dic. Who is sitting on one of the benches that have been brought outside.
The large ork softly chuckles to himself. As the former paladin looks like he's swallowed something sour tasting.
The nobleborn knight originally from the kingdom of Druvic. Has been in a foul mood for the last couple of days.
Ever since he found out that the undead wardog Axe ate his sword of knockdown.
The former earl of Lé Dic, which is his family's fief in eastern Druvic. Isn't mad at Axe.
Sir Percavellé Lé Dic maybe an idiot, but he's not stupid. And he knows being mad at Axe is both futile, and extremely dangerous.
So the member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che has decided to blame someone else for the loss of his magical weapon.
And that person is his bitter rival, Dorc da Orc. Who in the opinion of the former paladin. If the large ork hadn't stolen the sword of  knockdown.
Then he Percy, which is what those who know sir Percavellé Lé Dic well, tend to call him.
Wouldn't of sent Axe to go and retrieve the magical weapon. Which eventually ended up with the massive canine eating the sword of knockdown.
The nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic, who is both a landed and an ordered knight.
Sits there watching the recruits playing kickball out on the field.
Not actually taking in what they're doing. As he's got his mind on other things.
Most particularly, like how he's going to get his revenge on his bitter rival, Dorc da Orc. For the loss of his sword of knockdown.
The kickball game gets underway again when both groups are lined up at their respective ends of the field.
And Findal, the blacksmith's son here in Gildin Dale. Has retrieved the leather ball, and placed in the very middle of the field.
Once the young boy has got clear of the field. The recruits at either end of the field. Look over to where field commander Drubine is standing.
There's at least a few glazed looks directed at the nobleborn teenager from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin.
From the recruits in both groups in this game who have taken head knocks.
All the same, they closely watch the senior officer in the armies of Farque. Who is in command of the training that the teenage army recruits are doing here in Gildin Dale this winter.
The young field commander lifts up his right arm. And when he quickly drops it. The game resumes. With the recruits running for the ball in the center of the field.
As the two groups of teenage recruits dash towards the ball, with the fastest of them.
Quickly getting out infront of their fellow group members.
Tamric Drubine the field commander quietly says "Damn, they play for keeps here".
Next to him, his lover, Saanea the witch nods in agreement.
Then the spellcaster from the Maldin Hills winces. As does field commander Drubine.
As the first few recruits from both groups don't even bother to go for the ball.
They run at each other. Trying to take one another out. So they can't get the ball at all.
The object of the game of kickball. Well, today's midwinter's games here in Gildin Dale. Is the first team to score five points, is the winning team.
The first game, which was between the second and the fourth group of recruits.
Didn't even get that far. It ended prematurely at four points to three points, in favour of the fourth group of Farqian army recruits.
When the undead wardog Axe suddenly ran out onto the field, and took the leather ball, and ran away with it.
Sir Morcin the undead avenger had to run after the massive canine to retrieve it. As that's the only ball in town they've got.
Now the undead wardog is on the otherside of the field. Walking back and forth, barking in excitement, and encouragingly as he watches the teenage recruits out on the field, playing kickball.
The undead avenger sir Morcin isn't that far from Axe. Keeping an eye on the Farqian wardog.
Making sure there isn't a repeat of the previous game. Which ended abruptly, thanks to Axe taking off with the leather ball.
The score at the moment in this particular game, is three points each.
The most recent point by the first group, has tied up the score.
The ball which has squirted off to one side as the first lot to get to the middle of the field, are too hell bent on taking one another out.
To pay too much attention to the actual game they're playing.
So that the teenage recruit Markell of the first group. Finds that he has a free go at the leather ball.
The thirteen year old teenager kicks the ball as hard as he can.
And true, he's trying to kick it towards the third group's end of the field.
That's fairly secondary to what he's actually trying to do.
Which is kick it straight at the head of one of his opponents, who is running straight at him.
The leather ball, which is covered in mud, and a lot heavier than it was before the kickball games got underway.
Hits one of the teenage girls in the third group of recruits, dead in the face.
Her head snaps back, and she's knocked down to the ground, landing on her back, definitely knocked out cold.
A number of groans come from some of the townsfolk, and even a lot of the recruits from the second and fourth groups, who are watching this game between the other two groups of ten each, who are living and training in the town of Gildin Dale this winter.
There might be groans of sympathy from them. But from Dorc da Orc there comes a loud peel of laughter.
Followed by the large ork shouting out "She got knocked the fuck out!". Before he continues laughing as he found that exceptionally funny.
A couple of the townsman hurry onto the field, and grab the unconscious teenager.
And carry her off the field. So that Saanea the witch can heal her with a spell.
By then, the first group scores another point, when Dammis kicks the ball through the stakes in the ground at the opposition's end of the field.
The score is four points to three, in favour of the first group. When the teenager who was knocked out when the leather ball was kicked into her face. Makes it back onto the muddy field that lies next to the grounds.
The third group score the next point, and even the game up.
When one of their recruits, gets an opening. And drops the ball, and as it bounces back up off the ground, he kicks it.
Sending it sailing through the air, over Farnid. Who is back towards his group's end of the field. Trying to stop any attempt of the ball going through the gap in the stakes.
Which is exactly what happens, as the ball hits the ground behind him. And though the field is muddy, the kickball rolls a good ten yards. And goes through the stakes at that end of the field. Tying the score between the two groups of recruits.
As the blacksmith's son Findal goes and retrieves the ball, and return it to the center of the field.
The two groups as they stand at either end of the field, quickly discuss tactics. For whoever scores the next point, will win the game.
The third group decides on something, as does the first.
Then both groups of teenage army recruits look to where field commander Drubine stands, with his right arm raised up into the air, waiting for him to drop it down.
With a shout of "Fuck each other up!" coming from general Dorc. And other shouts of encouragement coming from the crowd watching the kickball game, along with the undead wardog Axe barking with enthusiasm.
The two groups of recruits take off running to where the leather ball is, when the young field commander drops his arm for them to resume the game.
With the group scoring next, will win the game of kickball. Which is all part of the town of Gildin Dale's midwinter's day festival . . . . . .

The General & The Knight 18.

Winter. Gildin Dale. The Lands Farque. The Southlands.

Shur Kee the monk has spent the afternoon training with one of the groups of recruits in the town hall of Gildin Dale, taken them for a lesson in unarmed combat.
He's walking back to the house he's living in with sir Percavellé Lé Dic, when he sees Tamric Drubine the field commander walking in the same direction.
The nobleborn teenager who has just been out on the training grounds with another of the groups, waves out to the short, statured monk.
Who makes his way over to the senior officer in the armies of Farque, who is in command of the training here in Gildin Dale this winter.
"Oh what is it?" asks Shur Kee the monk in response to Tamric Drubine the field commander telling him "Saanea says that something's happened with the group who are just coming back in from the east trail".
The nobleborn teenager who hails from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin says "Nothing to do with the recruits" followed by "Something to do with Dorc, she said he looks more angrier than usual".
Shur Kee, who is an honorary member of the personal council to lord Farque. Rolls his eyes when he hears that.
While Tamric Drubine or Tam as he's more commonly called by those who know him well.
Just shakes his head, and wonders if it's got anything to do with the undead wardog Axe. Who sir Percavellé Lé Dic convinced yesterday morning to leave town, and go and retrieve his sword of knockdown which Dorc da Orc stole from him.
Probably, field commander Drubine dryly thinks to himself, as he and the acolyte in the philosophical order of Bru Li head through town.
As they make their way to the east side of Gildin Dale, the short, statured monk who is a physical adept, quietly asks "Will friend Dorc actually come into town?".
As they all know, that the large ork has been avoiding coming into town this week, ever since he took the sword of knockdown from his bitter rival, sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
"Well, we're about to find out" says the son and former heir of a previous knight of castle Drubine, a castle found in the forested north of the kingdom of Sarcrin.
As they get to the east side of town, and look down towards the bridge that crosses the river.
As all the fishing skiffs are on this side of the river. Indicating that the returning recruits will cross the bridge to get into town.
The two of them, the monk who is in his mid thirties, wearing a white woolen cloak, and his odd, conical shaped hat.
And the eighteen year old teenager, who wears the black cloak of the Farqian army over his leather armour.
Make their way down towards the bridge along the river bank.
And a little while later, as it's now late afternoon, the first of the group of recruits who left town yesterday morning, and headed out on the east trail.
Comes into view on the forest road across the river, then crosses the bridge to town.
Field commander Drubine nods in greeting to the recruit Maselle after she crosses the bridge.
And tells her to wait in the house she shares with the rest of her group, as he would like to hear what happened while they were on the east trail.
As the teenage recruits, one by one start to come across the bridge and make their way back into town.
Shur Kee the monk looks around, and spots sir Percavellé Lé Dic. The heavily armoured knight is wandering along the river bank, heading in this direction. Watching the forest road across the river.
The physical adept figures no doubt that the nobleman originally from the kingdom of Druvic is waiting to see if his bitter rival is coming into town too.
After Garmon and Lamis, the eight and ninth of the group of ten recruits come across the bridge in fairly quick succession.
It's a little while before the last of the group of teenage recruits comes into view on the forest road across the river, then cross the bridge.
Shur Kee and Tam see it's Hamblin. And though each of the groups of recruits don't officially have a leader.
They do sort themselves out early on in their training, and one of them ends up making a lot of the decisions for them. Ending up being their unofficial leader.
And in the instance of this group that's just returned to Gildin Dale. It's the teenager from the farming village of Polsten, Hamblin who leads them.
The nobleborn teenager from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin stops the thirteen year old recruit from Polsten when he crosses the bridge.
"Anything unusual happen while you were out on the east trail Hamblin?" asks the senior officer in the armies of Farque.
"The wardog Axe joined us last night field commander" replies Hamblin the teenage recruit, who after a brief pause, tells Tam and Shur Kee what happened this morning between Axe and general Dorc.
Both the young field commander and the physical adept blink in surprise as they listen to Hamblin.
Then Tamric Drubine bites the inside of his left cheek to stop himself from grinning and laughing.
While the short, statured monk just shakes his head. And wonders what this turn of events will lead to.
After the young field commander tells Hamblin to join the rest of his group who have just returned to town.
The physical adept who is originally from beyond the Southlands, from the far east coast of the continent, where his homeland, the kingdom of Wah Lee is located.
And the nobleborn teen who hails from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin turn.
As sir Percavellé Lé Dic walks up behind them saying "What was that, the young chap was saying?" followed by "I didn't quite hear, wot".
"Ahhh" murmurs Tam Drubine, while Shur Kee remains silent on the matter, as he doesn't know how to explain what the recruit Hamblin just told him and the young field commander.
Then the three of them look across the bridge to the forest road, as they first hear, a rather irate sounding Dorc da Orc, then see the large ork come into view.
The ork warleader who is swearing in a mix of his native language, and the common language.
Stops on the forest road, when he sees who is on the otherside of the bridge, on the town side of the river.
Then with a snarl of rage, the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
Who momentarily thinks about turning around, and heading back in the direction he's just come from.
Continues on his way, and makes his way onto the bridge, to cross to the town of Gildin Dale.
As he does, on the town side of the bridge, sir Percavellé Lé Dic or Percy as he's more commonly called by those who know him well.
Slaps a gauntleted hand on the hilt of his longsword, and loudly mutters "That disgusting green demon and i shall have a reckoning once and for all, for stealing what is rightfully mine".
"Percy behave yourself" quietly says Tamric Drubine, who is glad that Shur Kee is with him at the moment.
Because both the nobleborn knight and the ork general might not obey his orders.
They are more than a little cautious around the short statured monk, the most enigmatic member of the group.
The honorary member of lord Farque's personal council looks closely at Dorc da Orc as he crosses the bridge.
Then the physical adept has a quirk of his lips, to refrain from grinning. As he sees that what the teenage recruit Hamblin explained, did indeed happen.
The look of anger and disgust on the broad, green, brutish looking face of the ork weaponsmith confirms it too.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world clinches and  unclinches his hands as he crosses the bridge, glaring at his bitter rival who he sees standing with Shur Kee the monk, and Tamric Drubine the field commander.
As the warleader of the ork race approaches across the bridge. The former paladin, sir Percavellé looks closely at him.
Then when the general in the armies of Farque crosses the bridge, and comes to a stop a few yards from the three waiting for him.
The nobleborn knight from the kingdom of Druvic looks closely at his bitter rival.
At the ork weaponsmith's wide belt, where he usually wears the sword of knockdown when he has it. And finds that it's not there at the moment.
"Where's my sword you filthy cretin?" demands the heavily armoured knight who is a member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che.
Then it dawns upon the Percy, as he realises why the large ork doesn't have the magical weapon.
"Thou does not have it!" exclaims the former earl of Lé Dic, which is his family's fief in the east of the kingdom of Druvic.
"He took it from you" says sir Percavellé Lé Dic in triumph as he looks at his bitter rival the ork general.
For his part, Dorc da Orc just stands there glaring at the nobleborn knight who he's had a rivalry with for nearly fifteen years.
Then as the former paladin stands there gloating at him, the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world, starts to slowly grin.
A frown appears upon his face, and sir Percavellé Lé Dic says to the ork weaponsmith "What cause is there for you to smile, beast?".
"Ha!" says a grinning Dorc da Orc.
"Ha what?" mutters the heavily armoured knight in confusion.
"You will fucken find out" says the large ork with a chuckle.
"Ya fuckhead knight" adds the ork warleader with a chortle.
Who after looking back across the bridge to the otherside of the river.
Snorts, then chortles again, before he moves away a bit from the others. And comes to a stop, and waits as he continues to grin as looks at the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic.
Shur Kee the monk and Tamric Drubine the field commander share a look, as sir Percavellé Lé Dic mutters to them "What is that giant green ape up to?" followed by a muttered "Wot".
Then when the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks looks across the bridge again.
The monk, the field commander, and the knight look across it too. And spot the undead wardog Axe on the forest road, approaching the river bridge to Gildin Dale.
The massive canine isn't moving particular fast. He's moving at a walk, stopping once and a while to sniff, or look at something that takes his interest.
Then when he sees those who are waiting over on the town side of the river.
The Farqian wardog barks a few times, then makes his way onto the bridge, and heads across it to town.
A brief grin of triumph appears on the face of Percy, which turns to a frown as he hears a chuckle come from his bitter rival the ork general.
The former paladin pays him no mind, and instead watchers Axe saunter across the bridge, then come to a stop, and sit down on his haunches infront of the nobleborn knight, the young field commander, and the physical adept.
While Tamric Drubine slightly winces, and Shur Kee stands there with a thoughtful look upon his face.
Sir Percavellé Lé Dic says to the massive canine "Axe you faithful hound you" he continues with "I understand you took thy sword from the walking cesspool who thinks himself a general, wot".
The heavily armoured knight grins when the undead wardog Axe barks at him, once for yes.
The nobleman who hails from eastern Druvic frowns as he hears his bitter rival chuckle.
The former earl of Lé Dic doesn't look his way, instead the member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che asks Axe "Pray tell, where is the sword of knockdown?".
The undead wardog sits there softly barking and growling, no doubt telling the former paladin where exactly the magical weapon is.
Though of course, Percy has absolutely no idea what the Farqian wardog is saying.
Both Shur Kee and Tam might not know what exactly Axe is saying.
But they know what's happened to the former paladin's magical weapon since the recruit Hamblin told them what happened this morning between the undead wardog and Dorc da Orc.
The acolyte in the philosophical order of Bru Li, and the senior officer in the armies of Farque glance at one another, when sir Percavellé Lé Dic says "Does anyone know what he's saying?" followed by "Wot".
Seeing his opportunity to get something out of day that started so badly for him.
Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle, which is his given name, chuckles and says to his bitter rival "Hey dickface, me know what the big doggy is fucken sayin' to ya".
The large ork might not know exactly what Axe just said, but the ork weaponsmith can pretty much figure it out.
"Thou does not need to hear your lies, deceiver" says sir Percavellé Lé Dic with a glare directed at his bitter rival the warleader of the ork race.
For his part, the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world just laughs.
And with a wide grin upon his broad, green feral looking face, the large ork with a nod in the direction of Axe, says "He fucken eats your sword".
Then Dorkindle turns and walks away, chortling loudly as he heads into town.
Percy stands there at a loss for words as he watches his bitter rival the ork general head into town.
It takes a few moments, before he says something, and the former paladin with a shake of his head, says in a dismissive manner "That stinking green demon is such a liar".
Behind the former earl of Lé Dic, field commander Drubine and Shur Kee the monk glance at one another again.
Figuring this isn't going to go well for the nobleman originally from the kingdom of Druvic.
Looking at the massive canine, who is still sitting there looking at him, the heavily armoured knight says to Axe "Doth that beastly ork lie?".
The undead wardog barks twice for no.
With a worried look upon his face, the member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che quickly asks "Did you indeed eat my sword?".
Axe barks once for yes. Then gets up, walks by Percy, and heads into town.
The former earl of Lé Dic stands there completely dumbfounded at what he's just found out.
While behind him, Tamric Drubine winces, and even Shur Kee slightly winces.
There's silence, apart from the water of the flowing river as it goes beneath the bridge.
Then sir Percavellé Lé Dic eventually breaks the silence, by saying in a shocked tone of voice to match the look of shock upon his face "The fuck?" . . . . . .

The General & The Knight 17.

Winter. Northwestern Farque.

As he catches up to Hamblin who as usual leads the way, the recruit Lamis says to him "We'll have to stop and find a place to camp for the night".
"I know" says Hamblin the teenage recruit as he looks around for a suitable place for their group to camp.
They've spent the day on the east trail from the town of Gildin Dale. And it's nearing dusk, which comes on early as it's the middle of winter at the moment.
"There's that small clearing a couple hundred yards away, where we've camped before" says Hamblin, who is from the farming village of Polsten, which lies about forty five miles to the southeast of Gildin Dale.
"We'll camp there" adds the teenage recruit, who in all likelihood will end up as a scout, then a ranger in one of their lord's armies.
"Lead the rest there" says Hamblin to Lamis as first Maselle comes into view along the trail through the trees, then Dammis.
Lamis, nods his head, and makes his way forward along the trail.
While Hamblin stays put, and waves the others forward, as one by one, they get to where he is on the forest trail.
The son of farmers from Polsten waits for Jinsa, who is last in line. Who like him, is a more than capable hand with the bow.
Jinsa, who is more than able to keep pace with him at the front of the group.
Is the rear guard today. Though she's actually not the last of them on the eastern forest trail today.
That would be today's instructor, the ork general Dorc da Orc. Who is huffing and puffing as he comes into view through the trees.
Jinsa as she passes Hamblin, wryly smiles and dryly says to him in elven "He's been swearing and shouting for the last couple of miles, he's not in a good mood".
The teenager from the farming village of Polsten nods his head, and quietly says in the elven language "Catch up to the others where they're making camp".
He then adds "I'll lead him there" as he gestures back to where the large ork is on the trail, heading this way.
Jinsa nods, then moves off at a run. Not that you'd think she and the rest of the teenage recruits have covered nearly twenty five miles today, since they left the town of Gildin Dale before dawn.
Hamblin, who is this group of recruits scout, and unofficially their leader. Winces as he watches the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world approach.
The ork warleader has a number of barrels strapped to his back, that he's brought with him from town.
Ale and wine barrels by the look of it. Which no doubt he'll drink when they get to the spot where the night's camp is being set up.
Hamblin clinches his cloak tight as it's starting to get cold as the sun is going down in the west.
Then the teenage recruit who knows why the ork general has gone out with the groups on the east trail the last couple of days.
Everyone in Gildin Dale does. The reason why, Hamblin sees on the wide belt that the ork weaponsmith wears.
Says to him in the common language as he approaches "General, will it snow tonight?".
As he, like all the other recruits based in the small forest town of Gildin Dale this winter, has learnt the large ork has an incredible sense of the weather.
The warleader of the ork race, who only returned to town yesterday evening with the previous group of recruits who went out on the day long trail to the east of Gildin Dale.
Well, he didn't actually go into town until the dead of night. As he's avoiding sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
And more importantly field commander Tamric Drubine, who will probably make him return the sword of knockdown to his bitter rival, the former earl of Lé Dic.
Grunts as he breathes heavily, then looks around as he starts to sniff deeply and rapidly.
"Yeah cunt" says Dorc da Orc "Just a little fucken bit" adds the large ork, who follows that with "Smells like fucken fog again in the morning".
Hamblin nods, as that isn't too unexpected, as it's foggy most mornings in the wintertime in this area of northwestern Farque.
Hamblin walks beside the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world, as they continue along the trail.
As he does, the young teen from the farming village of Polsten, refrains from screwing up his nose, as the large ork is rather fragrant to say the least.
As they walk, the teenage Farqian asks the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks "There aren't any of those Aellothos around is there general?".
"Huh?" asks the ork warleader who is thinking about getting stuck into the booze he's brought along when they get to camp.
"The dwarf harpies" explains Hamblin, who continues on with "Those creatures that attacked our group earlier in the winter".
"Nah, none of them flappy fuckers around" says Dorc da Orc whose given name, is Dorkindle.
"Those fucken cunts tasted yuck" loudly mutters the large ork.
The teenager from the farming village of Polsten slightly winces when he hears that from general Dorc.
As he clearly remembers the ork weaponsmith munching on the wings of one of the Aellothos that attacked them earlier in the winter when they did the day long east trail.
And the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world spat it out in disgust.
Though Hamblin recalls that didn't stop the large ork from gnawing on the face and head of another of the dead Aellothos. Which he also spat out in disgust.
The teenage recruit figures learned behaviour isn't exactly a thing amongst orks.
As he's seen numerous examples of the ork general repeatedly doing things he doesn't like.
Usually to do with food. As he tries things out to see if he likes them or not.
The ork, who is the son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks.
Always looks disappointed when a meal is served in town that has both vegetables and meat mixed up together.
That doesn't stop him from eating it. Even though he tries to pick out all the vegetables that have been cooked along with the meat.
Hamblin has also learnt the warleader of the ork race has an extremely sweet tooth.
As the large ork was caught eating the nameday cake of one of the town's children a few weeks ago.
Which of course, had to be made again, and kept an eye on. Just incase the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world tried to steal that one too.
They get to the clearing where the group's camp for tonight is being set up.
Here the ork general comes in handy. As he pushes down, and together a number of trees. So that they form tent like structures, that shelter the recruits for the night.
Where three or four of the teenagers can sleep, as he makes three such structures for the recruits.
While the ork weaponsmith will sleep out in the open. That's if he even bothers to sleep.
As the recruits, not just this group of ten. But all of them based in the town of Gildin Dale this winter.
Have learnt that the general can go days and nights without sleeping.
Which he intends to do tonight. As he has some serious drinking to do instead.
As the recruits lite a cook fire, and start making their dinner. Which will be an oat gruel, that will have a mix of vegetables and ham in it.
The warleader of the ork race shrugs off the half dozen barrels he's carried on his back today.
And sits at the base of a tree across the clearing from the cook fire, and broaches one of the barrels, an ale barrel in this instance, and starts drinking as the sun sets in the west. And evening falls upon the forest to the east of the town of Gildin Dale.
It's dark by the time the meal is cooked, and the recruits eat their dinner.
Meanwhile their instructor, the ork general Dorc da Orc. Has taken something out of one of his sacks he has tied to his weapon harness.
Even without the fire, and if it was completely dark, the teenage recruits would easily recognise what the large ork has pulled out of one of his sacks.
It's a chunk of bear. The hindquarters by the looks of it. And it absolutely stinks. Infact it reeks worse than the ork warleader himself.
A bear that earlier in the week, Dorkindle dragged from it's den where it was hibernating, and bashed to death.
The bear thick with grease on it's coat, which males tend to extrude as they hibernate in the wintertime.
Has been a constant go to snack for the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world over the last four or five days.
The weaponsmith has saved the fatty hindquarters for last.
And the ten teenage recruits on the otherside of the clearing, quickly finish their meals.
As the ork warleader's snack, is enough to put anyone off from eating anything, as it stinks so much.
The large ork has a wide grin upon his broad, green brutish looking face as he goes from eating the rear end of a brown bear, to drinking from the barrel of ale he's broached, and back again.
Chuckling as he does so, and belching in between bites and drinks.
The ork, who happens to be the senior most army officer in residence of Gildin Dale this winter.
Which no one bothers to remind him about. As they'd sooner not have him give orders.
Has just torn a chunk of bear from the hindquarters he's holding, and chewed it, followed by a hearty swig of the ale from the barrel next to him.
When he turns his head, and sniffs as he looks back to the west, in the direction they've come from today.
Hamblin who hasn't looked much at the burning fire, looks across the clearing to where general Dorc is sitting at the base of a tree.
And sees the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, sniffing as he looks back to the nearby trail, and to the west.
Then he hears the ork warleader mutter something, most likely a swear word of some kind, in the language of the orks.
"General" quietly calls out Hamblin the recruit.
"What is it?" adds the son of farmers from the village of Polsten,
Dorkindle grunts, then says in reply "That fucken doggy".
The big, burly ork the frozen bottom of the world goes back to eating and drinking. Definitely paying more attention to his drinking.
For a little while later, the massive form of the undead wardog Axe comes into view through the trees.
Making his way to the clearing where the teenage recruits and the ork general have set up camp for the night.
The Farqian wardog flops down between the fire and the otherside of the clearing where Dorc da Orc is sitting at the base of a tree.
As he drinks, the warleader of the ork race keeps an eye on Axe. Who lies there, staring at the large ork, who was sent into exile from his homelande, The Ork Range for killing his mother, the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe.
Which was only fair, considering his mother was hell bent on doing her best to kill him at the time.
As the fire dies down a bit, and the recruits one by one, go into the shelters they're spending the night in, and hop into their bedrolls.
With only Hamblin up, as well as Garmon and Marshay, the two who have the first watch of the night.
The teenage recruit from the farming village of Polsten watches Dorc da Orc, who is watching the undead wardog Axe closely.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, who has returned the rank smelling hindquarters of the bear to one of his sacks, well what's left of it.
Is just sitting their, occasionally drinking from the open barrel of ale next to him.
Not taking his eyes off the massive canine lying in the middle of the clearing watching him.
When Hamblin starts to nod off, he wishes Garmon and Marshay a goodnight.
And does the same for Dorc da Orc and Axe too. Getting a wag of the undead wardog's tail in reply. And a grunt from the ork general.
Hamblin seeks out his bedroll in the shelter he's sleeping in tonight, and as he lies next to Maselle, he's soon asleep.
Hamblin is woken by Markell. As he along with Maselle have the last watch before dawn.
Yawning, the teenage recruit from the farming village of Polsten wakes up Maselle.
Then grabbing his cloak, he crawls out of the shelter, dons his thick fur lined cloak, as he looks around and finds that it's lightly snowed during the middle of the night.
Tossing a chunk of deadwood onto the embers of the fire. Hamblin sees that general Dorc and Axe the undead wardog. Are in the exact same positions they were in when he went to sleep.
As Maselle joins him on watch. The teenager who is the son of farmers.
Sees that the warleader of the ork race who is drinking from another barrel, this one a wine barrel.
Is still closely watching the undead wardog in the middle of the clearing.
While Axe, who is still lying on the same side as he was when Hamblin sought out his bedroll, and went to sleep.
Is still staring at the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
Hamblin just shakes his head before he walks off, taking a circular route around the camp site.
Steadily getting further and further away, going over a hundred yards out.
Before circling back, crossing the path of Maselle who has circled out in the other direction in the dark.
As the two of them take the last watch before dawn.
The teenager from the farming village of Polsten knows there isn't anything to worry about in the area.
Well, at least not in the immediate vicinity. For the simple reason both general Dorc and Axe the undead wardog aren't out and about, dealing to any threat.
Then again, something that those two might not think is a threat. Could very well be a threat to the young Farqian army recruits.
Fortunately for Hamblin and the rest of the group, the last of the night passes without incident.
And in the cold, and foggy predawn. Where there's patches of snow on the forest floor, due the light fall in the middle of the night.
The ten recruits have something to eat before they break camp.
They warm up loaves of bread they brought with them from Gildin Dale.
Placing the loaves near the edge of their low burning fire.
That the recruits whilst on watch, kept going throughout the night.
They also cook themselves an oat porridge, flavoured with honey. That Garmon has brought along in a small pottle.
When that's brought out. It's the first time the ork general takes his eyes of Axe, probably for the first time since last night.
And though the large ork licks his lips as he watches the honey go into the pot of oat porridge.
He's soon back to drinking from his open wine barrel, and watching Axe, who continues to lie there in the middle of the clearing, staring at the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world.
After their breakfast, the teenage recruits break camp, pack up their gear. And head to the nearby trail, that will take them back to town, which they'll reach sometime late in the afternoon.
Hamblin has Maselle lead the way as dawn breaks. And he decides to take the end of the line, or the rearguard.
For the simple reason he wants to keep an eye on general Dorc.
He knows something's up, because the ork weaponsmith didn't drink everything he brought with him from Gildin Dale.
The warleader of the ork race still has two of the barrels he's yet to open. And he had some of the recruits tie them to his back for him, before he set off, at the back of the line as usual.
As the young teens set a decent pace first thing this morning, which like most mornings in this area of northwestern Farque, is foggy.
Hamblin is behind the ork general at the moment, about a dozen paces behind the large ork.
Who is obviously preoccupied about something. Probably Axe, is Hamblin's best guess.
As the undead wardog wandered off when they broke camp at dawn.
The teenage recruit from the farming village of Polsten is sure the massive canine is keeping pace with them, away to the right off the trail.
He's certain of it, as Dorc da Orc keeps glancing in that direction every so often. Muttering to himself in the incomprehensible language of the orks as he does so.
Hamblin is pretty sure something is going to happen, exactly what, he isn't too sure.
Though when it does happen a little bit later, as the early morning fog starts to burn away on this cold winter's morning. It happens right infront of him, and he gets a good look at it.
One moment they're at a slow jog on the forest trail, and the next moment Axe comes into view to their right.
Dorc da Orc picks up the pace, then suddenly in a blur, the undead wardog is on the trail directly behind the ork warleader.
Hamblin sees the massive canine swipe his right front paw, taking the feet out from under general Dorc, who hits the ground, yelping "Cunt!".
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks with a growl, rolls onto his back, then goes completely still as Axe clamps his jaws onto his throat as he stands over the large ork.
"Nice doggy" murmurs Dorkindle, as Hamblin comes to a stop just a few yards from the general and the undead wardog.
The warleader of the ork race lets out a shallow breath as Axe removes his jaws from his throat.
Then general Dorc hisses in displeasure as the massive canine plucks the sword of knockdown from his belt.
The large ork as he sees the magical weapon he stole from sir Percavellé Lé Dic a few days ago between the jaws of Axe.
Blinks in surprise, as does young Hamblin, as the undead wardog flips the sword of knockdown in the air, and catches it in his mouth.
And for all intensive purposes, looks like he swallows it. Before he steps over the prone ork general, and continues on his way along the trail.
"The fuck?" says a shocked Dorc da Orc as he sits up and looks around, wondering what just happened.
Hamblin the teenage army recruit is wondering the same thing to, before he suggests to the general that they get a hurry on, and catch up to the others, as they head back to the town of Gildin Dale . . . . . .

The General & The Knight 16.

Winter. The Lands Of Farque.

Tamric Drubine the field commander who is on the grounds this morning.
Looks back along the path he's on as he watches a group of the recruits on the second course.
He rolls his eyes, and sourly smiles as through the thinning fog, he sees a rather disgruntled looking sir Percavellé Lé Dic walking this way.
The nobleborn teenager from the  feudal kingdom of Sarcrin knows exactly what the former paladin is coming to him to complain about.
It's the same thing the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic has complained about for the last couple of days.
Which is the return of his magical sword of knockdown. That's recently been stolen by Dorc da Orc.
Before the heavily armoured knight starts complaining, Tamric Drubine the field commander says to him as he approaches "Percy you're supposed to be taking the third group for sword work this morning".
That stops the former earl of Lé Dic short, who blinks as that put a complete stop to the rant he was about to start up on.
After clearing his throat, sir Percavellé Lé Dic says "I am young Tam" the nobleborn knight continues with "I've got them underway already" followed by "The youngsters are training with vigour and vim as we speak, wot".
"You're supposed to be watching over them" dryly says Tamric Drubine who is more commonly called Tam by those who know him well.
The young field commander continues along the path, keeping an eye on the recruits who are on the second course, here on the grounds just to the west of the town of Gildin Dale.
The member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che hurries to catch up to the teenager who is a senior officer in the armies of Farque.
"Remember you're to give your assessment of them, which you can't really do with you here with me" says Tam when he comes to a stop as the recruits enter the water, as they begin the section of the course that's made up of obstacles in a hundred and fifty yard stretch of water.
"Yes, yes i shall return shortly so i can keep an eye on the recruits, to assess how they've progressed, wot" states the former earl of Lé Dic, which is his family's fief in eastern Druvic.
"But there's more important matters at hand" adds the heavily armoured knight, who has been more than a little annoyed over the last couple of days.
Ever since he found out that his magical sword of knockdown is missing.
Taken by his bitter rival, the ork warleader Dorc da Orc.
"That ungodly beast still has my sword" says sir Percavellé Lé Dic, who more often than not, is called Percy by those who know him well.
"And i hear he has taken off again" continues the heavily armoured knight "Off with the group on the east trail through the forest, that is another day he will be gone" says the former paladin who then adds in a loud mutter "That smelly green demon is trying to avoid me, 'cause he doth know i will slay him if he shows his ugly visage around here again".
Tam rolls his eyes again as he listens to the muttering knight from the kingdom of Druvic.
Everyone knows Dorc da Orc is avoiding being in town for the simple reason field commander Drubine will tell the ork warleader to return Percy's magical sword to him.
The nobleborn teenager for as long as he can remember. Has seen the sword of knockdown pass between the former earl of Lé Dic and the ork weaponsmith so many times. That he often forgets who actually owns it.
The senior officer in the armies of Farque knows that it actually belongs to sir Percavellé Lé Dic. Unlike the shield of Saint Mar-che, which the former paladin stole from his own order.
Though to Percy, he's just keeping the powerful magical shield in his possession for it's own safety.
As for the sword of knockdown. Dorc da Orc has had it for almost as long as the nobleborn knight in the almost fifteen years the two of them have known one another.
The magical weapon that was badly damaged, and altered when the large ork first got it.
When he took it off Percy during a Grande Melee the two of them were participants in.
And not too long after that, it was completely altered, and shortened from a longsword to basically a long dagger.
By a lightning bolt spell cast by Mira Reinholt the mage, who was at his most powerful at the time.
A lightning bolt spell he cast at Dorc da Orc, who only survived because he was holding the sword of knockdown at the time, which the bolt of lightning struck.
Seeing that field commander Drubine is paying more attention to the teenage recruits on the second course, here on the grounds to the west of town.
The nobleborn knight originally from the kingdom of Druvic, with a sour looking smile upon his face.
Turns and looks at them too when he hears a loud splash in the water section.
The member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che, sees that the undead wardog Axe has jumped into the water with the group of recruits.
And that the massive canine, who seems to be enjoying himself in the water as he splashes around.
Is following behind the last of the recruits, who are heading to the first of the obstacles, in the man-made water section of the course.
The former earl of Lé Dic, narrows his eyelids as he watches Axe. Then the heavily armoured knight suddenly grins as he gets an idea.
As Tam sets off again to keep pace with the teenage army recruits on the second course, this chilly winter's morning, that per usual for this time of the year, in this area of northwestern Farque, started off foggy.
Percy walks alongside him and says "I take it yous't will still not allow i, the great sir Percavellé, the foremost knight in all the world, to go after the walking dung heap who think'st himself a general, to take back what under great Narille's magnificent gaze, doth truly belong to me?".
Field commander Drubine wryly shakes his head, as the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic, does like to go on a bit too much.
"Yes Percy, you can't go off when you like" says the young field commander, who then adds "May i remind you, you're supposed to be watching the third group train with their swords this morning".
"Verily, this is true, wot" says the former paladin, who follows that with "Well, since i cannot reclaim what is rightly mine, i shall have another go and retrieve what truly belongs to me, the greatest of all knights to walk this world".
The nobleborn teenager who is the son and former heir of a previous knight of castle Drubine, a castle and it's surrounding lands, located in the forested north of the kingdom of Sarcrin.
Knows that there's hardly anyone who can get Percy's magical sword off Dorc da Orc.
Sir Morcin the avenger is too busy teaching the town's children in the learning center this morning.
And he's being helped by Saanea the witch this morning. Who with a spell could get the sword of knockdown off the ork warleader.
While Shur Kee the monk is helping some of the townsfolk this morning.
As a number of wagons full of supplies has just shown up this morning from the farming village of Polsten, which lies about forty five miles away to the southeast.
Gildin Dale which is a forest town, has to be regularly supplied in the wintertime and during the summer.
When there's army recruits in town. As the small town in the forest in this part of northwestern Farque. Can't provide for the extra mouths.
The short, statured monk is helping the townsfolk to put away the fresh supplies of foodstuffs and the like.
And Tamric Drubine doubts that any of those who could take the sword of knockdown off the ork general.
Would even bother to do so. As they probably all think it would be a waste of their time to do so.
But there's one other in town. Who could definitely get the former paladin's magical weapon off the warleader of the ork race.
"Sure Percy, if you want" says Tam who has instantly figured out who the nobleborn knight from the kingdom of Druvic wants to get his sword of knockdown back for him.
"Good luck with getting him to do anything for you" continues the senior officer in the armies of Farque, who then dryly adds "He kind of ignores you Percy".
"Hmmmmm 'tis true" murmurs the former paladin with a thoughtful frown upon his face, as he tries to figure out how he's going to go about doing this.
"Don't waste all morning trying to talk him into doing what you want" says field commander Drubine, who follows that with "I want you back to the third group as soon as possible, and watching over them as they practice their sword techniques".
"Not to worry, i shall" says sir Percavellé Lé Dic with his usual over confidence, even though silently he adds in a slightly worried tone, hmmmmm how shall i go about getting that big hound, to take back what's is rightfully mine, wot.
The undead wardog Axe does the first obstacle in the water section with the recruits.
When he gets onto the man-made island, the massive canine leaps the high wall in one bound after the last of the young teens has gone over, and got back into the water.
Axe gets into the water as well, and paddles around as the recruits swim to the next obstacle in this section of the second course.
It's here, as field commander Drubine keeps pace with the teenage recruits. And as Axe paddles around in circles, that sir Percavellé Lé Dic tries to get the attention of the Farqian wardog.
"I say hound, over here boy!" calls out the former paladin, who then whistles and waves to try and get Axe's attention.
Must not call it a mutt, wot, Percy thinks to himself as the massive canine ignores him.
The nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic who is of the opinion that this particular wardog is either extremely lazy, or extremely active, and pretty much nothing in between.
Beckons Axe over and says "Over here boy" and whistling to the wardog, trying to get it to come over to the path that runs alongside the water section of the second course.
"I've got a task for you old chap" says the former earl of Lé Dic as Axe continues to ignore him.
That probably wasn't the right thing to say, as the undead wardog which was circling around in the water.
Heads off after the recruits, who are making their way across and over the second of the obstacles in this, the water section in the second course on the grounds, just west of Gildin Dale.
Percy winces as he watches Axe swimming away, the heavily armoured knight hurries along the path, and quickly calls out to the Farqian wardog in the water "I say hound, i mean Axe old fellow, it concerns that smelly so and so, who doth shall not be named".
Seeing the massive canine still paddling away, the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic hastily adds "That ork, Dorc".
The undead wardog stops in the water. And sir Percavellé Lé Dic sees it's stubby tail that's sticking up out of the surface, start to wag from side to side.
The Farqian wardog turns his head, and looks back at the nobleborn knight on the path.
Then Axe turns in the water, and he swims towards the path that Percy is on.
The member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che grimaces as wardog surges up and out of the water, splashing the former paladin as he comes up onto the path.
Sir Percavellé Lé Dic grimaces again, as Axe shakes himself, spraying dog scented water across the heavily armoured knight.
The nobleman originally from the kingdom of Druvic, who isn't exactly small, as he stands a few inches over six foot, and weighs in excess of two hundred pounds.
Is always surprised at how massive the Farqian wardogs are where they're so close. Especially Axe, who at the shoulder is far taller than the former earl of Lé Dic.
He's as big as horse, but even bulkier, who stands there, and looks down at the heavily armoured knight, staring at him.
It's that look that's most unsettling in the opinion of sir Percavellé Lé Dic. As the eyes of Axe like all the Farqian wardogs. Holds far too much intelligence in them for a dog, or any animal for that matter.
After he clears his throat, Percy says to the massive canine "Yes that ork fellow, he has gone and stolen something from me".
The nobleborn knight refrains from sourly smiling as Axe looks down at the spot on the former paladin's sword belt, where the sword of knockdown usually hangs.
Seems everyone knows about the theft of my sword, sir Percavellé Lé Dic sourly thinks to himself, who then silently adds, even this hound, wot.
The nobleman, who is both a landed and a ordered knight, then says "I was wondering if you could do me a favour there Axe old chap?" followed by "If you could retrieve my magical sword from that ork fellow, Dorc?".
Percy grimaces again as the Farqian wardog shakes once more, spraying drops of water over the heavily armoured knight, and into his face, as he's holding his full helm tucked under his left arm.
The former paladin wipes his face this time, then blinks in surprise as he hears Axe bark once.
The nobleborn knight who hails from the east of the kingdom of Druvic opens his eyes, and sees the undead wardog walking away along the path, heading back to town.
"Once means yes" sir Percavellé Lé Dic murmurs to himself, who sees the stubby tail of Axe wagging furiously from side to side as he saunters off towards Gildin Dale.
The member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che, grins from ear to ear, then he says in an exalted tone "Yes, verily, I'm off young Tam!".
In response to field commander Tamric Drubine calling back to him, "Percy get back to town and watch that group!".
The former paladin is chuckling to himself, as he starts back along the path, heading back to Gildin Dale from here on the grounds.
Watching Axe the wardog further infront of him, who is also heading back to town, and who will soon head east into the forest, as he goes and retrieves Percy's sword of knockdown from Dorc da Orc . . . . . .