Winter. The Nation Of Farque. The Southlands.
Not much is done in the way of cavalry training for the recruits who are based in the town of Gildin Dale this winter.
For the simple reason there's not enough room in and around the forest town for training to take place.
And though there's a couple of stables in town. There's not enough horses for all forty recruits to train on at once.
Nevertheless, horse work isn't totally forgone. As the groups once a week, will ride out on one of the forest roads.
Even then, it's more to keep the teenage recruits from here in the northwestern Farque in good practice when it comes to working with horses.
This also tends towards the recruits training here in Gildin Dale, as not going onto joining one of the mounted divisions in their lord's armies. Either the light cavalry, or the heavy horse troops.
It's fairly obvious to the recruits themselves. That they're based here in the forest town of Gildin Dale. Because most of them will be either in the scouts and rangers divisions. Or an infantry, or in the heavy foot troop divisions.
This morning, another foggy winter's morning so common for this area of northwestern Farque during the wintertime.
The first group are out on a mounted run. With them is the young mage Sarill. And one of their instructors. One they wouldn't necessarily wish to have come along with them.
Then again, he's preferable to another of their instructors. Who can't even ride a horse because he's so large. And besides, he'd probably want to violate any of the horses, or eat them, or both.
Sir Percavellé Lé Dic who is definitely glad his bitter rival Dorc da Orc isn't along with them this morning.
Is out infront of the group, though the youngster Hamblin is riding further ahead, as the scout for the group.
The nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic might be a total bore, who tends to prattle on a lot. Mostly about himself, and his rivalry with general Dorc.
But the recruits of the first group, and for that matter, all of the recruits based in the small town of Gildin Dale.
Will freely admit that the heavily armoured knight is an excellent horseman.
Who is at ease in the saddle. And by all accounts, just as good as a fighter on horseback, as he is on the ground.
The former paladin glances back at the mage Sarill, who is sitting comfortably in the saddle.
Even though she's the least experienced of the riders amongst the teenage recruits.
The member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che looks ahead. And sourly smiles at the memory of being so easily defeated by the teenage mage a few days ago on the grounds just to the west of Gildin Dale.
The former earl of Lé Dic, which is his family's fief in eastern Druvic, then grins at the memory of his bitter rival, Dorc da Orc being so easily defeated alongside him a few days ago.
And just as satisfying was seeing the large ork ending up totally drenched when he fell in a hole created by Sarill the mage, which she then filled with water.
The nobleborn knight chuckles at the memory at that, as he rides out infront of the group, as they head along the forest road that goes east from the town of Gildin Dale.
The former paladin looks away to his left through the trees as he feels his mount slightly shy the other way.
The member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che peers through the fog, and slightly frowns as he sees movement that way within the trees.
Then the nobleborn knight slightly grunts as he recognises Axe the undead wardog who is keeping pace with them.
The massive canine who comes and goes from the town of Gildin Dale as he pleases.
Returned to town last night, and has decided to come along with those out riding this morning along the forest road that heads east.
Sir Percavellé Lé Dic, or Percy as he's more commonly called by those who know him well, nods his full helmed head to the undead wardog as he and the recruits of the first group ride eastwards.
Meanwhile back in the town of Gildin Dale, Percy's bitter rival Dorc da Orc is swinging an axe at one of the recruits.
The large ork normally doesn't partake in one on one sparring with any of the recruits.
Field commander Tamric Drubine has ordered him not to. Though he has made an exception this morning.
The ork warleader, with an axe in one hand, and warhammer in the other. Growls as his axe passes right through his opponent.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world. Who is in the courtyard between the four homes that house the recruits here in Gildin Dale.
Steps back, and with a flick of the wrist, sends the drops of water on the axe blade flying.
They're absorbed by the figure a few feet infront of him, which moves back as well.
As it does, it shimmers along it's surface, and the next instant, Alisian the water elemental stands there in his human form.
Dorc da Orc, or Dorkindle which is his given name, looks away to his right. To where Tamric Drubine the field commander is standing at the corner of one of the houses.
The nobleborn teenager originally from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin nods his head for the ork general to continue.
The ork weaponsmith roars as he attacks the water elemental spouter once again.
And because Dorkindle doesn't really know how to spar. He's actually doing his best to try and kill the young, gangly looking recruit who is from a fishing village along the coast of the lands Farque.
The second group of recruits are here in the courtyard between the homes that are basically the barracks for the teenage army recruits, who are based here in Gildin Dale this winter.
They're taking weapons training and sparring this morning. Instructed by field commander Drubine and general Dorc.
And though the young field commander, who is essentially a swordmaster. Does all the actual instruction.
And the ork warleader usually just sits on one of the front portico's of one of the houses.
Drinking ale or wine, and shouting out to the recruits what he thinks they're doing wrong or right, as they train and spar with various weapons.
This morning, which has started off foggy, like most mornings here in this area of northwest Farque.
Has been given permission by the young field commander, to actually spar against one of the teenage recruits.
It's the first time all winter he's been allowed to. And with good reason, as who he's sparring against is one of the two recent arrivals in town.
And the only nonhuman recruit here in Gildin Dale this winter. Who has more than a few advantages at his disposal.
The major one of which, is that he can turn to water whenever he likes. To avoid taking a killing blow from the big, burly ork who is from the frozen bottom of the world.
Alisian is sparring with a type of longsword, which looks more like a rapier, than a traditional hand and half, or two handed longsword.
The weapon looks appropriate in the hands of the gangly looking youth. Who has scored a couple of hits upon general Dorc. As he's bleeding from a couple of cuts, one on his right leg, and the other on his left arm.
Cuts that are already starting to close up, thanks to the unique ability that all orks have. The ability to rapidly self heal.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, might look like he would be cumbersome as he moves because he's so large.
But infact, he moves much quicker than one would suspect from someone who is seven and a half foot tall, who weighs around seven hundred and fifty pounds.
The young water elemental spouter has to change form often to avoid being hit. More than he's able to attack his sparring partner this morning.
As Tamric Drubine, or Tam as he's more commonly called by those who know him well. And the teenage recruits of the second group watch on.
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.
Turns his head, as sees sir Morcin the undead avenger has walked around from the corner of the house, and makes his way over to the young field commander.
"How's it going?" quietly asks sir Morcin the undead avenger in the elven language as he nods his head at the two sparring out in the courtyard.
"Alisian is getting some hits in" replies Tamric Drubine the field commander in the same language, who continues on with "But he's mostly avoiding taking a hit from Dorc".
The undead being who is the sentinel for this region in northwest Farque, nods his head, then says "It tends to be that way for all water elementals".
The nobleman whose kingdom of birth no longer exists, follows that with "Especially spouters" he then adds "Because they're so powerful, they neglect their weapon work".
The former knight who left his order to travel to the lands Farque, and join their mercenary armies over four and half centuries ago, then says "It's why you have to keep training them up, even when they've been placed in one of the armies".
Field commander Drubine nods in understanding, for he's had a few water elementals under his command previously.
All of them in the scouts and rangers division when one of the armies of Farque was hired to fight against the northern lords in the kingdom of Nastell at the beginning of last year.
The nobleborn teenager originally from the kingdom of Druvic saw them actively training with their weapons when they weren't on duty.
Something a lot of soldiers don't, or aren't required to do during a campaign.
As Dorc da Orc loudly growls as his hammer goes through the head of the recruit Alisian in his water form.
Sir Morcin quietly says to Tamric Drubine "Watch this". Then the undead avenger yells out something in the ork language.
Suddenly the ork warleader roars, then he goes and charges the water elemental who has turned back to his human form.
The large ork goes to tackle the gangly looking teenage recruit from the coast of the lands Farque.
Who changes to water. Though not into the human shaped form he has been using.
He quickly changes into a cloud of mist just before Dorc da Orc goes crashing into him.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world goes stumbling forward through the cloud of mist.
Which drifts away across the courtyard between the four houses that are essentially the barracks for the teenage army recruits based here in the forest town of Gildin Dale.
As a growling Dorkindle looks around for his sparring partner.
The water elemental spouter Alisian reappears in human form on the far side of the courtyard.
As he does, sir Morcin quietly says in elven to field commander Drubine "It's a lot more difficult for them to avoid discomfort, the larger something is that passes through them".
The undead avenger quietly continues with "A weapon passing through them when they're in their water forms is nothing" followed by "A seven hundred and fifty pound raving lunatic of an ork on the other hand is another thing entirely" the former knight then adds "He would of felt that for sure".
Sir Morcin then shouts out something else in the ork language, and Dorkindle returns his axe and hammer to his weapon harness.
And from his back, takes one of his long spears, and uses that instead to attack the young recruit who is a water elemental spouter.
"In a stream or river, or any water they're near impossible to be hurt or killed" quietly explains the undead avenger, who continues with "Most spells apart from fire spells are useless against them" he then adds "Even when they're submerged in water it's only the most powerful of fire spells that will harm or kill a spouter".
The sentinel for this region in northwest Farque nods at the two sparring in the courtyard, where Dorc da Orc is using his long spear, to stab at the teenage recruit from the coast of the Southlands.
"Keep them at a distance is the best thing to avoid getting hit by a water elemental using a weapon" quietly says sir Morcin who continues with "And if there's no spellcasters around, and there's nothing big to go through them, or if you haven't got a burning brand or a lamp to throw at them, you can only really keep them at a distance".
The undead avenger quietly says to field commander Drubine "Why don't you make it a bit more challenging for the young spouter".
And he quietly tells the nobleborn teenager from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin something.
Tam calls over one of the recruits from the second group who are watching the ork warleader and the water elemental spar.
The young field commander tells him something. Then the recruit hurries away, inside one of the houses. And quickly returns with a torch.
Which he lights, then throws the burning brand out into the courtyard. As sir Morcin shouts out something in the ork language.
Dorc da Orc picks up the torch, and though he dislikes the heat it gives off. He uses it like a club to attack Alisian if the water elemental gets too close to him.
Meanwhile, out to the east of the town of Gildin Dale, on the forest road.
The young mage Sarill has come forward, and is riding alongside sir Percavellé Lé Dic as the fog finally starts to thin out this cool winter's morning.
The young spellcaster who has been told by field commander Drubine and others. That the former paladin dislikes practitioners of magic. Not them specifically, but them generally.
Doesn't take it to heart, as he talks to her, and occasionally calls her something along the lines of wicked child, or evil youngster.
She figures he says such things for form sake more than anything else. Especially considering he's carrying a shield that's absolutely blazing with magic.
Far more powerful than the magical sword that field commander Drubine has.
"So my young denizen of deceit" is what sir Percavellé Lé Dic is saying to the young mage riding beside him.
"I doth understand you can sniff out magic so to speak" continues the heavily armoured knight, who then adds a "Wot".
"You mean sense?" says Sarill the mage, who follows that with "Indeed i can".
"Capital" says the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic, who is riding with the faceplate of his full helm open.
The former paladin then says "I wonder if you could do the great sir Percavellé a magical favour, wot".
"Of course" replies the small teenager who hails from The Winter Palace. Who realises the nobleborn knight only dislikes magic when it suits him to.
Gesturing away to their left, where the undead wardog Axe can be seen through the trees keeping pace with them, the former earl of Lé Dic says "See if you can sense a magical weapon in that giant hound, wot".
"Er sir, he's" says Sarill, who falls silent as one of the recruits riding behind them tells her in the elven language that the foreign knight doesn't know about the undead of Farque, and to keep it that way.
The thirteen year old mage slightly nods in understanding, then says to the heavily armoured knight "Of course sir Percavellé, I'll just check".
Sarill senses Axe, and as expected there's nothing magical to him. Even if he did have anything magical in him. Sarill wouldn't be able to sense it, because he's undead.
"Sir" says the young mage, who continues with "There's nothing magical in Axe".
"You sure?" asks the former paladin "I'm sure" replies the teenage spellcaster.
"Bugger" loudly mutters the nobleborn knight in disappointment as they continue riding east along the forest road this cool winter's morning in the northwest of the lands Farque . . . . . .
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