Northern Vexil.
Along with an inn, the village has a tavern. Both allowing only the officers from any mercenary company to be customers. As too much trouble was happening when any old mercenary turned up wanting a drink.
It's enforced by guards from the Geist Trading Company, who at certain times have to do more than crack a few heads to keep people in line.
As essentially the second in command of captain Marqand's company. Tamric Drubine the field commander has made his way into the tavern.
With the young noble from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin, is his lover Saanea the witch. As well as Dalinvardèl Tanith the elven spy, and Lisell Maera the scout.
All of whom, are acting sub officers in the mercenary company under the command of captain Marqand.
The four of them are lucky enough to get a corner table, as the tavern which is located on the south side of the village, is rather busy on this cold evening, here in north of the city-state of Vexil.
After ordering something to eat and drink, the four who along with the rest of the group, with the exception of Lord Farque and Dorc da Orc, have infiltrated the mercenary army gathered by the Geist Trading Company, here in the hill country of northern Vexil.
Look around at those officers and sub officers of a number of the mercenary companies who have made it into the tavern this evening.
As a gust of cold wind comes into the tavern as the front door briefly opens as someone leaves, Tamric Drubine the field commander quietly says in the elven language "From what I see, I guess a lot of them haven't seen any significant action".
The other three at the table all nod in agreement with that from Tamric Drubine or Tam as he's more often than not called by the others in the group.
"Though here and there you can see those who are experienced" adds the young man in his early twenties, who is already a senior commander in the Armies of Farque.
"Maybe that's what they want" quietly says Dalinvardèl Tanith the elven spy referring to the Geist Trading Company, in particular the cousins Gamil and Farsen.
Nodding in agreement with the spy Tanith, Lisell Maera the scout quietly says "I've no doubt of it" followed by "They've got a number of companies like Marqand"s they can trust".
The attractive young woman who is originally from the coastal city-state of Brattonbury pauses for a moment as a couple of mercenaries walk by, then she quietly adds "I think the others being not so experienced, is better for them for a number of reasons".
"Cheaper for starters" dryly says Saanea the witch, who along with the others falls silent as a server delivers them their drinks.
And another one follows with their meals, which is plain but tasty fare after Tam takes a bite and declares if perfectly fine.
"Yes cheaper" says Lisell Maera or Lis a she's more commonly called by those who know her well.
"And the fact they'll be difficult to control once they get their blood up" adds the scout officer in the Armies of Farque.
"Which will come in handy if the Geist cousins want to make a point" continues Lisell Maera after she takes a drink of her ale.
Saanea the witch winces as she knows exactly what Lis is referring to. So do Tam and Dalinvardèl Tanith, both of whom nod in agreement with the scout Maera.
"The fact they've got a bunch of cockatrice with them is enough to tell you that they want some chaos in whatever it is they plan to do" quietly says Dalinvardèl Tanith or Dalin as he's more commonly called by the others in the group.
The spy who hails from the elven principality of Alínlae, where he previously served in one of the more prominent noble houses of that nation, then adds "Those damn things are notoriously difficult to control in combat".
The spy Tanith, who is a senior commander in the Scouts and Rangers division of the Armies of Farque, continues with "They're just as likely to attack those on their own side as much as the enemy".
Dalin follows that with "And the fact they'll paralyse anyone with fear no matter whose side they're on, if they look them in the eye".
Field commander Drubine grunts at hearing that, as he knows that those cockatrice could be a problem.
Tam knows that probably Helbe the elven thief has a way to not be affected by the stare of a cockatrice.
But none of the other magic users in the group will be able to do so. And the two members of the group who definitely are unaffected by the stare of a cockatrice. Lord Farque and Dorc da Orc, are unfortunately not with the group at the moment.
"What we fucken doin'?" grumbles Dorc da Orc as he follows Lord Farque through the forest covered hills not that far from the village, that the Geist Trading Company has essentially taken over.
The undead warlord ignores the large ork, which only infuriates the ork warleader, who gets even more pissed off, when a branch wacks him in the side of the face.
Which earns that tree an angry punch from the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world, who grunts in satisfaction as a massive crack appears part way down the length of the tree after his punch.
The ork weaponsmith who wishes it was far colder tonight, than the freezing temperature it is here in the hill country of northern Vexil.
For though it's freezing here, this night would only be like a night in the summertime in the Ork Range of the southern polar region. Without doubt the most hostile and coldest area on the world of Volunell.
Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name. Well part of his given name. Which is far longer, and much more descriptive than just Dorkindle.
Is just about the ask the lord and ruler of the Lands Farque what they're doing, once more.
When he suddenly catches a familiar scent nearby, the warleader of the ork race then tells the lord of the death realm "That fucken pointy eared cunt up ahead".
"No, really?" sarcastically says Lord Farque, who continues in that same tone with "I'd never of guessed".
The large ork might be a psychotic killer, who misses a lot of things intellectually, after all he's an ork, and every single member of that race is stark raving mad.
But he doesn't miss that sarcasm from the large, heavily armoured deathlord walking in front of him who he sourly smiles at, glad the undead warlord can't see him at the moment.
Dorkindle takes another deep sniff through his nostrils, then perks up as he smells something else close to Helbe the elven thief who isn't all that faraway now.
"Sweet" murmurs the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks, who follows that with "He got fucken booze”.
The ork warleader, who was named in that position by lord Farque himself. Falls silent again when the undead warlord glances back at the following ork weaponsmith.
In a small clearing, a few hundred yards to the north of the village, in a small clearing on a hill, taller than the others close to it.
Is the elven masterthief, prince Helbenthril Raendril. Who stands there in his white hooded cloak, looking down towards the village, and the mercenary army that's camped around it.
After the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel glances back at the lord and ruler of the Lands Farque, and the ork warleader.
The large, heavily armoured deathlord gestures to one side, then quietly says in the ork language "That way cunt".
The undead being, who has the name of Draugodrottin that the people of his lands also know him by, continues in orkish with "Don't fucking drink it all at once cunt" followed by "That's all that he's fucking brought with him".
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world grunts, then wanders off to the right through the trees.
To get the three barrels of ale that prince Helbenthril Raendril has stolen from down in the village, a little earlier on what's a cold winter's evening here in the hill country of northern Vexil.
"Well?" asks Lord Farque in the royal elven language once he stands beside the elven master assassin, and the two of them look down at the village, and the surrounding camp made up of an mercenary army.
"Nothing much new" is the reply of Helbe the elven thief, who then tells the deathlord of Farque what else he's been able to find out.
While the rest of the group has settled in, down amongst the camp of the mercenary army that the Geist Trading Company has gathered.
The undead warlord who has the elven name of Des'tier, which translates to The Destroyer. Listens in silence as the young elven noble who is the grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel, explains to him what else he's been able to find. And what the rest of the group have been doing, now that they're part of a mercenary company, which is captained by a fairly competent mercenary named Marqand.
As he looks down at the village in the distance on this cold winter's night, Lord Farque who senses that most of the rest of the group, are in the camp to the east of the village.
While four of them, Tamric Drubine the field commander, Saanea the witch, Lisell Maera the scout and Dalinvardèl Tanith the elven spy.
Are elsewhere, at the southern end of the village. That must be an inn or tavern from what the lord and ruler of the Lands Farque can sense.
"You think so?" quietly asks Tamric Drubine the field commander after he finishes his meal, and his plate is taken away by one of the servers.
"I do" is the quiet reply of Dalinvardèl Tanith the elven spy, who like field commander Drubine is speaking in the elven language.
The elven spy, who is a commander in the Armies of Farque continues with "This army can't get much bigger than it already is" he follows that with "They'll have to move out even if this Misa doesn't turn up".
Lisell Maera the scout nods in agreement with the spy Tanith, then she quietly says in elvish "I agree with Dalin".
Saanea the witch slightly nods to that, then Tamric Drubine softly grunts then quietly says "Well, looks like we'll be on the move soon no matter what" . . . . . .
