Mercenary Tales 41.

The City Of Vexil. 

Beldane the cleric yawns after he wakes up, the powerful practitioner of magic frowns as he hears something slightly rumbling. 

Then he grins as he realizes it's Dorc da Orc in the next room, and the big burly ork from the southern polar region of the world is snoring. 

After his ablutions, and using the bathhouse attached to the inn they're staying at. The member of the church of Glaine makes his way downstairs. 

And in the quiet common room just as it dawns on a new day, the fighting cleric finds Lord Farque seated at a corner table. 

"Anything?" asks Beldane the cleric after he sits down at the corner table, and the serving woman takes his order. 

With a shake of his full helmed head, Lord Farque quietly says "Nothing" he follows that with "She's definitely not in the city at the moment". 

Beldane who knows that the undead warlord has been up all night sensing and looking for those they're searching for, asks him "The others in that group?" followed by "Those other two elves, and that wizard?". 

Once again the lord and ruler of the Lands Farque shakes his full helmed head no, then he quietly says "Nothing of those three". 

The powerful cleric who hails from the north of the kingdom of Nastell, where his god is predominantly worshipped, grunts when he hears that. Then the two of them fall silent as the serving woman delivers the fighting cleric's breakfast. 

Once she's wandered off back to the kitchen, the large heavily armoured deathlord of Farque quietly tells Beldane "The others in the group, including Misa Geist could very well be here". 

The undead warlord briefly pauses, before he continues with "As for that elven magic user, and the other three, they're definitely not here". 

The member of the church of Glaine, who for all intensive purposes, is the most unlikely member of the group. 

For the simple reason Lord Farque isn't alive, and is considered evil by pretty much every church and temple. 

Nods his head before he tucks into his breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausages and a small loaf of bread, on what's a cold morning outside in the city of Vexil. 

"I figure that big fat lump is asleep since I can't feel him moving around" dryly says the lord and ruler of the Lands Farque, who is also known by the name of Draugodrottin to his people. 

"Snoring his head off before I came downstairs" replies the cleric in the half plate armour, who follows that with "Surprised we can't hear him down here". 

The lord of the death realm is silent for a moment or two, with his head slightly tilted to one side, then he dryly says "I can". 

Beldane faintly smiles as he continues eating his breakfast, then the large heavily armoured deathlord says "I better go and get him" followed by "We'll be busy today as we continue to search for them". 

The undead warlord who has the elven name of Des'tier, which translates to The Destroyer, heads upstairs while the powerful cleric finishes off his breakfast. 

Then not too long after that, and after a few others enter the common room to have breakfast. 

Draugodrottin is back downstairs, followed by a scowling Dorc da Orc, who though he's scowling, he's also yawning. 

The large ork does perk up when the lord of the death realm tells him to get something to eat and drink, as they're going to be busy today. 

Then the ork warleader, who is sitting on the floor next to the table, as he's far too heavy to sit on the benches. 

Gets his rather substantial breakfast, and a large number of bottles of wine, as well as barrel of dark ale. 

"Plans for the day?" quietly asks Beldane who has switched to the elven language, while next to them, where he sits on the floor, a contented looking Dorc da Orc is noisily eating. Much to the disgust of the patrons at the table closest to theirs. 

"That mage Fendal must have ways at contacting them" quietly says Des'tier in elven, he continues with "Especially her". 

The lord of the death realm continues with "You wouldn't happen to know after you read his mind the other day?". 

The powerful practitioner of magic slightly nods, then he casts a simple recall spell as he remembers reading the mind of the member of the mage council of Vexil, who has taken bribes from the elf maiden named Salinéll who they're searching for. 

After he's completed his spell, and ignoring Dorc da Orc who is busy guzzling a bottle of red wine, which he essentially downs in one gulp. 

The cleric in the church of Glaine quietly says in the elven language "He uses an intermediary to get in contact with her" followed by "And she does likewise to contact him". 

The lord and ruler of the Lands Farque nods his full helmed head, and Beldane quietly says to him "A scrivener" he then adds "Who also happens to be a forger". 

"Makes sense" quietly says Draugodrottin, who continues on with "They usually make the best forgers". 

The undead warlord then asks the fighting cleric "You know where he is?". "I do" is the reply from Beldane the cleric. 

"Good" murmurs the deathlord of Farque, who then nods to the front door of the inn, and says "Let's go". 

Then when he gets up, the lord of the death realm says in orkish to the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks "Come on cunt, we're fucking going". 

The large ork who is a general in the Armies of Farque grunts, then he shoves the remainder of his breakfast in his gob. 

The big burly ork from the southern polar region of the world, then gets up, and taking what bottles of wine he has yet to open, as well as the barrel of dark ale he's yet to broach. 

The warleader of the ork race follows the fighting cleric and the large heavily armoured deathlord outside, on what's a cold winter's morning here in the city of Vexil. 

It's after dawn, and they head west through the capital city, with Beldane the cleric giving directions as they make their way to a scriveners shop. 

As they walk, Dorc da Orc is drinking from the remaining wine bottles he has with him. The large ork who doesn't think it's particularly cold this morning. 

In fact he thinks it's still warm, almost like a day in the middle of summer down in The Ork Range, which is located in the southern polar region of the world.

As he walks, the ork who was named warleader of his race a number of years ago by Lord Farque, tosses away the empty bottles. 

The weaponsmith from the the wolf tribe of orks, follows Lord Farque and Beldane the cleric around a corner. 

As he does, he's about to throw away another of the wine bottles he's just poured down his gullet. 

As he does, someone come around the corner from the other direction. 

Who understandably gave the large heavily armoured deathlord and the fighting cleric a fair bit of room. Walks into the ork warleader by accident. 

"Watch it cunt" growls Dorc da Orc to the poor fellow who walked into him, and was knocked down to the ground. 

The man, who doesn't look up, and initially thought he had walked into a wall of some kind, quickly snaps back with "You fucking watch it cunt". 

Dorc being Dorc doesn't take too kindly to that, and as the fellow on the ground looks up at him, the large ork takes the bottle he was just about to toss away, and slams it into the upturned face of the man who bumped into him. 

As usual when he perpetrates violence, the ork warleader does it with full commitment, and just as equally, full force. 

The glass bottle shatters apart, and the man on the ground doesn't get to scream as his face, followed by the front of his skull is shattered apart. 

Lord Farque and Beldane the cleric turn around to the chuckling Dorkindle which is the large ork's given name. 

"Don't bother" dryly says Draugodrottin to the fighting cleric in the church of Glaine as Beldane is about to cast a healing spell. 

"He dead" chuckles the big burly ork from the southern polar of the region of the world as he looks at the body on the ground in front of him, a body whose skull is shattered apart and embedded with fragments of glass. 

"Move cunt" says the lord and ruler of the Lands Farque in the ork language when he notices that they're drawing attention to themselves. 

"Let's get out of here" adds Des'tier to the powerful cleric as the large, heavily armoured deathlord grabs the ork general in his armies and starts hauling him away. The trio hurry into an alley a bit further ahead to the right. 

Then after Lord Farque still holding Dorc da Orc by the arm, leaps up to the roof to their right. And the fighting cleric levitates up after them. 

The powerful practitioner of magic teleports the three of them away, in the direction they were heading. 

Before they disappear, all three hear shouts, as those on the street they were just on, who witnessed what happened call for the city guard. 

A little bit later and in the west of the city of Vexil, and after the undead warlord warns Dorkindle not to randomly kill anyone, at least not with any witnesses around. 

The trio make their way through a neighbourhood where the buildings are predominantly shops and stores of artisan businesses. 

"There up ahead" says Beldane the cleric, who continues with "On the right, across the street" as he gestures to the shop of a scrivener. 

The undead warlord nods his full helmed head, then he quietly says "He must not trust his customers". 

"Oh?" says the powerful cleric who hails from the kingdom of Nastell, where in the north of that nation, his god is predominantly worshipped. 

"He's got some hidden spells there" quietly explains the deathlord of Farque, who follows that with "One of which is quite lethal". 

"Damn" murmurs Beldane who can't find such spells as he senses the shop they're making their way to. 

The fighting cleric nods his head when Draugodrottin quietly tells him "I'll get rid of them". 

They cross the street, and as they do, Lord Farque glances back at the following ork warleader and tells him "Behave yourself" he repeats it in orkish, though with far more swear words as is the tendency with the ork language. 

Dorc da Orc who is now drinking from the barrel of dark ale, grunts affirmatively in reply to that from the lord and ruler of the Lands Farque. 

Then the three of them enter the scriveners shop, the owner of which is a forger, who also happens to a go between for those involved in criminal activity. 

Meanwhile, back across the street, a curtain at a second storey window has parted, and a figure sitting on a chair there, watches the trio enter the scriveners shop. 

Then he writes down that they've entered, and who they are. In particular the large, heavily armoured deathlord and the large ork. 

Who he has had the descriptions of for over two decades, and has been told to look out for them for all that time. 

His note that he has just written down, will be in the hands of his employer sometime later this cold winter's day, or tomorrow . . . . . .