Wonderful 10.

On Land...

"Here" says one of the hired mercenaries who puts a plate of food on the table infront of Mira Reinholt the mage who replies with "Thanks" as he's able to talk, and is more coherent as it's been a couple of days since he's last had the potion.
The Vexilian mage in exile who is still unable to touch his magical powers due to the toxins in his body, looks out away to the right from where they're sitting at a small table infront of one of the town's inns.
The once powerful mage as he starts eating, watches the small river craft after a day fishing on the river, making their way back to the docks with the sun setting away to the west over the ocean about a dozen miles away.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster briefly glances at his left hand and faintly smiles in a wry fashion as the bolt shooter in his automaton arm is empty.
The mage Reinholt shot all the bolts at those who captured him in the city of Renoa in the very north of the Southlands, killing them all with the exception of the elven magic user Kaldeàlil Haldéilv. The exiled Vexilian mage kind of regrets doing that, well he regrets firing off every bolt once he was unable to cast magic after drinking a mug of ale laced with the potion that has haunted him ever since.
Mira Reinholt softly sighs at the memory, then he doesn't bother to look up as the elven spellcaster walks out of the front door with a plate of food, and takes the last seat at the table infront of the inn where the once powerful mage and the two hired guards are already sitting at.
The swordmaster Reinholt who isn't normally one to chat with his captor, especially when he's finally able to speak properly for any length of time, decides to start a conversation, knowing that it's usually her who starts speaking to him when he's once again has the ability to speak.
"You know, you're going to die" says Mira Reinholt the mage who as usual when he speaks with Kaldeàlil Haldéilv, speaks in the elven language, which the two hired mercenaries are unable to understand.
"He's going to find you and kill you, trust me you can't stop him" says the highly skilled swordmaster "Don't worry, he's far away, he won't be finding us anytime soon" says Kaldeàlil Haldéilv the elven magic user, the once powerful mage slightly snorts then dryly says "Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better" he continues with "What you did back on the ship would've just annoyed him more than he usually is" the mage Reinholt silently adds, trust me, from personal experience you don't want him chasing after you when he's in that kind of mood.
The spellcaster who was the youngest ever member of the mage council of Vexil, a position he held at the age of seventeen, though only briefly as he would turn on his homeland and betray them in a war soon afterwards, says to his captor "You might think you're safe from him, but you still might have to face my fellow prisoner the ork".
"That's hardly likely" dryly says the attractive elven maid who like her prisoner, is rather enjoying the spiced goat dish that has currents and almond flakes in it that they're eating "No way is he getting out of that prison he's in" adds Kaldeàlil Haldéilv who usually initiates the conversation between her and the once powerful mage who she captured in the city-state of Renoa down in the Southlands.
The swordmaster Reinholt, who must admit that the cell or prison, that Dorc da Orc was put in, was pure genius as the large ork would never get in the water, any kind of water to make his escape. Slightly nods in agreement with his captor, but he says "Maybe, but then again maybe not" the Vexilian mage in exile adds "He might just surprise you and effect an escape" he continues with "If he does, watch out, as he'll be hunting you down too".
As the elven magic user ignores that, Mira Reinholt knows that for how deranged and basically mentally retarded Dorc da Orc is, the large ork is still smart for one of his kind. And he's been in plenty of prisons in the past and escaped from them. So he just might figure out a way to escape from his floating prison.
Then there's the fact at what else is on the twin masted sailing ship that's towing the ork warleader's prison. The swordmaster from the city-state of Vexil wouldn't put it past it from finding a way of helping the large ork to escape, afterall lord Farque is who knows how many miles away from the cutter when he came onboard to break free the mage Reinholt.
Slightly changing the conversation, the once powerful mage says to his captor the elven magic user "Even if you escape the undead one, which you won't, as i don't see you've got the head of a church lying around somewhere to even giving you a shit show of a chance of holding him for a little while" Mira Reinholt adds "Or you get away from my big green psychotic companion, who doesn't care if you're a spellcaster or not, who'll kill you when he finds you, then defile your corpse in the most disgusting ways you could ever think of".
After a slight pause the exiled mage from the city-state of Vexil says "Why are you even bothering trying to find him?" after having a spoonful of the spiced goat dish, the swordmaster Reinholt continues with "Even if you do find him, he'll kill you too, you're no match for him" Kaldeàlil Haldéilv looks at him for a few moments, then she quietly tells him "We'll see about that".
Mira Reinholt refrains from sighing, then he says "What does it matter anyway" the spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation in all the Southlands continues with "He's dead, i should know, i saw him die three years ago".
The attractive elven maid glares at him, and the Vexilian mage in exile falls silent, he knows not to push his luck. And bringing up the death of Xanderlith Karlavilt, the lover of Kaldeàlil Haldéilv, usually exacts some sort of painful retribution from the elven magic user.
As he finishes his meal, the swordmaster glances at the attractive elven maid who is staring off towards the nearby river, and the activity at the docks at the end of the day down there.
And as usual, Mira Reinholt as he thinks about his captor, and all that she has done to him, comes to the same conclusion about her as always has as he thinks about her actions, is that she's mad.
Driven mad by grief and anger at the death of her lover Xanderlith Karlavilt three years ago in the elven principality of Alínlae. A death she saw, as did the mage Reinholt, during the final battle over the conflict for the throne of that particular elven principality down in the Southlands.
The once powerful mage knows she's been driven mad, due to the dire odds that she's facing. The elven magic user who has been extremely lucky so far in her pursuit of vengeance against the one who killed her lover. Couldn't care less about what happens to her, just as long as she's able to get revenge for the elven noble from the principality of Alínlae who was her lover.
The swordmaster Reinholt knows she's also been driven mad by the death of the naturally magical creature that was once attached to her, a water pixie who died in the very same battle that her lover Xanderlith Karlavilt died.
The exiled Vexilian knows that though the attractive elven maid hasn't been successful in getting her revenge yet. She has been successful in doing something else, and that's in the fact she has been able to split up the group that Mira Reinholt travels with. And split it up rather effectively too, though she probably didn't intend to do it, as it kind of just happened.
The once powerful mage after finishing his meal, pushes away his empty plate as thinks about the group, which has drastically changed in it's makeup in the more than twelve years he first meet lord Farque and Dorc da Orc at the battle of Vexil.
The mage Reinholt slightly shakes his head as he thought the most recent member of the group would ever be someone to of joined them. He's about to ask one of the hired guards if he can have mug of ale as he thinks of the group, especially the three original members of the group, lord Farque, Dorc da Orc and himself.
When the main side effect of the potion he's been forced to have ever since he's been taken captive takes a hold of him.
"He's blacking out again" is what Mira Reinholt hears one of the hired mercenaries says, who grabs the once powerful mage who slumps back against the front wall of the inn as he has another flashback to when he was being held prisoner onboard the cutter...

Two Weeks Ago. The Great Western Ocean...

Mira Reinholt blinks in surprise as he sees the decking beneath where lord Farque lies prone, lift up. And with him still on it, the undead warlord who is immune to all but the most powerful of clerical magic, get flung back through the rift that has appeared. The rift quickly closes and the water that was rushing into the cabin stops, and the water already in here, starts flowing out through the hole in the hull, and the hole in the cabin floor.
The Vexilian mage in exile concentrates as he tries to understand what his captors are shouting about.
"Keep casting that spell of yours!" shouts Kaldeàlil Haldéilv "I can't even sense it!" yells back the abbott Halarn who is clinging onto the bulkhead so the water rushing out of the cabin doesn't knock him off his feet.
The head of the church of Galavin who is stunned to find himself still alive, draws power from the energy crystal that the attractive elven maid is still holding, the powerful spellcaster, the most powerful one in all of the church of Galavin continues to cast the hold undead spell he has on the being that just attacked them, and he asks "How far away is he?".
"Far away" says Kaldeàlil Haldéilv who cast the otherside of her rift, as far away as she can, to a spot she had viewed via a spell weeks ago, a spot at the bottom of the ocean, faraway to the south and west.
The three of them look at one another, then the head of the church of Galavin nods to the traveling deacon Polisa and tells him "Get the crew in here and have them start fixing the damage" the abbott then glances at the elven magic user and says to her "We need to talk".
Just before the two spellcasters exit the badly damaged cabin, Kaldeàlil Haldéilv checks on the prisoner who sits motionless on the bunk. She takes hold of his face and carefully looks at him as she says "Thought you were going to get away there?" she follows it up with "Not this time".
You just inconvenienced him, you're still going to die you know, Mira Reinholt the mage thinks to himself in his addled mind as the attractive elven maid holds his face and looks at him, she let's him go, and says to the traveling deacon "He's under the potion pretty deep, he won't cause any problems". "Polisa get rid of that sword too, throw it overboard or something" adds abbott Halarn who gestures to the large sword sticking out of the floodboards of the cabin as he and the elven magic user walk from the cabin.
The swordmaster Reinholt briefly hears the two spellcasters talking about the spell the head of the church of Galavin is still casting, then some of the crew enter the cabin to see what's happened this night.
The mage Reinholt sits there on the bunk watching crew come in and out, bringing in supplies of wood, along with tools, as the ships carpenter, along with the captain of the twin masted cutter, one of his officers and the deacon of the church of Galavin discuss things concerning the repair work to be done.
With his back against the bulkhead behind him, Mira Reinholt closes his eyes, and gets some rest as there's activity in the cabin all around him.
The exiled Vexilian mage doesn't know how long he's rested for, but when he opens his eyes, he sees more lamps have been lit and placed in the cabin, and at the moment it's empty apart from the church member and one of the ships officers who are quietly talking about things.
Soon the officer exits the damaged cabin, then the traveling deacon walks over to the bunk to check on the prisoner. After he does, he goes to exit the cabin too, until he remembers something and stops next to the large sword that waa wielded by the undead being.
Out of all of those who have captured him, the traveling deacon Polisa, is the only one who has treated him with any kind of respect or humility, he's also the only one who isn't a spellcaster, so that doesn't really surprise the exiled Vexilian mage.
The once powerful mage watches the member of the church of Galavin, and even if the prisoner could talk at the moment without mumbling incoherently, he doubt he would give warning, even though the traveling deacon has treated him fairly, instead the highly skilled swordmaster just watches.
Well you're fucked, Mira Reinholt the mage thinks to himself as he watches the deacon Polisa go to grab the hilt of the large sword sticking out of the floodboards in the middle of the damaged cabin . . . . . .

Wonderful 9.

On Land...

Mira Reinholt the mage stumbles, as he's prone to do ever since he's been put under the influence of the potion. Well it's a toxin really, the once powerful mage knows it is from his time as an apothecary when he was a younger man.
One of the two hired mercenaries grabs his right arm and straightens the mage Reinholt up as they follow the elven magic user infront of them.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster stares at the back of the elven maid who is his captor, wishing that she was dead. But knowing that he's in no shape to make that wish come true, for he can barely walk in a straight line without stumbling.
Mira Reinholt looks around at the small town they're in, it's certainly larger than the coastal villages they've been in previously. Especially the small village in the bay near where he and the attractive elven maid came ashore by way of a rift spell she had cast a few days ago.
Here a little bit further inland, though still on the coastal road. The swordmaster Reinholt gets a better view to the east, where in the distance even further inland, the landscape looks far more arid than it does here in the town.
Where the majority of the grass is straw coloured, while the trees, which there's plenty of nearby. Are fairly short, much shorter than the palm trees on the coast itself to the south, like at the village in the bay near where the elven magic user and the once powerfull mage came through the rift which they left the cutter via.
The spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands knows that they're north of the equator and no longer in the Southlands. He knows they're in the region of Belinswae, his captor and the two guards she hired yesterday in the large village they were in before coming to this town.
Have mentioned it a few times since yesterday. But where in Belinswae, the once powerfull mage has no idea the elven magic user is at pains not to tell him where, and the two hired mercenaries don't even talk to him unless they're ordering him around.
Mira Reinholt who sees a number of people lined up infront of what looks like to be the bakers shop, which is busy here in the hot sun of the middle of the morning.
Wonders if he's missed by the others in the group. He's fairly certain he is, though he knows that with the exception of Dorc da Orc and lord Farque, they have no idea where he is. So the chance of rescue is fairly slim, unless one of the other two find him.
Though he doubts that'll happen. As lord Farque is far out to sea. So is Dorc da Orc in his floating prison. So the once powerful mage assumes. Incorrectly as it turns out. For a lot has happened since he and Dorkindle were both taken prisoner.
Then once again, one of the side effects of the toxin he's been continually given, takes effect. And he has another flashback within his mind. The same flashback that's plagued him over the last two weeks or so...

Two Weeks Ago. The Great Western Ocean...

On the bunk in the cabin he's been kept held in, Mira Reinholt the mage shakes his head after being forced to drink the potion again. The two crewmen who held him down, make their way from the cabin, while the once powerful mage feels the increase in levels of the toxin within his body take full affect.
Feeling fuzzy headed, the mage Reinholt couldn't touch his magic, what little he has, even if he wanted to. It's out of his reach, as it has been ever since he was taken captive.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster sits there looking at the two who took him prisoner, along with Dorc da Orc.
The Vexilian mage in exile tries to listen to them, amongst the others in the cabin. It takes a little while for him to understand what they're talking about, as he finds it difficult to concentrate on what people are saying after having the potion so recently.
"You sure?" asks abbott Halarn "I'm sure" replies Kaldeàlil Haldéilv the elven magic user, the abbott from the church of Galavin, the last one of the three from three and half years ago, nods his head, then asks the attractive elven maid "A ship?".
"No" replies the Kaldeàlil Haldéilv, who is looking through a spell she has placed upon the top of one of the cutter's masts, she continues with "He's swimming" the attractive elven maid pauses for a moment or two, then she adds "Quickly" the elven magic user after another pause, says "Far more quickly than this ship is moving that's for sure".
As he sees a grimace appear upon the face of the abbott from the headquarters of the church of Galavin in the city-state of Brattonbury. And similar looks on the faces of the other church members in the cabin.
Mira Reinholt as he sits on his bunk, slowly smiles as he realises who they're talking about. And though the smile looks sickly upon his face, the once powerful mage can't help but grin.
"You're all fucked" says Mira Reinholt the mage, which no one can hear, as it sounds like a soft mumble of nothing, more than anything else. As the potion that he's been forced to drink since being taken captive, pretty much robs him of his ability to speak. Especially after just taking the potion, which is the case now.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, shakes his head again, trying to clear the fuzzy feeling that's taken over his mind.
It's no good, and he gives up on that. Instead the Vexilian mage in exile concentrates on the conversation taking place in the cabin. Finding it difficult to understand, until after a few moments, he picks up what's being said.
"Damn filthy spawn of hell" loudly mutters abbott Halarn of the church of Galavin, who then asks the elven magic user "How far away?" she answers him with "About five miles" Kaldeàlil Haldéilv who is looking through a farsight spell she has placed on the top of the aft mast, continues with "At the speed he's moving, he'll be here pretty soon". The attractive elven maid, who is in charge, much to the chagrin of the church of Galavin abbott and the other church members, looks at them, especially the abbott "We've lured him here, so it's time for you to take care of him as you've promised" she holds up a hand, before continuing with "Hopefully we get the information i want before you destroy him".
"Hopefully" quietly says abbott Halarn, who to he honest, couldn't care less about the information the attractive elven maid wants. Instead the head of the church of Galavin, and those who have travelled with him from their headquarters in Brattonbury, only have one thing in mind.
To destroy the individual who attacked their headquarters in the city of Brattonbury three and half years ago, killing one of the three abbotts at that time in the process.
Abbott Halarn turns to other church members, all clerics and fighting priests and priestesses, with the exception of one, and starts issuing orders.
The mage Reinholt snorts, as he knows that everyone in this cabin, with hopefully the exception of himself, are doomed. The spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands. Looks carefully at the abbott from the church of Galavin, who he knows is the only one who could pose problems for who is about to arrive.
How does the Vexilian mage know this. Because he's the one who told his captors. Though unwittingly, as they read his mind to find information to help their cause. Much to his disgust, and annoyance since he couldn't do anything about it due to the potion they've been force feeding him.
Mira Reinholt as his thoughts briefly wandered, takes a little bit of time to concentrate on what's being said by those in the cabin, eventually he hears what they're saying, which gives him hope. Though the swordmaster from the city-state of Vexil gets slightly worried when he sees what Kaldeàlil Haldéilv takes from a pack at her feet.
"Draw from it wherever you can" says the attractive elven maid to the spellcasters from the church of Galavin as she holds a large spell gem, an energy crystal that's pulsing with magical power "It'll probably be our only chance" adds the elven magic user who knows that the head of the church of Galavin is the only one who can do anything against what they're about to face.
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv who has worked for three years trying to hunt someone down to kill them for what they did. Who finally feels that she's making definitive progress having captured two of the associates of the one she's after, and hopefully soon another, or at least destroy the third.
Is about to say something else to those with clerical powers, when she quickly changes her mind as she looks through her viewing spell on top of the aft mast above, and she sees in the night outside, what's quickly approaching the twin masted cutter from the port side.
"He's here!" warns Kaldeàlil Haldéilv "Get ready!" loudly says abbott Halarn as he the others all look to where the attractive elven maid points at the hull to port, Mira Reinholt slowly turns his head that way and waits in anticipation, he doesn't have to wait long.
The once powerful mage doesn't know exactly what happens, but all of a sudden wood goes flying everywhere as the hull burst inwards. The Vexilian mage in exile sees one of the clerics go flying across infront of his bunk, and smash into and through the bulkhead on the otherside of the cabin.
The mage Reinholt hears shouting and yelling, but he can't understand what's being said as he's finding it difficult to concentrate as too much is going on for his addled mind to focus on. Though the highly skilled swordmaster does grin again as he figures everyone in the cabin is getting killed.
"Told you, you were all fucked" says Mira Reinholt, which again comes out in an inaudible mumble, the Vexilian mage in exile flinches as there's a thump in the bulkhead right next to his bunk, he looks that way and sees blood splattered everywhere, he looks down and sees the top half of a dead priestess from the church of Galavin slumped against the cabin wall there.
The swordmaster Reinholt blinks when he finally hears a voice, it's the head of the church of Galavin, the abbott Halarn who he hears shout in a triumphant tone of voice "Got him!" the once powerful mage looks further to his left to see what's happened, and he sees lord Farque lying on the floor of the cabin near a large hole in the port side hull.
Mira Reinholt grimaces as he knows that it was the information taken from his mind, that his captors learnt that the undead warlord is vulnerable to only holy ground, or the most highest level, and most powerful of clerical magic.
There's only three of them still standing in the cabin, Kaldeàlil Haldéilv, abbott Halarn and one other, who the head of the church of Galavin says to "I don't think i can hold him for long, Polisa can you do anything".
The traveling deacon originally from the city-state of Vexil, the only one of the church members who was onboard who is not a spellcaster, and the only one along with the abbott who is still alive. Jumps over a dead cleric whose head is missing, and he swings his sword down at the prone figure of the undead being lying on the cabin floor.
Polisa the traveling deacon mutters "Fuck" and drops his sword that's now bent, and shakes his arm after the reverberating shock ran up it from where he hit the undead being in the head, to be exact in the full helm.
The traveling deacon backs away, narrowly missing the large sword that the undead being was wielding, which is now sticking up out of the cabin floor. The member of the church of Galavin looks quickly at the head of his church who says "I don't think i can keep holding him like this" as the abbott feels his hold the undead spell weakening.
As abbott Halarn draws more power from the energy crystal Kaldeàlil Haldéilv is holding, so that he can keep sustaining his spell, the elven magic user takes a few steps across the cabin to where the undead being is prone on the floor, with white bands of energy wrapped around him.
Looking at the large, heavily armoured figure, the attractive elven maid who can hear some of the crew rushing to the cabin here beneath the foredeck of the twin masted sailing ship says in the elven language "Where is he?" she follows it up with "Where is that fucking princeling from Laerel?".
Though the prone figure on the cabin floor can't really move due to the spell it's under the influence of, he does slightly move his head to the right, so that he's looking at the two members of the church of Galavin, and the attractive elven maid. He doesn't say anything, he just stares at them for a few moments. Then suddenly his eyes start to glow blue.
"Do something!" is what Mira Reinholt hears the abbott Halarn shout at Kaldeàlil Haldéilv, the once powerful mage figures lord Farque is about to break free of whatever holding spell the most powerful spellcaster in the church of Galavin is holding him with.
"You won't listen to me, you're all fucked" says the mage Reinholt in a mumble as he grins as he knows once the lord and ruler of the lands Farque breaks free of the spell that has momentarily incapacitated him, the abbott and the traveling deacon from the church of Galavin, as well as the attractive elven maid from beyond the Southlands will all be dead.
Then the attractive elven maid Kaldeàlil Haldéilv does something unexpected, especially considering she doesn't have any new information in her search for the person she's been after for the last three years.
She quickly casts a couple of spells as she senses the abbott Halarn trying to maintain his powerful holding spell, a far more powerful spell she could ever hope to cast. The attractive elven maid creates a rift spell, then as she shouts at the head of the church of Galavin "Keep casting it no matter what!".
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv once the rift spell is complete and water starts rushing in through it from the otherside, she quickly casts the most powerful blast spell she can with the aid of the energy crystal she's holding . . . . . .

Wonderful 8.

On Land...

As usual, Dorc da Orc wakes himself up with a snort. The large ork lifts his head up and grunts as he looks around. He finds that he's still beneath the tree and the shade that it provides, and that it's now late in the afternoon.
Dorkindle fell asleep in the late morning, only after he stuffed himself full of food, and pretty much drank the village dry.
The ork warleader yawns and rolls over, knocking over one of the empty barrels lying beside him. He smacks his lips as he rather enjoyed the tart tasting wine the villagers make. Along with the fermented ewe's milk alcohol they produce. He looks up at the hills behind the fishing village, where there's a few houses of those that live up there in their orchards and vineyards.
The large ork spots the herds of sheep up there grazing on the pale looking grass that seems to be predominant here in this part of the coast.
The ork weaponsmith rolls the other way, and finds a group of children in the shade alongside the nearest house watching him. He sits up, scowls at them, holds up both his hands like they're claws, and they're about to rake at something, and roars at the children.
The warleader of the ork race laughs as the children take off screaming "Fucken stupid humanlings" chuckles Dorc da Orc in the ork language who never gets tired of scaring children no matter what their race is.
"You awake sword lady?" quietly murmurs the large ork who assumes, wrongly of course, that the Sword of Power takes a nap when he does. The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks grunts as lord Farque's sword doesn't answer him which is often the case. Which is perfectly fine to Dorkindle, who prefers she doesn't talk to him, as she swears at him more than just about anyone has ever heard before. And that's a lot, considering he's an ork, who as a race can't help but swear when they talk.
And she's got an extremely loud voice in his mind, certainly louder than any of the multitude of voices he usually has rattling around inside his head.
Dorc da Orc after seeing that all the small barrels, bottles, and the bladder like sacks he was drinking from earlier are all empty. Spots a few of villagers nearby who are watching him, he licks his lips as looks over at the bakers house, then grunts as realises that they'll be busy baking and cooking to make up for what the large ork ate in the morning.
So instead of going to get something to eat, he sits back against the trunk of the tree, briefly glares up at the sun in the late afternoon sky, though he must admit the heat here is dryer, and more manageable to him, compared to the humid tropical heat he had to endure as a prisoner out on the Great Western Ocean.
Sees one of the villagers he briefly talked to earlier in the morning, and waves to him, beckoning him over from where he's mending some fishing nets infront of his house, the ork warleader calls out to him in the common language, which he's relieved they speak here, wherever here is.
"You cunt, get the fuck over here!" is what Tanim the fisherman is sure the large green individual calls out, who they've found out is named Dorc, as he said it often enough when they were bringing food and drink to him earlier in the morning from Harmik the bakers house.
The fisherman leaves his porch, glancing at his neighbour Farnid as he does so, the old crab potter, nods to him, and comes along with him to where the stranger named Dorc is sitting beneath a nearby tree on the verge of where the grass meets the sand of the beach.
"Ah yes Dorc" says Tanim the fisherman who crouches down, a bit back from the large, green individual, due to the fact he stinks to high heaven. First of all the villagers thought the atrocious smell was coming from the carcass of the shark the stranger has with him, which does reek. But not as much as the big green creature who rowed into the bay this morning, who they've discovered smells the most disgusting smell you could imagine.
Tanim who thinks Dorc smells like damp, hot, animal manure, watches as he unfolds what looks like to be a map on the ground, then say "Where the fuck are we?".
From where they crouch, both villagers lean forward to look at the map, Tanim tries not to gag as a breeze coming in off the water, gives him a whiff of Dorc, which he was trying to avoid.
Old Farnid who is made of sterner stuff, grimaces in disgust as he smells the large, green individual, but he points towards the bottom of the map "There i think" says Farnid who continues with "Looks like the coast along here".
Tanim who can actually read, covers his nose as he pretends to scratch it, then he says "Yeah, that's our bay" as he points to the same spot the old crab potter has pointed out, he continues with "North of here is".
Tanim then goes on point out the location of the villages north along the coast, as well as the towns, and the city that's closest to them, which is still over a hundred miles north of the bay their village is in. A city that the carpenter Saldean is from, as well as Tanim's farher came from, where he was a soldier before taking up the life of a fisherman in the bay.
Dorkindle grunts as he listens to the villagers, then after they explain to him the villages, towns and the city north of here, he asks them "What's this fucken kingdom called?. The two villagers look at one another as if they've never heard that word before. They do the same when the ork warleader asks them if it's a principality or a city-state instead. For what they describe to him of this area along the coast, sounds like a city-state to him, well at least it does to his basics understanding of what nations are.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks grunts then mutters "The fuck?" as the Sword of Power finally speaks to him again, and informs him that this part of the continent is called a region, and it's named Belinswae.
The large ork takes out another map he took from the captain's cabin on the cutter, and after unfolding it, then turning it the right way up, after he tried to read it upside down, he finds the region of Belinswae in more detailed form. Dorc then has a silent conversation with lord Farque's sword.
Both Tanim and Farnid glance at one another due to the fact the large, green creature is looking up to one side, and is moving his mouth but not talking, and his head is tilted to one side as if he's listening to something that only he can hear. Then he grunts, which he tends to do a lot, then he says in his deep, growling voice "Well fuck me, the new stuffs you fucken learn".
Dorc da Orc who plans to leave when it's night time as he sees on the more detailed map that there's a coastal road on the otherside of the hills that are behind the village, and the bay it's located in. Says to the two villagers "Dorc gonna need more fucken grub and booze from you cunts before me go".
Tanim and old Farnid nod in understanding, as they saw the copious amounts of food and drink the large green stranger consumed this morning. It's why the baker Harmik and his helpers including the goodwife Lisadíc have been baking and cooking all day. And why the villagers have sent up to the houses in the hills, where the orchards and vineyards are, for more alcohol to be sent down.
The warleader of the ork race grunts when the younger of the two humans crouching nearby tells him that food and drink are being prepared for him. Then he glares up at sun in the late afternoon sky above the ocean to the west of the village, and he loudly mutters "Fucken hot cunt".
Dorkindle then blinks in surprise when the older of the two villagers says "It's been a warm, clear summer that's for certain". "Dumb fucken cunt, it's winter" mutters the ork weaponsmith in the language of his race, which of course the two humans can never understand.
The large ork then blinks in surprise again when lord Farque's sword tells him that indeed it is summer, due to fact that he's now north of the equator, and that the seasons are oppositie to what they are in the Southlands.
"What a silly fucken thing to do" murmurs Dorkindle in the ork language, who then chuckles and adds in the language of his race "Krom must of been drunk out of his fucken mind when he made that shit happen".
Ryn the Sword of Power doesn't correct the ork warleader, she falls silent instead, and does what she mostly does, observe and watch things, both here where she is, as well as much further afar.
Dorc da Orc who is about to get up, and make his way down onto the beach where he intends to take a shit in plain view, and throw his faeces at the ocean he despises so much.
Pauses as he's about to stand up when the younger of the two villagers says to him "You're not the only stranger to pass through the village this week".
"Oh?" says the large ork who though is often forgetful and doesn't pay too much attention to what's happening around him, correctly guesses who came through the fishing village earlier in the week "Was it a fucken man in a black cloak with a hood?" asks Dorc da Orc who then adds "And a fucken bitch elf with blonde hair?".
Tanim and Farnid glance at one another in surprise, then the younger of the two villagers says "It was indeed" the big, green stranger grunts again, then asks him "Where those two fucken go?" both Tanim and old Farnid tell him where those two who popped up from no where earlier in the week, said where they were heading . . . . . .

Wonderful 7.

On Land...

Two days later. Early morning, and Tanim is sitting on the front porch of his house eating his breakfast of bread and a mix of fresh and dried fruit. The fisherman hasn't gone out with the village fleet this morning as he has some repair work to do on his nets.
He looks to his right and sees old Farnid sitting on the front porch of his house next door, it looks like the old fisherman has already had his breakfast, and he's doing repair work on his crab and cray pots.
After calling out good morning to his neighbour to the right, Tanim looks out over the bay the village is located in. Out to sea he sees the small islands in the distance that he and the other fishermen of the village set most of their nets, hoping they catch a good netting of white fish, as well as the silver skippers this area of the coast is known for. While crabbers like old Farnid, set their pots along the coast itself, sometimes here in the bay, but mostly just to the north and south of the village.
Tanim sees some of the youngsters line fishing down on the beach, they've wait until after the fleet has departed to set up their poles, which they'll take down when the boats start coming back in later in the morning.
The fisherman before he starts working on his nets for the day goes next door and has a chat with old Farnid, they're joined by two more of the villagers, Saldean and the goodwife Lisadíc, who is returning from Harmik the bakers.
They're just discussing how it's another clear, warm summer's day when they hear a couple of the children further south on the beach, call out something.
"What are those youngsters going on about?" says Tanim as he turns and looks south along the beach that runs along almost the entire length of the bay. It's old Farnid whose eyes are still incredibly sharp for someone who has fished the waters of the Great Western Ocean for nearly fifty years, who spots what the two children have seen.
"Boat there" says Farnid who continues with "Don't look like one of the fleet" he pauses for a moment before continuing with "Besides it's coming in from the south by the looks of it, not straight out from the islands" where the village's fishing fleet have gone.
"Think you're right" says Tanim who sees what Farnid has spotted, and sees a boat out on the open ocean to the south, approaching the bay. "Maybe from one of the villages south of here" quietly says Saldean who is a carpenter by trade, who settled here in the village a few years ago.
"Maybe" quietly says Tanim who knows that the villages to the south of them, are just as isolated as their own, and that the only time they really have contact with them, is if they stop by when they've got an over supply of fish, and they're wanting to sell their catch to those who live further north along the coast.
Or if they've been blown off course by a storm, and they've been swept this way, and they come into the bay looking for shelter.
The fisherman Tanim knows that either one is unlikely at this time, as they've had perfectly fine weather recently, infact for most of the summer. And that the towns and cities north of them, tend not buy the extra catch in the summer time, as their own, much larger fleets are at this busiest at this time of the year, supplying them with plenty of seafood.
"What's that?" asks old Farnid as he spots the sole occupant in the boat approaching the bay from the south, the old fisherman pauses for a moment, then he murmurs "Big 'un that's for sure" followed by a surprised "It's green!".
"A goblin?" asks the goodwife Lisadíc who living here in the village all her life, has hardly ever seen a goblin, as they're more likely to be found further to the north along the coast, in the towns and cities.
"Too big for a goblin, way bigger than any of the one's I've seen for sure" says Farnid, the old crab potter after a brief pause then adds "A troll perhaps" he along with Tanim and Lisadíc all look at Saldean.
The carpenter who is originally from a city to the north, slightly shrugs his shoulders and says "It could be" Saldean who saw a handful of trolls in the shipbuilding yards of his home city when he was growing up, continues with "Big enough for one i guess".
"Well whoever it is, they're doing a rat shit job of rowing that's for sure" says old Farnid, the three other villagers who live beside the sea, and know how to survive on it, and near it, nod their heads in agreement with the old fishermen. Though the occupant of the unidentified boat is moving it quickly through the water even with their poor boat handling skills in using the oars.
The children south along the beach run back to the village as the boat enters the bay propper, others in the village not out with the fishing fleet, are outside watching the boat coming into the shore too.
"Big alright" murmurs Tanim as they see how wide the shoulders and back of the individual in the boat, which they can tell is a ship launch of some kind, then the fisherman who aught to be fixing his nets, notices something else, and he says "That's an awful lot of weapons it's carrying".
The four villagers look at one another, as weapons aren't exactly abundant in their village. With the exception of spears for spear fishing, and a few bows that some of the villagers use for hunting when they go inland, and Tanim having his father's old sword up in the rafters of his house, there's no weapons to be found in the village.
They like the others who have come outside to see what's happening, watch the boat come right into the bay, and to the beach, and with powerful, though ragged strokes of the individual at the oars, the boat comes mostly out of the water and up onto the sand.
"By the gods" murmurs old Farnid as the occupant of the boat stands up and they can see how big it really is, then it turns around and they catch their first good sight of it.
"What in all that walks the lands is that thing?" asks a surprised Lisadíc, the goodwife makes a hand motion usually associated with protecting oneself against evil.
"That's no troll" says the carpenter Saldean, who continues with "At least not like one I've ever seen before" as the individual in the boat isn't as tall as any troll he saw in his youth. But it's considerably broader in comparison to the trolls working in the shipbuilding yards in his home city. And it's features are far more brutal looking, and savage than any troll Saldean saw when he was younger.
They watch as the big, green individual jumps off the boat, clearing the water to land on the sand. It takes a step, then stops and looks back at the boat, and even from here they hear it shout something in a language that is totally incomprehensible to them.
The individual who is easily seven and half feet tall, and must weigh in excess of seven hundred pounds, goes to take a step towards the boat, then it hops back quickly as another gently lapping wave comes in.
It does this a few times, as though it doesn't want to get wet, all the while it shouts and growls in the language that's completely foreign to the inhabitants of the fishing village.
After it kicks at the sand a few times, in what is obviously a temper tantrum, they watch the large green creature take a hooked spear from across it's back, and reach out to the boat with it, which it hooks in the prow.
They watch in amazement as after it chuckles, they see it haul the boat out of the water and up the sand with ease, a boat that the villagers know would take at least four or five men to haul it out of the water.
From the boat they see it take a sword, which it briefly hesitated grabbing from where it was in the stern of what looks like to be a ship's launch. Then it takes something else from in the boat.
"Is that a shark?" asks Tanim as they see it's holding what appears to be the carcass of a shark that's easily ten feet in length. And in carcass, it's not really that, as it's only the ruins of a sharks head, and the entire length of it's back bone, by which the large, green individual is holding it.
Then the new arrival on the beach looks at the boat and kicks it few times in disgust, quickly turning the front of it into kindling, then with ease it grabs the boat and flips it over, and angrily kicks it a few more times.
Then it starts walking north along the sand towards the village propper. The two children who first spotted the boat approaching the bay, hurry by Tanim, Farnid, Lisadíc and Harmik where they stand infront of old Farnid's house. One of the children can be heard saying "It's a monster, it has to be" as they run by.
The four villagers all glance at one another, partly in fear, and partly to reassure themselves as the large green individual walks their way, and when it gets closer, old Farnid murmurs "What stinks?".
It stops about a dozen paces from them out on the sand, and with the remains of what's obviously a rather dangerous blue tip shark it's holding in one of it's hands, it turns and looks at them and says something.
They're relieved it speaks in the common language, though it speaks with a thick accent, and it's voice is deep and growling, that it's nearly impossible to understand.
It doesn't help that nearly every second or third word it speaks is a swear word if they're understanding it correctly.
Tanim who believes it just said "Foods and booze" followed by what he thinks it said "A tavern, or a inn" though there was a lot of fucks, fucking, and other swear words he's never heard of before interspersed amongst what it said. Points to Harmik's house as the village doesn't have a tavern, though the bakers place acts like one for visitors and locals alike.
The big, green individual then says "Foods, lots of it, only meats, cheese and breads, no veggies!" it follows that with "And booze, all you got".
Once more every second word it says is a swear word, which even for fisher folk, who often swear themselves, comes as a bit of shock.
It then biffs a coin pouch that lands on the verge of where the grass meets the sand infront of old Farnid's house, the large green individual then heads to a nearby tree, there it sits down in the shade beneath it's branches.
With the villagers looking on, it yells at them to hurry up and get what it wants. Tanim, and the other three villagers with him all glance at one another after looking at the new arrival siting in the shade of the nearby tree.
"That's the second strange appearance in less than a week" quietly says Tanim to Farnid, Lisadíc and Saldean, who all nod in agreement with what the fisherman just said . . . . . .

Wonderful 6.

The Great Western Ocean...

"Look, it's some of them squeaky little fucken whales" says Dorc da Orc as he tirelessly rows the boat eastwards, the large ork recalls what some of the crew onboard the cutter called the sea mammals and he adds "Poor puss".
Dorkindle grunts when the large sword that belongs to lord Farque informs him that they're actually porpoise, in this instance dolphins, the ork warleader snorts then mutters "Poor puss sounds better". The large ork then starts clicking and squeaking in imitation of the pod of dolphins that surround the boat he's rowing fairly swiftly, as he's basically got the hang of rowing, though sometimes he does go long periods at a time when he uses just one oar after the other, and not the two of them in unison.
It's over a day and half since the ork warleader escaped his prison, and burnt to the water line the twin masted sailing ship that was towing his floating prison. The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks rowed most of yesterday afternoon, only having a break in the early evening to have something to eat. Then he rowed straight through the night as it's far cooler than it is during the night.
The large ork who had another break this morning to have something to eat and drink, before getting underway again. Only stopped in the late morning, as he slept through the middle of the day, as the heat then is just too hot for him to deal with.
It was not long after Dorc da Orc made his escape, and begun rowing the cutter's larger boat eastwards, that he briefly slowed down, and looked away to the south, and mentioned something to the large sword that belongs to lord Farque.
Ryn the Sword of Power thought over the large ork's suggestion for a few moments, as she was slightly shocked that he actually suggested it. The soul of the Greater Dragon that inhabits the Farque family sword told the ork warleader to continue on his way, and not to worry about it. The ork weaponsmith grunted and got going again, careful not to splash himself with water as he dipped the oars into the warm waters of this part of the Greater Western Ocean.
Dorkindle as he rows, whistles and grumbles to himself in a mix of the ork and common languages, he's mostly grumbling about going to war against the ocean, all oceans really, as he thinks that'll be easier to accomplish first compared to destroying the sun.
Ryn the sword of power, who Dorc da Orc has propped up in the stern so he can look at her as he rows facing backwards to the direction he's going.
Would be constantly rolling her eyes, and sourly smiling if she was still in her original physical form, due to what she's hearing from the large ork as he spews out one theory after another from his mouth.
Ryn who as a Greater Dragon is one of the creators of the world Volunell doesn't take offence at the ork warleader who is constantly threatening to destroy parts of what she and her fellow Greater Dragons created.
She knows Dorc like all of his race is mentally deranged, and he can't help the way he thinks. She's actually still surprised after silently being around him for nearly fifteen years, that he hasn't ended up dead, or killed himself by doing something idiotic, as like all ork kind, being stupid and violent is just part of who they are.
The sword of power who is amazed that Dorkindle is as old as he is, somewhere in his early forties. Even Ryn is unsure of his age, as it's almost impossible to age an ork, who themselves only roughly know how old they are, but if she would guess it be around forty two or forty three years old.
An age the majority of ork kind, who are an extremely rare race to begin with, and who have a natural life span of around a hundred and thirty years, often do not reach, let alone getting anywhere close to their full lifespan. As there's a good chance they would of died by the age that Dorkindle is at, usually in battle with one another, or by doing something totally moronic, often in battle too.
As the large ork mutters "Silly fucken sea, me is gonna find a way to fucken gut your bitch ass one day" the Sword of Power Ryn has him turn a little to the north as he rows eastwards.
The ork who was named the warleader of his race by lord Farque five years ago now, glances over his shoulder to see where he's going, hoping to catch sight of land. And though he can see long distances with his natural farsight, he doesn't see land anywhere, which causes him to grunt, then bend slightly forward, and pull the oars back through the water as he sits in the bottom of the boat, as the benches can barely hold his weight as he moves about rowing.
Dorc da Orc who during the night, caught sight of an island about six miles south of where he was at the time, an island the Sword of Power Ryn told him not to bother looking at, as it was small and uninhabited.
Asks the large two handed human sword, that makes a perfect normal sized sword in his hands "You think any of the other cunts know about us?" the ork weaponsmith continues with "They was going fucken north too when them cunts catch me and killer".
The large sword propped up in the stern tells the ork warleader that the others probably have no idea of their predicament, apart from that he, along with Mira Reinholt the mage and lord Farque are missing, and are overdue. The soul of the Greater Dragon knows that the others won't be too concerned as they believe the trio of the undead warlord, the ork weaponsmith, and the once powerful mage can get out of any tricky situation. Which is true enough, as Dorkindle is proving that right now.
"They must be fucken yonks away" murmurs the large ork, the Sword of Power can only agree to that, for as a brief moment she uses the powers available to her, and locates the rest of the group.
After a few moments she finds them all, those who were part of the group who left the city-state of Renoa on the coast of the Southlands, in the most northern region of the Southlands. With the exception of one, are all on land, and like Dorc da Orc, north of the equator, north of the Southlands.
As for the other one not on land, that individual is in the Great Western Ocean just like Dorkindle is, though further out to sea than the large ork, and though north of the equator too, still faraway to the south compared to the ork warleader's position.
The ork weaponsmith grunts when the sword that belongs to the lord and ruler of the lands Farque tells him that the others are alive, and all but one is on land. Dorc da Orc who knows who the other one is in the ocean like he is, now knows that Mira Reinholt the mage and his captor Kaldeàlil Haldéilv are now somewhere on land.
The large ork then scowls as he thinks about one member of the rest of the group who are alive and on land somewhere "At least that one fucken cunt could of gots himself killed or something" angrily mutters Dorkindle as he thinks of the person who joined the group just last year, a full two years after Dalinvardél Tanith joined them in the elven principality of Alínlae.
The ork weaponsmith who doesn't get an upset stomach, suddenly feels his stomach churning in disgust as he thinks of the latest member of the group. He briefly stops, and digs into his supplies, and takes a bottle of wine and downs it in one gulp. Then he savagely bites into the remaining leg he chopped of one of the crew members of the cutter as he settles his stomach.
Ryn the Sword of Power would be sourly smiling if she was still in her original body, the soul of the Greater Dragon knows exactly who the warleader of the ork race is thinking about, after all she's in his head at the moment too. Not somewhere she would normally willing place herself, as the ork mind is probably the most disturbing place one could find themselves.
Demented idiot, Ryn the Sword of Power dryly thinks to herself, the world creator who still after tens of thousands of years since it happened, can't believe that the god Krom willingly decided to take on the ork race as his followers, then tells the large ork to hurry up. He grunts and drops the half devoured leg into the bottom of the boat next to the carcass of the shark that's nearly completely gone apart from it's ruined head, and along its spine.
The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks, who ruled their tribe until he killed her one day because she attacked him and was going to do the same thing to him. Gets underway again, rowing the larger of the cutter's two boats, eastwards towards land, which is somewhere over the watery horizon.
Dorkindle mutters "Fucken cunts won't let me kills that fuckface dead" the large ork even in his anger knows not to say who specifically has warned him off from killing the newest member of the group.
The ork weaponsmith knows that the large sword that's propped up in the stern of the boat doesn't take too kindly to anyone, especially him, saying anything against the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
Dorc da Orc glances over his right shoulder and in the late afternoon sun he looks eastwards hoping to catch sight of land, once again he can't see anything, then as he looks forwards as he sits facing aft while he rows, the large ork murmurs "Hope me fucken find land soon".
The ork warleader grunts in satisfaction, and murmurs "Fucken sweet" and puts a bit more effort into rowing a bit more smoothly when lord Farque's sword informs him that he'll probably make landfall sometime tomorrow evening, or the morning after that . . . . . .

Wonderful 5.

The Great Western Ocean...

Dorc da Orc moves further into the cabin, and frowns when he sees the repair work done along the decking near the hull on one side of the cabin, as well as along part of the hull itself. Then the large ork bursts out laughing when he looks to the otherside of the cabin, and he sees what looks like small pieces of blue ice, which seem to of been swept to one side, Dorkindle knows that it's definitely not ice.
"Did some silly cunt try to touch you?" asks Dorc da Orc as he looks at the large sword in the middle of the cabin that's sticking up out of the decking, the ork warleader chuckles when the sword, which belongs to lord Farque informs him that indeed someone did try to touch her, infact a few did, she let them touch her, and now they lie dead to one side of the cabin, no longer remotely resembling human beings anymore.
The ork who is the warleader of his race grunts as he inspects the cabin and the large sword tells him, directly into his brain, that this is where Kaldeàlil Haldéilv the elven magic user kept Mira Reinholt the mage locked up, then the large ork grimaces as she tells him what he's been kind of dreading she'll say.
"Nah that's fucken okay, Dorc don't really wanna do that" says the ork weaponsmith who was hoping this wouldn't eventuate, even though he had a feeling it would. The large ork slightly flinches as the large sword yells at him, then he sourly smiles and mutters "Fucken shitty nutballs" and approaches the sword in the middle of the cabin, thinking to himself he would rather go for a swim in the ocean outside than what he's about to do.
Dorkindle briefly glances at the small ice like pieces to one side of the cabin, then though he slightly hesitates, he reaches out and takes a hold of the hilt of lord Farque's sword, though he closes his eyes as he does it, whilst silently praying to his god Krom.
Is Dorc still alive? the ork weaponsmith thinks to himself, who grunts as he finds himself still amongst the living as he opens his eyes, and he looks at the large sword he's holding, the ork warleader grunts as he pulls it out of the boards of the cabin's floor, Dorkindle knows from past experience that he wouldn't be able to do this if the sword didn't allow him to do it.
As the large ork lets out a heavy sigh, The Sword of Power Ryn, if she was still in her physical form of a Greater Dragon, she would be rolling her eyes in derision at the actions of Dorc da Orc, who quite frankly takes a fair amount of effort on her part, to get him to do anything.
The spirit of the Greater Dragon that inhabits the Farque family sword admonishes the large ork before he's about to swing her a few times as he stands there in the middle of the cabin grinning from ear to ear.
Dorkindle who vividly remembers from the last time he held the large sword eight years ago, that it will whack him even though he's holding it, grunts then starts readjusting some of his weapons in his harness, so he can place it on it, instead of giving it a few practice swings which he really wants to do.
The warleader of the ork race, who has never held any weapon that is as perfect in the hand, and exquisitely balanced as the large sword that belongs to lord Farque, puts the large sword on his weapon harness, hoping that it doesn't yell at him so much now that he has taken it into his possession.
Dorc da Orc is about to head out of the cabin as he can still hear, as well as smell a handful of the crew are still alive who he's yet to kill, when he looks at the repair work that's been done along one side of the cabin, the large ork asks "What the fuck happened there?".
Farque, replies Ryn the Sword of Power, who then goes on to briefly explain what happened nearly two weeks ago when the lord and ruler of the lands Farque was lured onboard to rescue both Dorc da Orc and Mira Reinholt the mage. The ork warleader growls in anger as the large sword explains to him what happened, which Dorkindle only heard and smelled from where he was in his floating prison tied up behind the cutter.
The ork weaponsmith makes his way out of the cabin knowing that lord Farque, wherever he might be, will be extremely fucked off with what happened, not just here on the vessel of those who captured the large ork and the mage from the city-state of Vexil, but also with what's happened elsewhere.
Dorkindle asks "Did Farque kill that big priest cunt?" as he hasn't seen or smelled the person in question since just after the lord and ruler of the lands Farque turned up on the cutter when it was a couple of days out of port.
The large ork grunts in satisfaction and mutters "Good fucken job" followed by "That big priest was a right cunt" when the Sword of Power informs him that it was her who killed the person in question, when he placed a hand on the hilt of the large sword, and now he's dead, and is pieces of the what seems to be blue looking ice back in the cabin.
Dorc da Orc who is rather pleased that one of two of those who captured him is now dead, picks up the half eaten shark he dropped out in the corridor, and says to it "Come on sharp teeth, let's kill the rest of these cunts, then get the fuck out of here" the large ork briefly pauses as the Farque family sword tells him something, Dorkindle murmurs "Huh shark" followed by "Me always forget that fucken name".
The ork warleader then says to the carcass of the shark "Sharky eh" he continues with "Let's go and fucken get some".
The large ork heads down the corridor looking for the nearest ladder that leads up to the deck, as he does, the Greater Dragon Ryn doesn't ask him why he's carrying around the rotting shark, which stinks more than Dorkindle in the tropical heat, and the close confines below deck on the cutter.
She's fairly certain she knows why the ork weaponsmith is carrying it around, and she doesn't mention it, because she doesn't want to bring up specific memories for the large ork, for the simple reason it's difficult enough to communicate with him with his deranged mind, and adding anything too emotional, will just make it more difficult to get him to do what she wants.
A short time later and the warleader of the ork race has killed off the rest of the crew of the cutter. One of the last he killed was the captain, who was on the sand spit the ship is beached on. He died when Dorkindle leaped overboard, and landed on top of him and another sailor, crushing them to death.
The ork weaponsmith who hails from the frozen environs of the southern polar region is panting in the mid morning sun of the tropics north of equator. He sits in the sand, in the shade cast by the twin masted sailing ship, he falls asleep with the carcass of the shark lying beside him.
Dorc da Orc jerks awake in surprise just after midday when the Sword of Power yells at him to wake up. The yawning ork weaponsmith mutters "Fucky shit" as he sees that the local tide is turning, and that the sand spit the cutter has run aground on, is starting to disappear.
The large ork hurriedly climbs back on board, and though he briefly has thoughts of being captain Dorc and sailing the ship by himself when it eventually refloats, the soul of the Greater Dragon that inhabits the sword of lord Farque dissuades him from doing that by calling him a few choice, not to mention unpleasant words, and telling him what to do instead.
The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks, looks eastwards the way he's certain that the elven magic user Kaldeàlil Haldéilv took Mira Reinholt the mage.
The sword of power tells him that indeed the attractive elven maid took the once powerful mage that way, as land is that way, land which even with Dorkindle's farsight, he's unable to see at the moment.
The ork warleader heads below deck and gathers supplies, and in a spare sail, he puts all the food, meat, bread and cheese only, that he can find, as well as any grog he's yet to drink.
Dorc da Orc ties up the sail with the supplies, and he goes to the captain's cabin as the Sword of Power instructs him to do, there he collects a few maps. Then he goes in search of oil and pitch, which when he finds, he spreads below deck, and up the ladders to the deck above.
The ork weaponsmith then drops his supplies overboard, then he takes a lamp, one of the ship's running lights, and brings it to life with a flint and striker that he finds. Dorkindle throws the lamp down a ladder, where it shatters and erupts in flames when it comes in contact with the oil and pitch he's spilled below deck.
Dorkindle quickly gets off the cutter, and he grabs the other ship's boat, which is larger than his prison, from where it sits on the sand, and pushes it out into the edge of the water. After he puts his supplies in it, which include a pair of legs he chops off one of the dead sailors who is lying on the sand spit, the legs are something for him to snack on as he guesses, correctly at that, that he's got a bit of a long journey ahead of him.
Dorc da Orc after biffing the shark carcass into the boat, pushes the small craft further into the water, and hops aboard, the large ork doesn't bother putting up the small mast, and the Greater Dragon tells him not to anyway, he uses the oars instead
"Alright fuck ya" mutters the ork warleader after Ryn the Sword of Power yells at him, Dorkindle then adds in a mutter "Farque usually does this shit" as he gets up and turns around so that he's now facing backwards towards the stern, and he puts both oars through the eye rings on either gunnel, instead of just the one which he had when he tried to row.
Dorc da Orc scowls as lord Farque's sword yells at him as tells him how to row, he's seen it done plenty of times in the past, but he's never done it himself. He struggles at first as he tends to dip the oars into the water too far, or not enough at all, which ends up with him just splashing the surface of the water.
The ork weaponsmith stops doing that fairly quickly when much to his disgust he gets himself wet. The large ork eventually gets the gist of rowing a boat, though it's a bit of ragged rhythm that he goes at, as he tends to use one oar at a time and not the two of them in unison.
Whistling, badly out of tune, since like all orks, he's extremely tone deaf, Dorc da Orc with a grin on his face as he watches the cutter catch on fire, heads eastwards on the Greater Western Ocean, making his way towards land, where he hopes to find the other person who took him captive, and kill her, and free Mira Reinholt the mage when he does so . . . . . .

Wonderful 4.

The Great Western Ocean...

Dorc da Orc watches members of the crew scrambling across the aft deck of the twin masted sailing ship that's stuck on a sand bar in the middle of the ocean. The large ork who in his head has just been told what to do, sniffs a few times and he catches a familiar scent, infact two familiar scents from the cutter that's been towing his prison.
As he lies there in the hot mid morning sun, with his head just popped up over the small boats gunnels so he can see what's happening infront of him, the ork warleader grunts as he sees two people come up onto the aft deck of the twin masted sailing ship.
"Killer" murmurs Dorc da Orc who then adds "Mira" as he sees Mira Reinholt the mage, the large ork then growls and mutters "Bitch" as he sees Kaldeàlil Haldéilv the elven magic user with the once powerful mage from the city-state of Brattonbury.
The ork weaponsmith frowns as he sees that the mage Reinholt, whose hood of his summer cloak is off his head at the moment, has a glazed over look to his eyes, as if he's not really there mentally. Dorkindle figures his fellow prisoner the Vexilian mage in exile, must either be under the influence of a spell, or a potion, as he stands there on the aft deck of the cutter, with Kaldeàlil Haldéilv firmly holding onto his right arm.
As for the elven magic user who captured both Dorc da Orc and Mira Reinholt, she's not even paying attention to the once powerful mage whose arm she's holding, she's busy talking to what it seems is the captain of the twin masted sailing ship.
"Fucken tree talking cunts" mutters the warleader of the ork race as he tries to listen to what the attractive elven maid and the ship's captain are discussing, but the elven magic user and the human mariner are speaking in the elven language which he obviously can't understand.
The large ork scowls as he sees that Kaldeàlil Haldéilv is looking to the east as she talks with captain of the twin masted vessel, she's pointing that way, and the sailor in command of the cutter nods his head as he listens to what the elven magic user has to say.
Dorkindle quickly looks away to the east, and tries to see if he can spot anything, all he sees is ocean, so he sniffs as deeply and for as long as he can, all he can smell is ocean and the life on and in it, though for a brief moment he thought he caught the scent of something else too.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks looks to the cutter again, and sees that after a bit more taking from Kaldeàlil Haldéilv, her and the master mariner look aft, at him and his floating prison, the large ork glares at the two of them, as they're obviously discussing him. Then the ork warleader sees the attractive elven maid point at him and the small boat he's in, then say something to the ship's captain, who nods in agreement with whatever she says.
Dorc da Orc watches as Kaldeàlil Haldéilv turns Mira Reinholt so that he's facing east too, then after a few moments, the multicoloured lights that signify a rift is being cast appear on the aft deck of the cutter after the captain orders in the common language, for sailors to clear off the deck at the stern of the vessel.
The rift forms, and after a few more words in the elven language to the captain of the twin masted sailing ship, Kaldeàlil Haldéilv makes her way through the rift, taking Mira Reinholt the mage with her, a few moments after the two spellcasters disappear through the rift, it disappears too.
"Alright, alright me heard" mutters Dorc da Orc in response to the voice in his head that spoke to him earlier, which speaks to him again, just as firmly and commanding as before. The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks sourly smiles as he never thought he would hear that voice again, infact he had forgotten about it for a number of years, though he had never actually forgotten the actual voice itself.
Then Dorkindle grins and he looks at the half eaten shark lying beside him, and murmurs to it "Come on sharp teeth, we gonna fucken escapes" as he sits up in the small boat that's his prison, and shuffles forward on his butt, so that he's in the bow of the boat that he's been held captive in for two weeks now.
The large ork carefully watches the cutter infront of him, watching sailors climb down the sides and the cargo nets to the sand spit it has run aground on, he also watches them lowering one of the ships boats, which presumably is going to help to two the twin masted sailing ship off the mid ocean sand spit it has beached itself on.
Dorc da Orc whose floating prison is the cutters other boat, sees that there's hardly anyone on the aft deck, and those that are there, they're definitely not looking to a stern at him in his prison. So as he sits in the prow of the small boat, the warleader of the ork race takes hold of the chain that runs through an eye ring on the bow of his prison, which is connected to the stern of the twin masted sailing ship, and he starts hauling his prison towards the vessel his captors are on.
The small boat moves quickly though the warm waters of this part of the Great Western Ocean as Dorkindle goes hand over hand along the linked chain, pulling the small boat through the water towards the cutter. It's the quickest the boat has moved since the first week of the large ork's captivity, for the twin masted sailing ship has been becalmed for most of the last week, and when it hasn't, it's only moved at a slow rate of knots as they've travelled northwards.
The ork weaponsmith briefly stops and lets go of the chain when he's about sixty feet astern of the cutter when he sees a sailor crossing the aft deck of the vessel that's been towing his prison. He grabs the chain again when the sailor in question hurries below deck to do something, the large ork resumes his escape, and continues pulling the small boat towards the cutter that's run aground.
Dorc da Orc grins when his prison bumps up against the stern of the vessel that's stuck in the middle of the ocean, the ork warleader looks overboard and though there's only about a foot of water to the sandy spit the twin masted sailing ship is grounded on, he's extra careful as he stands up.
"Alright, alright" mutters the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks, who continues muttering with "Stop fucken shouting at Dorc" as he replies to the commanding voice in his head that's telling him to hurry up. Dorkindle looks down and quietly says "Come on sharp teeth, we getting the fuck out of here" he picks up the half devoured ten foot long shark, tucks it under an arm, and grabs a hold of an outer beam on the stern and hauls himself up.
The large ork shoves the half eaten shark through an open window in the captain's cabin here in the stern, and he takes a hold of another, and with a grunt of effort, he rips it and the frame around it out, with the noise of the crew trying to refloat the cutter, no one hears the window and it's frame make a splash when it hits the shallow water right behind the stern of the twin masted sailing ship.
Having lost a bit of weight in his two weeks of captivity, Dorkindle easily slips in through the opening he's just made, and he falls head first into the captain's cabin, making a thud when he hits the decking. "Fuckbum" mutters the ork weaponsmith, who then gets up and looks around at the empty cabin.
"Fucken sweet" murmurs the warleader of the ork race when he finds a bottle of wine, with about a quarter of the dark red wine remaining in it, on the cabin's desk, he drinks it in a gulp, savouring the taste of wine in his mouth, then he eats a half eaten, small round loaf of bread, that's on a plate next to where the bottle of wine was on the desk.
"Okay fuck ya, Dorc coming" mutters the large ork in response to the demanding voice in his head, Dorkindle goes over and picks up his half eaten shark and he says to it with a soft chuckle "Come on sharp teeth, let's go and kill all these cunts" he then makes his way to the cabin door, as intends to kill all of those who have held him captive for the last couple of weeks.
A short while later and the crew of the cutter realise that their remaining prisoner has found a way to escape his cell, which they all knew was secure, unless their ship ran aground and he hauled his prison to it, and climbed onboard, which is exactly what he did.
Dorc da Orc who is only in his knee length pants, and his boots, and feels quite naked without his weapons harness, and all is weapons, uses himself as a weapon, and anything else that comes to hand, as he makes his way through the cutter.
One such thing he already has in hand, and that's the half eaten shark, which he swings at a sailor in a below deck corridor, who runs at him swinging a small axe. Rotting shark flesh and guts go flying, as does the sailor who goes flying headfirst into the bulkhead to his right, there's an audible crack as his head slams into the bulkhead before he falls dead to the decking with a cracked skull.
Dorkindle picks up the small axe, and throws it down the corridor, where it slams into the chest of a shirtless sailor who is trying to reload a crossbow aftet shooting a bolt at the large ork, where's it's lodged into the left shoulder of the ork warleader who hardly even feels it.
"Fucken get some!" shouts Dorc da Orc as he kills another sailor who runs down a ladder swinging a cutlass, and jumps at the seven half foot tall ork who is bent over as he makes his way below deck killing any of the crew he encounters. The ork weaponsmith grabs the sailor in mid air, then slams him up at the decking above, smashing the man's skull and back in the process.
Dorkindle drops the body, picks up the dead sailors cutlass, and turns around in a crouch, and slams the curved sword into the guts of another sailor who has just stabbed the large ork in the back with a long dagger. The ork warleader runs the sailor right through, and pins him to the corridor bulkhead, then with his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth, Dorkindle concentrates as he reaches behind himself and pulls out the long dagger that's in his back.
"Fucken eat that ya cunt" says the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, as he slams the long dagger into the mouth of the sailor he's just pinned to the bulkhead with the cutlass, who was still alive and screaming in pain, until the long dagger went through his mouth and out the back of his throat and neck, and slamming into the bulkhead behind him.
"Come on sharp teeth" murmurs Dorc da Orc as he picks up the carcass of the shark and continues on his way, heading forward to his destination, hell bent on killing anyone and everyone onboard that he encounters, and even though the air is hot and close below deck, the large ork hasn't felt this good since he was taken prisoner two weeks ago.
A short time later, and Dorkindle who has found the rope locker, and taken the barrel of rum from it, which he's drinking from, and is also chewing on a head of a sailor he's just killed, and ripped his head off. Stops at a door, he sniffs then kicks open the door, bent over he walks through the door, and finds himself in the cargo hold, where he's able to stand up. He also finds things that bring a tear to his eye.
The ork warleader finds his weapons harness, and all his weapons, as well as all of his sacks, the large ork with a sniffle, wipes his nose, drinks a large part of the rum in the barrel, takes a bite of  thehead he's holding, then biffs it away, then gathers up all his possessions.
As he's attaching his sacks to his weapons harness, Dorc da Orc finds the mage Reinholt's double bladed sword and his bow on a nearby wooden crate, and he takes those too. The ork weaponsmith after he attaches his mother's skull to his belt, mutters "Fucken hell, me be there soon" as he's told to hurry up by the demanding voice in his head.
Dorkindle then picks up the barrel of rum, makes his way out the cargo hold, picks up the carcass of the shark he dropped, and continues forward through the twin masted sailing ship, killing any of the crew that he encounters on the way.
Dorc da Orc eventually makes his way forward to a corridor below deck in the bow, the large ork kicks the top half of a sailor he's just chopped in half, out of his way, and steps over another sailor he's killed, and stands infront of a door to a cabin. The warleader of the ork race returns one of his axes to his weapons harness, and after drinking the last of the rum and dropping the barrel, and with the shark carcass, which is in a sorry state of affairs, tucked under an arm, he grimaces before he opens the door and says "You fucken in there?".
Of course i'm fucking in here you fat fuck, where else would i be? says the voice in Dorc da Orc's head which causes him to wince and mutter "Fuck" then grunt as he sees lord Farque's sword standing point first in the floor in the middle of the cabin . . . . . .

Wonderful 3.

The Great Western Ocean...

Two days after Dorc da Orc caught the sea snake and had his first non shit based meal since being taken prisoner, he has his next meal, this time it's a shark.
Not that the large ork calls them that, as he's always forgetting their names, instead he calls a shark the literal translation from the ork language, which is sharp teeth.
Dorkindle who was hungry not that long after consuming the banded sea snake he caught off the surface of the water, thought long and hard about getting his next meal.
And though the easiest thing to do to get something to eat, is to someway escape from his prison and get onboard the twin masted sailing ship that's towing the small boat he's being held captive in, where he knows an abundance of food is.
The next best thing he could think of was to catch something like how he caught the sea snake, though preferably something larger and more substantial than the banded sea snake he caught.
It wasn't until yesterday afternoon as his prison passed over some fairly shallow water compared to what the small boat has been going over recently, and he could see coral reefs below, with an abundance of sea like in and around them, sea life that included sharks, or sharp teeth as he refers to them.
That catching a shark is what he should do, though going about how to actually catching one took quite a bit of thinking on his part, and thinking out things, coherently too, isn't exactly a strong point for an ork.
So Dorc da Orc went about it as if he was going into battle, as that's something he can understand, and understand well. Infact he's a natural born genius when it comes to battles, not that he knows that. So in between falling asleep in the hot sun of the late afternoon, and eventually coming up with a battle plan in the middle of the night, the ork warleader went about catching a shark for a meal.
One of the voices in his head, which one he can't remember, had to shout out over all the others, including the particular loud one, that's Dorkindle's 'mother'. Informed him that sharp teeth are attracted to blood, the ork weaponsmith grunted at that piece of information as it seemed to ring true to him.
With that piece of knowledge he went about catching himself a shark, and since he needed a source of blood, he used what was at hand, so to speak. The large ork bit his right hand until he bleed, and in small boot that is his prison, Dorc da Orc in the clear moonlit night, held his bleeding hand out over the water.
At first the warleader of the ork race thought he was in luck, because it wasn't too long before a number of sharks turned up around his floating prison, Dorkindle grinning at the prospect of another meal, waited until one of them got close so he could catch it.
One by one the sharks, ranging in size from of a couple of feet in length, to some a dozen feet and longer, came in close to the slowly moving boat alright, but they would all dart away as they have an acute sense of smell that caught the scent of the large ork sitting in the small boat.
Thus began a frustrating night for the warleader of the ork race, as one after the other, sharp teeth would come in close to investigate then dart away when they could both smell and see what was in the slow moving boat.
Dorc da Orc would also get annoyed that he would have to keep biting his hand every so often, as the quick healing ability that comes naturally to ork kind would close the bite marks where he was bleeding, the ork warleader would often sigh and swear at himself for healing so quickly before he would bite his hand again.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks fell asleep after a frustrating night of trying to catch a shark that would come in close to his floating prison as it's towed behind a twin masted cutter that's continuing northwards across the Great Western Ocean.
Dorkindle wakes in the morning to another clear day with the sun beating down upon him, the large ork who is lying in the bottom of the boat, scowls as he sits up against the stern and looks at the surrounding water aftet he glares at the ship infront of him, that his captors are on.
The warleader of the ork race looks at his hand, then at the water to starboard of his floating prison, the large ork looks between the two a few times, then using another analogy for battle, he sets a trap for his current enemy, the sharp teeth.
Dorkindle bites his right hand hard, then as blood starts freely flowing, he holds it overboard, then as he did when he caught the sea snake, he plucks up an awful lot of courage for an ork, and with a look of disgust mixed with anger upon his broad, green, brutish looking face, he plunges his bleeding hand into the water.
It's not long before he gets a bite so to speak, for just a few moments after putting his hand down into the warm water, and swishing his bleeding hand back and forth, a shark bites him, and clamps down onto his hand and arm.
"Cunt" growls Dorc da Orc, who continues with "That fucken hurts" as he holds onto the port side gunnel with his left hand, and he brings his right arm up and out of the water, with a grunt of exertion as he hauls up a nearly ten foot long shark, that must weigh at least three hundred and fifty pounds, that's got it's teeth firmly imbedded into the large ork's arm.
Dorkindle after hauling the shark out of the water, momentarily pauses as the small boat drops alarmingly down into the water with the added weight of the shark onboard, the ork weaponsmith will biff the shark back into the water if there's any chance of sinking, because there's no way he's going to end up in the ocean too.
The ork warleader mutters "Nasty sharp teeth" as the shark thrashes about and bites into his right arm over and over again, Dorc with his left hand, punches it in the nose, which causes the shark to open it's closed, rolled up eyes, but not give up on it's bite on the large orks arm.
So Dorkindle does something else instead "Cunt you bite me, so me bites you" mutters the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, who does exactly that, he bites the nearly ten foot long shark in the snout. The shark lets go of him then, considering half of it's snout has just been bitten off.
Then as he busily chewing on what he's already bitten off, Dorc da Orc grabs the remaining part of the snout of the shark with his left hand, and with his now free, and mauled, and heavily bleeding right hand, he grab the lower part of the sharks jaw, and pulls them apart as quickly and powerfully as he can.
With a chuckle the large ork says "Not so fucken tough now ya cunt" after he hears a loud crack from the shark that's now obviously dead, as it's jaws and head are pulled apart far more than they're naturally able to. Dorkindle plays with the distended jaws of the dead shark, opening and closing them repeatedly as he chortles and says "Bite bite bite, bitey bitey bite" followed by "Me is a silly fucken sharp teeth who ran into the baddest motherfucker of them all, Dorc da Orc" then he starts to eat the dead shark, ignoring the audience that's been watching him from the stern of the cutter that's towing his prison through the warm tropical waters of this part of the Great Western Ocean.
The large ork falls asleep in the heat of the day with a belly full of shark meat, the partially eaten shark lies beside him in the bottom of the boat as he drifts off to sleep. The ork who is the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks, wakes up late in the day to snack upon the carcass of the shark, Dorkindle surprisingly doesn't gorge himself on the shark he's caught, it was a pain to catch the thing in the first place, his mauled arm that's healing is proof of that, so he just snacks on it every so often as he doesn't particularly want to go through the hassle of catching another one anytime soon.
Dorc da Orc is awake during most of the night, it's still warm, but infinitely cooler than it is during the day time, which he finds extremely difficult to deal with the heat of the day. The ork warleader spends most of his time at night, looking at the stars in the sky, at the patterns that to him and all ork kind, shows their god Krom doing everything and anything, usually it's their deity killing another god or goddess in various ways. Or the star patterns has the ork war god, drinking, eating and whoring, his favourite pastimes, when he's not in battle killing the other deities of the world of Volunell. Well that's his favourite pastimes of their god in their minds, so that's all that matters to them.
Dorc da Orc falls asleep with a belly full of shark meat again just before dawn, as he thinks of himself drinking and eating with his god Krom after they've gone into war against a number of the other gods, the large ork falls asleep with a wide grin upon his broad, green brutish looking face.
The ork warleader wakes himself up with a snort, Dorkindle frowns as he's pretty certain that he hears shouting and yelling, the ork weaponsmith scowls up at the sun in the clear mid morning sky above, then he moves the half eaten shark to one side, and pops his head up and looks ahead.
Dorc da Orc frowns as his prison is slowly drifting to one side, and then he blinks in surprise, as he sees the twin masted sailing ship has stopped, and is listing to one side, it takes a moment for him to realise it, but the cutter has run aground. The large ork looks all around and sees nothing but ocean, he looks at the ship infront of his prison, and sees that it's on a small spit of sand, that's part of a mid ocean reef, the cutter must of beached upon it unaware that the there's a small local tide here.
Dorc da Orc suddenly goes still, as all of a sudden the voices in his head, all of them, including the loud domineering one of his 'mother' who were all chatting away in an excited manner, instantly fall silent.
Then as he hears the crew of the cutter shouting and yelling, the large ork hears a voice in his head that he hasn't heard in quite some time, infact it's been nearly eight years since he last heard it, it's a voice he'll never ever forget. The ork warleader grimaces at what he hears, then Dorc da Orc mutters "Fucken hell" followed by "Krom help me" he winces as the voice in his head gives him a sharp, not to mention quite sweary rebuke for what he just said there . . . . . .

Wonderful 2.

North Of The Equator. The Great Western Ocean...

Dorc da Orc snorts and wakes himself up, he frowns and looks away to his left as he hears the high pitched squealing sounds that he's become accustomed to, the large ork grunts as he watches what's causing it.
"Hey little squeaky whales" says Dorc da Orc, who breathes in a lung full of warm air, which to him is almost as distasteful as the hot sun that's beating down upon his head "Come over here, me wants to fucken eats you" adds the ork warleader who knows that from their smell, that what he's watching, are definitely warm blooded like the whales he used to hunt in the southern polar ocean, but these are much smaller, and sleeker looking.
As he sits in his prison as it floats along in the wake of the twin masted sailing ship that it's connected to by a nearly hundred and fifty foot long, small link anchor chain. The large ork looks at some of his captors who are in the stern of the vessel, which is a cutter, not that Dorkindle knows that, as he only has a basic understanding of vessels, and doesn't particularly know the types of them.
There on the stern some of the ship's crew have the same idea as the ork weaponsmith, who snorts in derision then mutters "Dumb cunts not gonna get them little squeaky whales" as he knows that no one onboard, even those manning the fixed ballista on the stern, are capable or skilled enough to shoot the fast moving sea mammals.
The large ork listens carefully to those on the stern of the sailing ship towing his prison, and what they're saying "Poor puss?" mutters Dorc da Orc who then adds "What the fuck is a poor puss?" he looks away to his left again at the sleek, grey and almost silver coloured sea mammals, and he murmurs "You cunts poor puss?".
For an answer the ork warleader hears the sea mammals squeaking and clicking in their strange language that they use to communicate, Dorkindle grunts as one of them comes in close to the boat that's his prison, and skims across the small waves less than ten feet from him, before it dives just under the surface and veers quickly away.
The large ork who is starving, licks his lips and starts salivating as the sea mammals, the entire group of them, swim away at speed, while arrows and bolts shot by some of the crew on the stern of the cutter, fall well short of the departing sea mammals "Bye poor puss" murmurs Dorc da Orc who then adds "Ya cunts".
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks grunts and is glad the crew onboard the ship infront of him didn't catch anything. It galls the ork warleader when he sees them catch fish and other sea creatures, as he knows that they just using what they've freshly caught, to supplement what they've already got onboard. Dorkindle's keen sense of smell, knows that they've got plenty of food onboard, more than enough for their journey, which seems to be taking a lifetime in the opinion of the warleader of the ork race.
The large ork sighs and watches his captors for a little while, until the hot sun, combined with the smell of the sea, forces him to lie back down in the bottom of the boat, and after a fairly short amount of time for him, fall into a doze, then eventually into sleep.
Dorkindle wakes again after midday, he glances up at the clear sky, with the ever present sun beaming down upon him, the sun which one day he hopes to destroy, and though he's not the best at guessing the passing of time, he figures it's around the middle of the afternoon.
The weaponsmith who to this day, is still the largest member of the wolf tribe of orks, has lost at least fifty or sixty pounds of weight since he's been held captive in his floating prison. The ork warleader who is starving, sits up in the small boat, leaning back against the stern as it's towed behind the twin masted cutter, which is still slowly heading north in the light winds that has been the norm throughout the journey.
Dorc da Orc sniffs, then looks away to his right, to starboard, and in the almost clear tropical waters they're in, the large ork spots something on the surface of the water, the ork weaponsmith sniffs again, then murmurs "Snake".
Dorkindle watches the banded sea snake for a while, and sees that it's basically parallel to the boat that's his prison, and it's heading in the same direction, north, as he and his captors are going, easily keeping pace as the twin masted sailing ship isn't going that particularly quickly, infact it's moving slowly.
The warleader of the ork race licks his lips, and before he starts salivating, he makes a decision. Plucking up an extreme amount of courage for one of his kind, it isn't exactly in short supply, as courage to an ork, is often just sheer stupidity in anyone else. He does what amounts to being one of the most disgusting things for an ork to do, he dips one of his large, skillet sized hands in the warm water that surrounds his floating prison.
The large ork hisses like an enraged cat as his right arm below the elbow gets wet as he starts paddling his prison to his right. Though only after he stops himself from tipping overboard and ending up in the water and going for an unexpected swim. Dorkindle like any other ork, would rather stab himself in the eye with a battleaxe than go for a swim, he hates the water that much.
With each paddling sweep of his right arm that sends his prison sideways, the ork warleader whose face has a deep scowl plastered across it, hisses in disgust, which is punctuated by him growling "Cunt" and every so often a "Fucking cunt".
Some of those in the stern of the cutter have noticed what he's doing, then one of the crew spots what's away to starboard of the small boat that's the large ork's prison. That crew member spreads the word, and others start to laugh as they watch him paddle his prison towards the nearby sea snake, some of them start making bets as they wonder if their prisoner is going to die fairly quickly or slowly, if he's lucky, or in their eyes, unlucky to catch the sea snake.
"Here snakey snakey, come here to your friend Dorc" mutters Dorkindle who then adds "Ya fucken cuntbag" which is followed by a growling "Cunt" as he dips his right arm into the water again, and paddles his prison further to one side.
The scowling ork warleader who hopes he doesn't have to reach out too far to catch the sea snake, as he doesn't fancy taking an unexpected dip which is more than likely to happen if he's to reach out too far to one side.
He has as a bit of luck, as the sea snake, being a little curious itself, swims closer to the small boat that's the prison of the warleader of the ork race. Who with a bit of timing, and luck so that he doesn't end up in the water, he grabs the sea snake and snatches it out of the warm waters of the Great Western Ocean just north of the equator.
Dorc da Orc being as ravenous as he is, stuffs the sea snake into his mouth, tail first, which the aquatic creature doesn't take to kindly to. The sea snake starts biting the large ork, repeatedly into his right hand and arm, injecting deadly venom into the ork weaponsmith's system, that would paralyze then kill anyone else in a short amount of time.
Not so Dorkindle, who like all of his kind, is immune to deadly toxins. Infact it's the sea snake that gets poisoned, it curls up and writhes about as it gets a taste of the vile, disgusting blood stream of the large ork, who is busy chomping away on the tail end of the eight foot long banded sea snake.
"Silly snakey" murmurs Dorc da Orc as he chews away on the now dead snake, savoring every bite as he finally satisfies his hunger, as he hasn't had anything to eat in the nearly two weeks since he's been taken prisoner, well apart from his own excrement.
With about a third of the dead sea snake sticking out of his mouth, the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks looks ahead at the twin masted sailing ship that's towing his prison, and sees those in the stern of the cutter who have been watching him and laughing, have now fallen silent as they watch him.
Dorc da Orc sucks up the rest of the sea snake, and after a few satisfying chews, he swallows the last of his first decent meal in a while, the large ork grins at his captors who thought he was going to die if he caught the sea snake, the ork warleader then loudly roars at them, which echoes off the surrounding ocean.
Dorkindle sits back against the stern of the small boat, and in the first time since he's been taken captive and put in prison, he isn't that disgruntled with the situation he's in. Even with the hot sun beating down upon him, or the warm water that's all around him, they aren't as annoying as they usually are, for the simple fact he's had something to eat.
"Good fucken foods you was snakey" murmurs a satisfied Dorc da Orc, who as he watches the twin masted sailing ship infront of him that's towing his prison, imagines what he'll do to his captors once he finds away to escape from his prison. What he imagines doing isn't exactly nice, or healthy to those onboard the cutter who have taken him prisoner . . . . . .