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 . . . . . .