Wonderful

Three Years Later...

Dorc da Orc is in the prison. This isn't exactly a new experience for the large ork, for over the years he's been in numerous, not to mention, all types of prisons.
The ork weaponsmith has been in every type of cell you can think of. From small damp cells in tiny border towns, to large open communal cells in the towers of certain city watches.
He's been in dungeons beneath run down keeps of pauper knights in the remotest of kingdoms, to the worst dungeons you can think of, beneath the most opulent of palaces you'll likely ever to see.
The ork warleader has even been held in holes in the ground. On two continents too. One in some foothills far way away to the south, where he was held by a clan of hill dwarves, until he was found and rescued by the individual who named him the warleader of his race.
To a hole in a maze on another continent, a maze of cells that ended up in various fighting pits in a section of a floating city, that years after he was a prisoner there, he would help to destroy.
But Dorkindle, as Dorc da Orc's given name is, has never been in a prison like the prison he's in at the moment. It's not magical and lethal as some prisons he's been in are. And though it's fairly basic, it's far from the most poorest and despicable prison that he's ever had the presence to grace.
But what it is, is the most secure prison in the world, well for an ork it is, because Dorc da Orc is in a small boat, in the middle of an ocean.

Dorc da Orc scowls as he lifts his head up over the starboard side gunnels, the large ork feels like muttering a few choice swear words, but he can't be bothered as all he sees in is blue water away to his right.
Sunshine is bouncing off the surface of the water, and though it doesn't effect his eyesight, he finds it extremely annoying, for the simple fact that there's water that surrounds him on all sides, and that the sun, on this clear day, is once again hot, so hot that the ork weaponsmith can't cope with it, as he finds the heat on a hot day problematic to begin with.
Dorkindle of the wolf tribe of orks lays his head back down, and covers his face with an arm, as he basically pants as he tries to cool himself down this hot day, which is another hot day, following another, and another, so many, that the large ork has lost count of how many days he's been held prisoner in his unique cell.
The ork warleader like all of his kind, despises water more than anything else in life, especially large quantities of the stuff, like say an ocean. Thinks about having another drink of his own pee, which has been just about the only thing, along with his own shit, that's really given him any sustenance since he's been a prisoner.
Dorc da Orc forgoes drinking any of his own piss now, he'll wait until night time, when it's cooler and he's able to urinate with a little more ease, not to mention comfort as he squirts his own piss into his mouth.
The ork warleader thinks about dozing again, as it's what he's done most often during his confinement on the small boat. The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks can usually keep himself amused in his time in a prison, but here in the middle of the ocean, even he's devoid of ideas, for shitting, pissing and masturbating can only keep you entertained for so long, even for a demented ork like himself.
Dorkindle yawns as he tries not to think about things, many things that have changed his life over the last few years, instead he listens to the sounds around him as he lies there in the bottom of the boat with a forearm covering his face.
First and foremost the large ork hears the sound of the water all around him, lapping against the boat that's floating gently in the warm water of the ocean. The ork weaponsmith who can't get the disgusting smell, well to him it's disgusting, of the salt water out of his nose, hears the sounds of sea birds in the distance.
This gets his attention, as he hasn't heard any of them in a few days, and when you combine that with the slight sound of the wind picking up, the warleader of the ork race figures things are going to change again.
A short time later and Dorc da Orc grunts as his prison starts slowly moving again, the large ork debates in his mind, which is no easy thing when you've got hundreds of voices yelling at one another in your mind, if he should have a look at what's happening, curiosity gets the better of him and he decides to have a look.
Dorkindle lifts his head up and looks forward beyond the bow of his small boat, he sees the chain lifting up out of the water and slowly go a bit more taunt and the boat moves forward as the ship it's connected to gets underway again after being becalmed as it has often been over the last few days.
Dorc da Orc scowls at the twin masted sailing ship and his captors onboard it just a hundred and fifty feet away, he sees the crew members with bows, crossbows, and a fixed ballista in the stern, all looking his way, seeing if he'll try anything again. The large ork will bide his time as he waits for another opportunity to escape. So for now he just watches them and scowls.
The ork weaponsmith sniffs deeply, and again, as it's been for the last week or so, there's only one other member of the group onboard the ship of their captors, the warleader of the ork race grunts as he's relieved that at least one of the others is still around and alive, even though they, like him, is being held a prisoner. Well to be fair, there's also another member of the group onboard the twin masted sailing ship, but no way would Dorkindle normally think that they're actually a part of the group, and to be honest, they're definitely not a prisoner, they're just along for the ride really.
As his moving cell, well moves, slowly through the water, Dorc da Orc, who at least knows they're still going north, thinks about who came onboard to help rescue him and the other prisoner. The large ork who isn't normally one for reflection, screws up his face, as he thinks of what happened, or what he has an inkling of what happened, since he was stuck here in his floating prison, and didn't exactly see what transpired, all he did, was hear and smell what happened.
Dorkindle turns his head and looks southwards, the direction they've come from, and like it is to the north, east and west, it's all just blue sea one can see, the large ork slightly shakes his head as he knows that someone will be extremely fucked off once they catch up. That they'll eventually catch up is a certainty to the ork warleader, he believes that in the fullest as he believes in his god Krom, he knows that nothing can stop that individual, absolutely nothing.
The large ork from the southern polar region known as The Ork Range, an extremely inhospitable and sparsely populated region at the bottom of the world, since he's in such a rare reflective mood, thinks about a few other things. Even though he doesn't particularly want to think about some of them.
As his prison moves forward through the warm water at a fairly slow speed, Dorc da Orc drops his head back down beneath the level of the gunnels, with the hot sun beating down upon him, he thinks about his army of goblin mercenaries, who he hasn't seen in over a year, and who are no longer mercenaries as such.
The warleader of the ork race briefly grins in a rare moment of pride as he knows that his army, well those that survived their long arduous journey, are far away to the south, being trained by members of the finest fighting force that Dorkindle has ever encountered.
The large ork as he's often want to do when he feels proud about something, thinks about someone else who for a number of years was his best friend. The feeling of pride instantly turns to sadness, and in the bottom of the boat that is his prison, Dorc da Orc turns his head as tears come unbidden to his eyes.
In one of those rare moments, all of the voices in his head fall silent as the ork weaponsmith thinks of his pet pig, Piggy who has been dead for the past year or so.
Dorkindle lies there in his prison, not caring about where he is or the predicament he's in, or anything else that he and the others in the group have recently gone through, all he can think of is now dead pet pig Piggy, sir Piggy of the Pork, Knight of the Ham.
"Poor Piggy" murmurs Dorc da Orc with a catch in his voice as he lies there on his side at the bottom of the boat that is his prison, softly crying to himself as the hot sun beats down upon the ocean that he's stuck in the middle of . . . . . .