Wonderful 24.

The Nomads Plains...

The brothers Saladén and Chanük share a look, as the monster, who they've finally figured out is named Dorc. Takes another bowl of fermented goats milk, and gulps it down in a hurry, followed by a rather loud burp and a satisfying sigh.
How the monster is still awake is anyone's guess, for the amount he has drunk would a knocked out a grown man quite a while ago.
The far hunter and the tribal leader, along with the monster are sitting in one of the cuts in the ground, that the tribes camp is predominantly made up of.
The cuts are natural like trenches, being anywhere from five to more than a dozen feet deep into the ground. They're covered with a hide covering, dyed the same sandy colouring as the plains around the camp.
They're where the majority of life in the camp is conducted, though there are also a few round like tents, that resemble piles of rocks or boulders, that the tribe also uses.
The two brothers, both in their thirties, as is their other brother Xhangal, are sitting there with their faces covered with the traditional black cloth of the plains nomads. Normally worn in combat against their enemies the townsmen of Belinswae. But breaking tradition, the brothers are wearing it for the simple reason that they block out some of the stench emanating from the monster, who stinks beyond belief.
The monster Dorc, who is obviously struggling in the morning heat, turns his head so that he's looking out the connecting cutting, which leads outside, over a defile. There's a breeze coming in through that way, much to the relief of the monster, who once again starts gnawing away on the tip of the wyvern wing he's brought with him.
Both Chanük and his youngest brother Saladén grimace beneath their face coverings, as they both know, from a misspent youth, and dumb experimenting, that wyvern tastes disgustung.
Having tried it once on a dare when they were youngsters, the brothers spent a couple of days throwing up with stomach cramps, and a bad dose of the shits, when they and some of other youngsters in the tribe at the time, found a dead wyvern in the long sands, fifty miles south of where their camp is located now.
The brothers wince as the monster crunches the bones of the end of the wyvern's wing, then swallows it, then it gestures at the empty bowl, and says in the language of the townsmen in it's deep, growling voice "Got any more of that fucken shit?" it pauses, burps a smelly wyvern scented burp, then adds "It's pretty good fucken shit".
"Ah, not really" says Saladén the far hunter in the same language, he speaks the townsmen's language fluently, while his older brother the tribal leader, can understand it fairly well, isn't the best at speaking it. Though in the opinion of Chanük, he's fairly certain he speaks it just as well, or poorly depending on your point of view, as the monster does.
With a grunt of disappointment, the monster who is so large his head almost touches the hide covering above them, says to the two brothers "Where's your ponies?" it then murmurs something in contentment in what Saladén and Chanük figures is it's own language, before adding in the language of the townsmen "Cause you are the fucken pony peoples".
This subject has taken the two brothers by surprise, for they've learnt that the monster knows a bit about their people, or rather people who are exactly like the nomads of the plains.
After a bit of thought as it tried to recall things, the monster named Dorc, who is apparently an ork, which the brothers have never heard of. Informed them about what he called the hordes barbarians, who live on the tundra faraway to the south near the bottom of the world. Who according to the monster, are exactly like the nomads of the hot, arid plains. With the exception that they're horsemen, who ride ponies.
Chanük the tribes leader says to the monster in his broken townsmens language "Once we were horsemen, in the time of our grandfather's grandfathers".
His brother Saladén adds "It's been multiple generations since we were horsemen, as are most of the tribes in the north, west and south of the plains are no longer horse riders" he continues with "There's a few tribes on the eastern edge of the plains who still have horses, but from what i understand they only have very small herds, and they're dwindling every year" the far hunter then says "I suspect in a few generations, the nomads of the plains will no longer be horsemen at all".
They watch the monster who is looking to one side, down at the large sword lying beside it, as if he's listening to something, then he grunts, and he says "That fucken sucks" followed by "Dorc like pretty ponies".
"Er?" murmurs Chanük, while his brother murmurs "Ah?" as they don't know what to make of that, or for a matter of fact, a lot of what the monster named Dorc says, who is difficult to understand due to his thick accent, his deep rumbling almost growling voice, and the fact everything he says is laced with swear words.
The brothers who have asked the monster not to try and speak in their dialect, as the only words it seems to know are swear words. Not that many, often jumbled together so that they make absolutely no sense to them, or at least they've never heard anyone swear like that before.
Glance at one another, and Chanük the tribal leader says in his form of the townsmens language "Thank you again" the big green monster grunts, then says "For fucken what?" it's the younger brother Saladén who replies with "For taking care of those raiders and their wyverns, and saving the children in that ravine" the monster, the ork, waves a large, beefy hand in a dismissive manner, and tells them "It was fucken nothin".
For his part, Dorc da Orc doesn't mention that he couldn't care less at what he did. Infact he didn't particularly want to do it at all. But he was forced to do so by the large sword lying on the sandy ground beside him in the cutting that's about thirty five feet long, and about six feet deep.
Dorkindle who must admit that it's way cooler here in these cuttings in the nomads camp than it is out in the open, though not as cool as his cave. Glances down at lord Farque's sword lying beside him, who is occasionally telling him things.
The large ork would prefer if she would shut up, but he can't deny she is telling him some useful information every so often, much of which he'll probably forget anyway.
"Huh?" says the ork warleader in response to what the nomad named Saladén has just said "Oh that fucken thing" says the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks "That was a bit of a cunt to kill, but me got it good" says Dorc da Orc in reference to the sand dragon he killed a couple of weeks ago, which Saladén has just thanked him for doing.
The ork weaponsmith who had a little trouble killing the sand dragon, which though smaller than a decent sized wyvern, has far thicker natural armour, and an extremely thick skull, making a killing blow to the head very difficult indeed.
Was only able to kill the wingless creature that resembles a dragon more than a wyvern does, when he finally started swinging lord Farque's sword at it. Or more precisely, when she allowed herself to be swung at it. As Dorkindle has found out, not just recently, but also in years gone by, the sword only does what it wants to do, whenever it wants to do it, not when he wants to do something with it. And if he tries to do something it doesn't want to do, or he does something it doesn't particularly care for, it will hit him.
The two brothers briefly glance at one another as the monster scowls for some reason, well scowls in a more prominent way, as his regular look is basically a scowl mixed with an insane looking grin, which is more than a little intimidating to look at, because of how brutish looking his face is.
Then Saladén, who like his brother Chanük, and everyone else in the tribe at this camp, is concerned that townsmen have come this deep into the plains that are named after their people, asks the monster, the ork "You haven't by chance seen any other townsmen this far into the plains have you?".
Dorc da Orc waving away to the west, says "Nah, haven't seen any of those cunts in a few weeks" he continues with "Back that fucken way, heaps of miles away" the large ork pauses for a moment as he recalls something, and because lord Farque's sword reminds him of it, and he tells the two nomads "Well me did see a fucken wyvey flying away to the north, hmmmm when was that" he holds up five fingers, then adds "Seven fucken days ago".
"Was there riders on it?" asks the far hunter who is following the conversation with the monster much better than his brother the tribe's leader is doing, the monster grunts and replies in the positive, which causes Saladén to say to Chanük in their dialect "Probably going to the northeast to the mountains, to Maladimbáh"
The older brother nods his head in agreement, then he says in the dialect of the plains nomads "Damn justifiers out of Falnic are doing more and more business with the elves of Maladimbáh" the tribe's leader continues with "And the elves with them".
Both brothers sourly smile behind their face coverings, as trade between the townsmen's coastal city of Falnic and the elven principality of Maladimbáh has been limited, especially during their lifetime, and their father's and grandfathers. But of late, especially in the last few seasons, and from what they've heard, and what the monster has just told them, in the last month or so. Travel between Falnic and Maladimbáh has definitely increased.
After a few moments of silence, Chanük says in the nomads dialect to his youngest brother "Ask it how long it intends to stay in our secondary water cave" though the brothers, for some reason knew that the monster wasn't a threat to them or their tribe when they first discovered the monster living in the cave upon the nearby rise.
As it only roared at anyone who got close, or yelled and shouted at them, occasionally mock charging anyone in the tribe who got too close to the cave, until it hit itself with the large sword it carries, and ran back inside the water cave near the top of the rise about a mile away from camp.
"We were wondering, how long you were you intending to stay in the cave you've been living in?" asks Saladén in the townsmen's language, which is also known throughout the world of Volunell as the common language "Don't fucken know" replies the monster with shrug of his massive shoulders, the ork named Dorc continues with "Me waiting for a couple of cunts to show up".
The brothers Saladén and Chanük watch as the monster grabs it's right hand with it's left, and pulls it in close to it's body as he looks quickly down at the large sword lying beside him, while nervously grinning.
After a moment it, the monster grunts in what sounds like relief, then it looks at the two brothers, when the far hunter Saladén asks it "Ah, so where are these two, er, people coming from?".
The monster waves behind itself, to the north, and he says "From fucken that way" it continues with "Some fucken place called Mali, er Mala, hmmmmm Mala-dumb-bum, yeah that fucken place".
"Maladimbáh?" says Saladén in a tone of surprise, his brother is surprised too, for the elves of the principality in the mountains to the north of the nomads plains, never venture out onto the plains if they can help it.
"Yeah that's the fucken place they at" says Dorc da Orc, who isn't actually sure that's where the two people he's waiting for actually are, but that's what lord Farque's sword has told him, so that's what he's going with . . . . . .