Wonderful 47.

Belinswae. The City Of Falnic...

Dorc da Orc is the first one through the portal, followed by Mira Reinholt the mage then finally lord Farque. They come out of an arched doorway amongst some ruins of buildings on a hilltop off the southeast road out of the city of Falnic.
Below in the light of the morning sunshine, is a town at the foot of the hill, while a couple of miles away to the west are the walls of the city of Falnic, and beyond that the Great Western Ocean. Here in Belinswae near the coast it's noticeably cooler than it is on the nomads plains, much to the relief of the ork warleader.
The mage Reinholt who is holding his power within himself now since they're so close to a population that has spellcasters, looks back at the doorway, that seems so ordinary looking amongst the ruins.
"Clever" quietly says Mira Reinholt the mage, lord Farque glances at the once powerful mage, and sees what he's looking back at, the undead warlord nods his full helmed head in agreement. For indeed this side of the magical portal is so ordinary looking, infact it doesn't look like a portal at all. It's only when the heavily armoured deathlord spots some minute looking runes down one side of the stone doorway, and points it out to the Vexilian mage in exile, does the mage Reinholt actually truly believe that indeed it is a two way magical portal.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque turns back around and senses as he looks around, after a few moments lord Farque says "She's not here" as he can't sense the elven magic user Kaldeàlil Haldéilv anywhere in the vicinity, or within twenty miles of here.
"Damn, i thought she would've been here by now" murmurs the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, while a disgruntled grunt issues forth from Dorc da Orc who then mutters "Fucken tree eatin' hag" as their quarry isn't here in Falnic, which they assumed she was heading to.
If they had arrived a day earlier, the lord of the death realm would of immediately sensed the rest of the group.
But those led by Helbe the elven thief who were in the port city of Falnic, left the city on horseback well before dawn yesterday morning, heading down the very same road below. Before striking out straight east, across open ground on their way to the nomads plains. They're now well out of the range of the extraordinary senses of the undead warlord as they head to the elven principality of Maladimbáh.
"Might as well see what we can find out" says lord Farque, who then nods his full helmed head in the direction downhill, the three of them from south of equator set off, making their way through the rest of the ruins, and down the hill to the town and road below.
As they head downhill, the heavily armoured deathlord says to the once powerful mage "Better watch yourself here mage, from what i gathered traveling through south of here, is that the authorities, those justifiers aren't too keen on other spellcasters". "I know" says the exiled Vexilian mage, who continues with "They constantly checked up on Kaldeàlil when we were briefly here" the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, then adds "They didn't even bother with me, they couldn't sense me because of that crap she forced me to drink".
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque nods his full helmed head at hearing that, and he's just about to mention something else as they approach the back of the town, when they hear a scream. It's a woman picking vegetables in a field, a field of the dry, straw like grass that's prevalent to this part of Belinswae. Then there comes another scream, also from a woman, hanging up linen on a line between a citrus tree and a house. A adolescent girl, her daughter by the looks of it, who is standing in the open backdoor of the house, also screams before turning around and hurrying quickly inside.
"Seems you're as popular as ever Dorc" dryly says Mira Reinholt with a chuckle, the large ork who is watching a pair of tame wyverns flying up the coastline to Falnic, grunts then looks around, Dorkindle grins as another scream comes from a young woman looking out of a window, wondering what's happening when she suddenly spots the warleader of the ork race.
"Hehehe all the ladies love Dorc" chortles the ork weaponsmith, which causes the swordmaster Reinholt to guffaw, and shake his hooded head as the large ork grins as he watches the nearby women flee in terror at the sight of him.
The trio from south of the equator ignore the townsmen who come running with weapons to see what's going on. The three from the Southlands don't fail to notice that a lot of the weapons are large kitchen knives and cleavers, along with farm and gardening tools. There's very few actual weapons.
"Seems the justifiers keep a tighter control on the population here than they do along the coast further to the south" quietly says lord Farque, Mira Reinholt nods his hooded head in agreement, then he spots a handful of guards who belong to one of the justifiers, who are on duty here in this particular town, they have weapons for sure.
The townsmen stay back as they see the trio walk onto the dirt road behind the town, it's a track more than anything, that joins up with the road that goes through the town, which leads to the nearby city of Falnic.
The guards are a little standoffish too as the three from south of the equator look like they're heading around the town. Though one of the justifier's guards does eventually step forward as lord Farque, Dorc da Orc and Mira Reinholt walk by.
"Ah where are you lot going?" asks the justifier's guard "Falnic" replies the mage Reinholt who gestures to the port city a couple of miles away, while Dorkindle growls then mutters "Fucken cunts" as he overhears a few of the other guards chatting, who are wondering if he's a goblin, though the biggest goblin by far any of them have ever seen.
The justifier's guard goes to say something else, but the trio, who are more than a little intimidating to the locals. For even the swordmaster Reinholt at around six foot tall, is taller than all of them gathered at the back of the town. Have walked away from them, as they head around to the road that comes out of the town on it's way to the nearby port city.
As they do, the undead warlord listens to the justifier's guards who have regathered, then once the three of them walk around a building, that's used for the storage of the citrus fruit that's grown around here, the heavily armoured deathlord quietly says "Seems we've been expected".
"Oh?" says the spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands "Well you and i were Mira" says Draugadrottin who easily overheard what the guards were discussing, the warleader of the ork race grunts as he heard it too, he paid attention to them because they called a big fat goblin a few moments earlier.
"Her?" says the mage who is in exile from his homeland of Vexil "Seems likely" says the lord of the death realm who then adds "We definitely know she's been here, and recently too" the undead warlord continues with "They were only told about us in the middle of the night".
They get around to the west side of the town, and as they're about to get onto the road to Falnic, a pair of the justifier's guards gallop by on their horses, heading quickly to the port city that's close by.
"We'll they're going to know about us when we get there" says Mira Reinholt, lord Farque shrugs his broad, heavily armoured shoulders and says "It can't be helped" the undead being who is also known as Des'tier aka The Destroyer to an older generation of elves in the Southlands, continues in a dry tone of voice with "It's not as though we can exactly sneak in anywhere".
The mage Reinholt wryly smiles as he looks at the two towering figures to either side of him, who are definitely going to stick out in Falnic. He knows he will too, for though he was only in the streets of Falnic twice, once entering the city, and the other leaving the city, both times at night.
He garnered almost as many stares as the elven magic user Kaldeàlil Haldéilv did, because of his height. For the townsmen of Belinswae are predominantly short, it's what they have in common with their hated enemies the plains nomads.
The two mile walk to the port city of Falnic is pretty uneventful, it's just the usual stares and comments the trio who have traveled far and wide together for over a dozen years are accustomed to. The road isn't that busy anyway, considering the size of Falnic you would think it would be busier first thing in the morning.
The exiled Vexilian mage informs the other two that the port city has a small population in comparison to a similar sized city elsewhere, in particular the Southlands.
The deathlord of Farque nods his full helmed head in agreement to that, as he has sensed the amount of life in the port city. And indeed there's far less people in it compared to other cities of the same size.
As they approach the main gates on the east side of the city, lord Farque dryly says "There's our fucking welcoming party" as there's a number of guards, from various justifiers by the looks of their uniforms and tabards, who are on duty on either side of the gate, as well as on the road itself just infront of the open gates.
The undead warlord who is sensing as he normally does, says "A couple of the justifiers are approaching too" a few moments later and a wyvern flies over the wall and lands on the road near the east gate, and soon after another lands on the east wall of the city. A justifier gets off with the others on each of the large winged creature.
As they do, Mira Reinholt quietly asks lord Farque "So how are we going to do this?" . . . . . .

Wonderful 46.

The Nomads Plains...

After glancing at Dorc da Orc who gives an inquiring, but yawning grunt. Mira Reinholt the mage looks at lord Farque and says to him "And why were you looking at me when you said that?" the undead warlord just gestures to the portal behind him, which causes the once powerful mage to basically snort in derision.
"I can't fix that" says the Vexilian mage in exile in a dry tone of voice, the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, who had a close look all around the portal when the lord and ruler of the lands Farque was within the archway, continues with "You know i don't have the power to fix it".
"I know" says lord Farque "Hell, i doubt i could of fixed it when i had all of my powers" says Mira Reinholt who has seen that this portal is just lacking in power to run it, and what little that was already in it, was used up when the heavily armoured deathlord stood in the archway for a considerable amount of time during the night.
"Maybe" says the undead being who is known as Draugadrottin to the people of his lands, who then adds "Maybe not" the lord and ruler of the lands Farque nods his full helmed head to one side of the marble ruins, he and the mage Reinholt make their way around there.
The exiled Vexilian mage rolls his eyes, while the lord of the death realm mutters "Fucking idiot" as Dorc da Orc walks into the portal and just stands beneath the archway "Get the fuck out of there you big daft cunt" says the undead warlord, Dorkindle grunts then walks out the back of the portal, and makes his way around to where the deathlord of Farque and the swordmaster Reinholt are standing.
"It not fucken working" says Dorc da Orc who has a very basic understanding of magical portals as he's gone through a few of them in his time, he knows that they take you from one place to another, and that's about it.
"We know" dryly says Mira Reinholt, who has no idea what lord Farque intends, because he doubts he could of got this portal running even when he had his vast stores of magical powers, which were stripped from him nearly six years ago, when he accidentally went off world through a rift/void that he miscast.
The undead warlord points at a few small runes in the side of the ruins, this side is relatively undamaged and in one piece, and the runes on it are still intact. The once powerful mage who doesn't have the best understanding of runes at the best of times, recognises a few of the runes that are elven amongst the others in other languages, and he points at one and says "Pool of power" he then adds "Where the power is stored in another words".
"Correct" says lord Farque who is known as Des'tier to an older generation of elves who might know who he is, the heavily armoured deathlord then tells the Vexilian mage in exile "Put some power into it".
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster looks at the tall figure of the undead warlord beside him, then at the marble ruins, in particular the rune for the storing of power in the portal, then he shrugs his shoulders and puts power into it.
It's a rather easy process, very similar to putting raw magical power into something like a magetube. Infact this is easier, as the rune that activates where the power is stored, is basically always open to receive magical energy.
"There you go" says the mage Reinholt as the rune flickers a dark blue colour a few times, before it steadily glows blue, the exiled Vexilian mage then adds "That ain't going to do much" he continues with "Even if i poured in as much as i could, it still won't really do anything, and no way will it activate it".
"I know" says lord Farque, who after looking at the once powerful mage, says to him "Touch that power rune, and hold out your other hand" the spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands lifts an enquiring eyebrow at that as the lord and ruler of the lands Farque watches him, then the swordmaster Reinholt does exactly what lord Farque just said. He touches the glowing rune with his gloved left hand, and holds out his right gloved hand to one side.
Mira Reinholt flinches as the undead warlord grabs his right hand "Don't move" says the heavily armoured deathlord "As if i could" mutters the once powerful mage, who then flinches again, and mutters "Fuck" as the lord of the death realm draws his sword that's strapped to his back.
The Vexilian mage in exile grimaces as Draugadrottin goes to put the hilt of his sword into the gloved palm of the swordmaster Reinholt's hand, the spellcaster from one of the most prominent trading families in the city-state of Vexil, wants to bolt, but he's unable to as the lord and ruler of the lands Farque has a tight hold of him as he grips the hilt of the massive sword.
Dorc da Orc who first grinned when lord Farque took a hold of his sword, as he thought Mira Reinholt was finally going to get it. Then grunted when all the undead warlord did was make the once powerful mage grip the hilt of the massive sword. Then the large ork grinned again as he knows what can happen if someone touches the heavily armoured deathlord's sword. The ork warleader with the grin still upon his face watches and waits for the mage Reinholt to break apart into tiny little, ice like pieces. He's also grinning because there's a noticeable drop in the temperature, as cold rolls off both lord Farque and his sword.
With a grimace upon his face, Mira Reinholt starts breathing rapidly as he tries not to panic as coldness sweeps through his body. "Relax" sourly says the lord of the death realm "You're not going to die" adds Draugadrottin "Easy for you to say" mutters the swordmaster Reinholt, who then silently adds, you're already dead!
"Fine, do it the hard way" dryly says the lord and ruler of the lands Farque as they stand there next to the magical portal while the sun comes up over the horizon to the east, the undead warlord then tells the mage Reinholt "Put all of your power into the portal" Des'tier as he's known to an older generation of elves who know him adds "You'll know when".
It's not going to fucking work! Mira Reinholt thinks to himself as he stands there shaking in pain as his body freezes, unable to let go of the hilt of the undead warlord's sword, or stop touching the rune on the side of the marble ruin, which he can't even see now as his eyes are now frozen shut.
Then the Vexilian mage in exile as he stands there shaking uncontrollably, suddenly feels something that's only happened twice since he returned to the world of Volunell from the otherside of the void he went through. And like those two times, it's happened at a time of dire need, like now as it feels like he's going to die, infact he is dying, and at death's doorstep. Though thanks to the lord of the death realm, the mage Reinholt is kept firmly in the land of the living. Not that the once powerful mage knows that at this moment in time.
Mira Reinholt goes to crack a smile but he's unable to as his face is frozen solid as he feels all his vast stores of power return to him. The spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands. Is once again, though only briefly, the most powerful mage of his generation, not just in the Southlands, but anywhere in the world.
Yes! the mage Reinholt shouts in triumph within his mind, then he funnels his power into the broken portal, fully activating the magical doorway again. Though the spellcaster who would like to retain his wealth of magical power. It's only short lived, as lord Farque takes the Sword of Power Ryn out of the gloved right hand of Mira Reinholt, and lets go of his hand.
"Fuck" mumbles the exiled Vexilian mage as he stands there shivering, once again bereft of his vast stores of magical power "I'm freezing to death" murmurs the once powerful mage through chattering teeth.
"You're fine" dryly says lord Farque who has returned his sword to it's place across his back "It's all in your head" says the undead warlord who then slaps the swordmaster Reinholt across the face.
Mira Reinholt blinks in surprise as he suddenly feels completely normal after the heavily armoured deathlord slapped him, though he's back to having very little magical power, he's exactly the same as he was before he was forced to take hold of the Sword of Power.
"Shoulda slapped him fucken harder" mutters Dorc da Orc after grunting in disappointment, due to the Vexilian mage in exile still being in one piece, and not untold little tiny pieces. And because it's no longer freezing cold as it was a few moments ago.
"Come on" says lord Farque who nods his full helmed head for the other two to follow him, the three of them make their way around to the front of the magical portal.
On the marble arch all the runes are glowing dark blue, while in the archway you can no longer see the ground on the otherside, or one of the small hills in the distance. What you see is the view of a hard packed dirt road down a hillside, with an ocean not faraway, and the walls of a city not far from that.
And though Mira Reinholt was only there for a few days, and didn't see much of it as he was a prisoner held in an inn, he does recognize what they're seeing "That's Falnic" says the once powerful mage.
"I know" dryly says lord Farque who points up at some of the runes on the arch and adds "It says it up there" the Vexilian mage sourly smiles, then the heavily armoured deathlord gestures into the archway and says to the mage Reinholt and the ork warleader "Alright you two, through we go" . . . . . .

Wonderful 45.

The Nomads Plains...

Lord Farque is silent as he continues to look through the portal, well through isn't exactly what he's doing, he's looking into it more than anything else. The undead warlord takes a step back, and looks up at the runes carved into the marble archway, they're in a number of languages, all of which he comprehends.
The heavily armoured deathlord then looks back into the portal, which from all appearances seems to show what's on the otherside between the two small rises it's located between, but to him it shows something completely else.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque hears Dorc da Orc and Mira Reinholt the mage approaching from behind, once they stop a few yards behind him, the large ork grunts curiously, while he knows the once powerful mage is sensing the portal.
"It's broken" says Mira Reinholt the mage, lord Farque holds up a gauntleted hand, then says "Quiet" the Vexilian mage in exile lifts a questioning eyebrow, then shrugs his shoulders, while Dorkindle stands there scratching his nuts as he wonders why the lord and ruler of the lands Farque is just standing there, staring through the marble archway.
The lord of the death realm knows that the mage Reinholt is somewhat correct, for indeed the magical portal is broken. But he's not entirely correct, because the ancient device is still functioning, or else the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster wouldn't of been able to sense it from a distance. It's just not working as it's intended to, due to a lack of power in it.
Draugadrottin as he's also known by the people of his lands, slowly starts to put a gauntleted hand into the portal, as he does some of the runes above start to glow dark blue in the night, while there's shimmering in the air, where the undead warlord's gauntleted hand is.
"Er?" says Dorc da Orc, while Mira Reinholt murmurs "Not as broken as it seems" as the heavily armoured deathlord looks closely at his gauntleted hand, noticing something he's seen before, though not in a number of years, and not here in the physical world of Volunell, but in another plain of existence.
Lord Farque looks over his right shoulder, and says to the ork warleader and the exiled Vexilian mage "Turn around" the two of them share a look, and Dorkindle after grunting turns around and faces the other way, as does the mage Reinholt after he lifts an eyebrow in question again.
Once the other two have turned around, the undead warlord faces forward, then starts pushing more of his arm into the portal, as he does, he watches his armour changing before his eyes. The deathlord of Farque closes his eyes, then he steps into the portal. And by all appearances it seems he's standing beneath the archway unchanged, but appearances can be deceiving.

I believe it's a ship my lord, one that travels between the stars. I would say it's the bridge, where things are controlled from, says Ryn the Sword of Power in response to lord Farque asking her where it is, the soul of the Greater Dragon that inhabits the Farque family sword then adds, interesting.
The undead warlord can only nod to that, as he looks around, then he looks at his armour that has completely changed. It's sleeker and more form fitting, with the helm all encompassing and sleeker too. It's been like this once before, when the heavily armoured deathlord went through a gateway to another dimension, to another plain of existence, where he fought a summoned creature of fire and steam. Infact he fought a multitude of them before he was able to find a gateway out of that plain of existence back to the physical world of Volunell, and the city of Vexil where he was at the time.
And like then, the inside of his helm is lit up with a myriad of figures and scenes, but as the lord and ruler of the lands Farque looks at the inside of the clear visor of the strange helmet he's wearing, he sees a reflection of who is wearing it. And it's not him.
Oh it looks very like him, quite close infact, but Kaiuss Farque as lord Farque's given name is, knows that it definitely isn't him although whoever it is, looks very similar.
A memory from my armour? asks the undead warlord to the Sword of Power, as he knows the armour that he wears, which belonged to his grandfather before him, and has been in his family forever, is unique to say the least.
It seems so my lord, replies the large sword that's here but not here, the heavily armoured deathlord can feel the Sword of Power upon his back, but with one of the images in the helmet showing him what's behind him, he sees that the massive weapon is not there. Which stands to reason, if this is really a memory from the lord of the death realms armour.
Draugadrottin as he's known by the people of his land looks down at the armour and sees the small miniature creatures that are on it. There aren't so many on it than when it's the shape and form that he wears. When the miniature creatures, which are impossible to see without his powers. Are usually dormant, and when he has seen them move about, they've been sluggish, with the exception when he went into another plain of existence.
Lord Farque is just about to mention something to the soul of the Greater Dragon Ryn, when he suddenly hears the thoughts of the person who is his armour, the person whose eyes he's looking out of.
Come on Kaivynn, get your act together, is the thought that the undead warlord hears, then the deathlord of Farque hears a multitude of voices, and sees a multitude of images. Thousands, if not tens of thousands of voices, and even more images, hundreds of thousands and beyond, in the mind of the individual who lord Farque seems to watching and observing a specific memory of.
Not to mention a multitude of calculations, far too many to count, that the person who resembles the undead warlord is doing at the same time as he listens and watches everything in his mind.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque just concentrates on the primary thoughts of the individual in his suit of armour, least he gets swamped by all the information that's going on. While the Sword of Power falls silent as she works out what's going on. Ryn figures out what the person is, but she doesn't know who it is. She won't know for at least another four hundred years or so, when both she and the lord and the ruler of the lands Farque both figure it out, when they see an image, a memory, showing the individual concerned. Who turns out to be ancestor of lord Farque, infact the very first Farque on the world of Volunell. For the deathlord of Farque is not like other humans of Volunell, he's descended from someone originally not from this world.

"All is ready captain" says one of the pilots outloud as he sits back upon his couch watching what's happening through both the touchscreen infront of him, and within his mind via his neural net. The captain of the Interstellar Spaceship who is standing on the raised deck, at the rear of the bridge, nods his helmeted head, then captain Kaivynn Farque says outloud and via his neural net, not just to his piloting crew, but the entire crew onboard, and the rest of the ships in the fleet "Begin, stet".

Lord Farque watches what he can only describe as a battle. The undead warlord might not know everything that's happening, or a lot of the terms used. But he knows a battle when he sees one, and knows the ebb and flow of one, even if it's on a scale far grander than he could ever of imagined.
Across a field of stars, he sees smaller vessels deploy from the one that he's on, or more precisely the one the person he's watching the battle through is on. They head to port to a close by world, which is predominantly blue indicating a world with a lot of water. Oceans and seas from what the deathlord of Farque can see out the bridge window, and the images in the visor of the helmet, and within the mind of the individual wearing his armour.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque hears and sees a myriad of orders given as within many of the smaller vessels are troops, while others have only a crew of one or two.
It's these less crewed vessels, that initially engage with the small ships that come up out of the atmosphere of the nearby blue planet. The undead warlord nods his head as he sees that it's these fighter ships that are paving the way for the following troop carriers. It's sound military thinking, and one which he approves of.
As flashes and beams rake the void of space, caused by the fighters, and other machines that are unmanned and autonomous. Lord Farque and the Sword of Power watch the battle in silence. A battle which for whatever reason, is clearly an invasion, upon the blue planet. And by the looks of it, one that's clearly in favour of the invaders, due to their forces being commanded overall by the one called the captain and his pilots onboard the Interstellar Spaceship.
Draugadrottin and the soul of the Greater Dragon Ryn keep watching for quite sometime, until finally lord Farque notices the tiny miniature machines upon his armour, which are invisible to normal sight. Start to slow down, and move in a languid and torpid fashion.
The heavily armoured deathlord is watching a number of the invading troops, who have landed upon the planet when this happens. Many of them are in what looks like automaton, or machine like armour as they get out of their landing craft.
As lord Farque goes to step backwards, Ryn the Sword of Power, blinks in surprise, well if she was still in her physical body of a Greater Dragon she would of blinked in surprise.
For Ryn sees one of the troops, getting out of one of the smaller, single crewed ships that has crash landed on a beach on a tropical looking island. The trooper who is in a suit of strange looking armour, has lifted the visor of his helmet and is swearing up a storm as he looks around, before he starts issuing orders through his mind.
The Sword of Power knows who it is, infact she spots a few more that she recognises, they're some of the gods of Volunell. The soul of the Greater Dragon stays silent about this as the lord and ruler of the lands Farque steps backwards.

Lord Farque looks down at himself and sees that his armour has turned back to normal now that he's out of the portal. Then he looks through the archway and sees nothing but the ground on the otherside, and a small hill in the distance. He looks up and sees the runes are no longer glowing a dark blue.
The undead warlord who knows that portals, along with rifts, gateways and void spells all have an element of time effect to them. Figures out his armour reacted to the broken portal in some way, bringing up a long lost memory in the armour, or to be precise, the small, miniature machines that completely cover and inhabit his full suit of armour.
Draugadrottin looks around and sees the light of dawn in the east, he also finds Dorc da Orc sprawled on the ground nearby, snoring loudly as he's fast asleep. While Mira Reinholt is sitting at the base of the small mound to the right, the Vexilian mage in exile is now dozing as he waits for the heavily armoured deathlord to step back out of the portal.
"Wake up you two" says lord Farque, the mage Reinholt wakes immediately, not so the ork warleader, who is kicked awake by the once powerful mage as he walks by him.
"Well it's definitely broken now" says Mira Reinholt in a dry tone of voice as he can no longer sense the magical portal that's a partially ruined archway. Lord Farque nods his full helmed head and says "True" and as a yawning Dorc da Orc wanders over as the soft light of dawn crests the small mound like hill to their right, the undead warlord looks at the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, and tells him "But it can be fixed" . . . . . .

Wonderful 44.

The Nomads Plains...

Mira Reinholt the mage glances at Dorc da Orc who is sweating profusely, and panting as they walk across the hard baked ground of the nomads plains in the afternoon sunshine. The once powerful mage lifts his newly acquired elven made leather wrapped, brass cylindrical eyepiece and looks through it "Ah it is" murmurs Mira Reinholt the mage, who then puts the the six inch long eyepiece back into an inner pocket of his cloak, then he says "Hang on Dorc, we've going again".
The large ork barely grunts as the Vexilian mage in exile takes a hold of his left arm before they disappear into thin air.
They reappear about four hundred yards away, about the limit the once powerful mage can teleport with someone else, especially if that someone is a seven hundred and fifty pound ork, as teleportation is a weight effected spell.
The two of them are near some boulders, and once they get to the boulders, and into the shade on the leeward side, it's noticeably cooler, considering there's a bit of a breeze blowing across the area of the nomads plains they're in at the moment.
"We'll wait here for a bit" says the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, the ork warleader wholeheartedly agrees with that. Infact, Dorkindle has already slumped to the ground in the shade, and is leaning against a boulder behind him as the hot wind blows across the dry ground of the plains.
After getting into the shade near the ork weaponsmith, the mage Reinholt takes a drink of water from his water sack, then he says to the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks "Have you got anymore of that stuff left?".
Blinking a few times as he figures out what the exiled Vexilian mage is going on about, and because it helps to keep the sweat out of his eyes. Dorc da Orc grunts, then says "Nah cunt, me drank it all up" as he no longer has any of the fermented sheep's milk, that the nomads make, that he's been drinking throughout the day ever since they left early this morning the tribe, that Dorkindle had been staying with recently.
Mira Reinholt who knows it's a waste of time getting the large ork to drink any water, wonders if the ork warleader will have to be forced to drink some water. Probably, the swordmaster Reinholt dryly thinks to himself, though he knows he won't be the one doing that.
The spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, walks a bit around the boulders and looks in the direction they've been heading towards. The Vexilian mage in exile looks through the cylindrical eyepiece, then returning it to the pocket he keeps it in, the mage Reinholt makes his way back around into the shade where the large ork is sitting.
"I can't see him anywhere" says the highly skilled swordmaster, who then adds "Can you still smell him?" Dorkindle who is feeling a little bit better that they've stopped, and that he's in some shade, grunts then says "Wait a fucken moment killer".
The warleader of the ork race sniffs, first quickly and repeatedly, then deeply, after doing this for a little while, the ork weaponsmith grunts then says "Yeah he's out that fucken way" as he waves in the direction they're heading.
Mira Reinholt nods his hooded head and figures lord Farque is within six miles of them, as that's about the limit of the large ork's sense of smell out here on the hot, arid nomads plains, especially with the wind blowing from the east, and not the west, the direction they're heading.
After waiting a little longer in the shade, the swordmaster from the city-state of Vexil says "Come on Dorc, lets get going" and though the ork warleader grumbles and mutters away to himself in his own language, he does get up and follow the mage Reinholt out of the shade and into the sun as they continue on their way to the west.
Late in the day, with the sun setting in the west, and with Dorc da Orc panting heavily as he follows along behind the highly skilled swordmaster, the once powerful mage spots a figure standing amongst a rock field, the figure with the sun setting behind them, is unmistakable to the Vexilian mage in exile.
"Dorc he's just up ahead" says Mira Reinholt, Dorkindle with his head drooping as he pants, and sweats profusely, just grunts as he smells who is just up ahead of them.
"Down here in this cutting" says lord Farque once the mage Reinholt and Dorc da Orc get to him, the undead warlord continues with "It's an old camp site of the tribe that's to the south of us" Mira Reinholt hops down into the cutting, and the ork weaponsmith almost trips in.
After the heavily armoured deathlord jumps down into the cutting, the once powerful mage and the warleader of the ork race, follow him through a series of the cuttings that are joined up, until they get to a deeper one, that's been dug into the ground and has a roof of earth, as it's basically a tunnel.
In it, Mira Reinholt finds his spare water sack that's full of water, and there's two bladders that the nomads store their fermented goat's and sheep's milk. There's also a wrapped up cloth, that has cheese and dried meat in it. And as the Vexilian swordmaster and the large ork sit down in the relative coolness of the tunnel, that both Dorkindle and lord Farque have to duck down to get into, the undead warlord informs the other two that he got the fresh supplies from the tribe that's about ten miles south of where they are at the moment.
"Don't drink it all at once or else" says the deathlord of Farque who tosses one of the bladders of fermented sheep's milk to Dorc da Orc, who grunts his thanks to the undead warlord. And as Mira Reinholt starts dividing up the food with the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, both he and Dorkindle suddenly feel the temperature in the tunnel drop, so much so that it's actually cool, not just relatively cool in comparison to the outside temperature as the sun sets in the west.
"You killer?" quietly asks Dorc da Orc as he chews slowly on a wedge of cheese, the mage Reinholt shakes his head no, for he hasn't got the magical power to waste at the moment to cool the tunnel they're in, after he teleported so often throughout the day.
The two of them look back to the entrance of the tunnel where lord Farque is crouching, and though the undead warlord's head is slightly turned as he looks out into the connecting cutting, both Mira Reinholt and Dorkindle can see in the eye slot of the heavily armoured deathlords full helm, that his eyes are glowing bright blue.
The once powerful mage and the large ork glance at one another, and they both shrug, grateful that the lord and ruler of the lands Farque is using his powers, so that coldness rolls off of him, to cool the tunnel down for them.
After eating and drinking, the highly skilled swordmaster and the ork weaponsmith settle down as the lord of the death realm tells them to get some rest. Both Mira Reinholt and Dorc da Orc who haven't felt this comfortable since early in the morning, are soon asleep in the cool tunnel as night falls outside on the nomads plains.
It's the middle of the night, sometime before midnight when the undead warlord wakes the two of them, Mira Reinholt with a shake to a shoulder, and Dorc da Orc with a prod in the side by one of the heavily armoured deathlord's steel boots.
The ork warleader and the once powerful mage are soon up and ready to leave, they along with the lord of the death realm make their way out of the tunnel and the rest of the cuttings in the ground, and continue on their way westwards across the nomads plains.
The three of them, long time traveling companions, travel in comfortable silence as only people who traveled long distances together for a dozen years and more are able to do.
It helps that they're walking together at night in the nomads plains, where it's much cooler than it is during the nighttime. This keeps the chatter down as Dorc da Orc isn't complaining about the heat or the sun, which he's want to do during the daytime, until it gets too hot for him and he ends up panting.
Though eventually it's the large ork who breaks the silence, for when they come up out of a slight depression in the predominantly flat ground, the ork weaponsmith softly chuckles, then says "This just like old fucken times, just the three of us".
Mira Reinholt wryly smiles as he looks at the warleader of the ork race who is out infront, then the exiled Vexilian mage dryly says "That's not necessarily a good thing". "I agree" dryly adds lord Farque who is walking beside the once powerful mage, Dorkindle looks back at the two humans following behind him, and he shakes his head, before looking forward again, and with a snort, murmurs in the ork language "Well Dorc thinks it fucken is".
As they continue walking to the west, with two of the moons of Volunell up high in the night sky, and the third, low in the sky where it's large against the eastern horizon behind them. The lord and ruler of the lands Farque, slows down and looks to the north, well northwest to be exact, eventually the heavily armoured deathlord stops as he looks that way.
"Dorc wait up" says the mage Reinholt, as the large ork grunts then turns around to rejoin the other two, the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster asks the undead warlord "What is it?".
The undead being who is known as Des'tier to an older generation of elven kind, is silent for a few moments as he senses away to the northwest, then he says to the Vexilian mage in exile "Something" then Draugadrottin as he's also known as by the people of his lands, says to Dorc da Orc "That way" as he points to the northwest, the large ork grunts and slightly changes direction as they set off again.
The trio from south of the equator continue walking throughout the night, just stopping a couple of times for the mage Reinholt and Dorkindle to have something to eat and drink.
It's sometime around halfway between midnight and dawn, when lord Farque stops again, and he looks in the direction they've been heading, and after a few moments, he says "Keep heading this way" the undead warlord looks at the once powerful mage and says to him "You'll know where i am once you get close"  he continues with "Catch up" before he takes off running.
Mira Reinholt and Dorc da Orc share a look, then after the Vexilian mage in exile shrugs and the warleader of the ork race grunts, the two of them start walking in the direction the heavily armoured deathlord took off running in.
After teleporting the two of them for the third time in the last little while, the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster takes just a dozen steps or so, when he suddenly comes to a stop, and murmurs "By the shape of fire, what the hell is that doing out here in the middle of no where?". "What you fucken say killer?" asks the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, who then after grunting, says "He just up here fucken somewhere" the mage Reinholt nods his hooded head then says "I know".
They make their way towards a series of low rises a few hundred yards away, which basically pass for hills here in the usually flat plains of the nomads. As they walk there, Dorc da Orc spots a flight of wild wyverns in the night sky about ten miles away, heading east. They're the only interesting thing the ork weaponsmith has seen during this uneventful night of travel.
As they make their way around one rise, which is really only a mound of earth about twenty feet high, the ork warleader who is sniffing says "What the fuck is that?" as they get around the low rise, and find themselves in open ground with a small hill away to their left, the once powerful mage answers the large ork.
"It's a portal" says Mira Reinholt, the two of them stop, as just ahead about thirty yards away, is a small free standing ruin, it resembles an arched doorway made out of stone or marble, and stands about eight feet tall, and four feet wide, it appears to be about four feet deep too, standing infront of it is lord Farque who is looking through it.
The highly skilled swordmaster and the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks glance at one another, then they make their way to where the deathlord of Farque is standing infront of the portal . . . . . .

Wonderful 43.

The Nomads Plains...

Lord Farque and Mira Reinholt the mage approach the figures waiting for them in the pre dawn light of the morning. The two of them come to a stop a half dozen paces infront of them, and the heavily armoured deathlord looks at the large familiar figure of Dorc da Orc, and gives the ork warleader a subtle hand signal that only he understands.
Dorkindle grunts, steps forward as he reaches back and takes the large sword that doesn't belong to him from his weapon harness, and hands it to the undead warlord, then he stands to the side of him, on the otherside from the mage Reinholt.
After quickly, and silently apologising to Ryn the Sword of Power for taking longer than he expected to turn up, and the large sword telling him not to worry about it. Lord Farque says in the hordes dialect of southern tundra "Greetings horse brothers" to the small group of plains nomads who were waiting with Dorc da Orc.
Chanük the tribal leader, along with his brother Saladén the far hunter, and his son Halatai, as well as one of the other hunters, all blink in surprise at being addressed so fluently in their own language by one of the strangers, and not just that, but given the ancient greeting of their past. When all the nomad tribes, not just a few on the far eastern edge of the plains, were horsemen.
"Greetings to you stranger" says Chanük the tribe's leader to the taller of the two strangers, a large man encased in head to toe steel, in full plate armour that's blue, black in colour. Who stands less than a foot shorter than the monster Dorc, who is now beside him.
The tribal leader who never thought he would see a human so tall, nods his head as the stranger introduces himself as Farque, and the other man, in the black hooded cloak, who at six foot tall, seems short compared to the other two people standing next to him, as Mira.
"We've come to collect" says lord Farque who hikes a thumb at the ork weaponsmith beside him, refrains from saying fat fuck, and instead says "Dorc" and continues with "We've got important matters to attend to" the heavily armoured deathlord then adds "I hope it hasn't been too much of a hassle having him around".
"Not at all" says Chanük after he introduces himself and the others, the tribe's leader, who quite frankly, knows that there's been benefits of having the monster partly living with them for the last little while. Which outweigh the disadvantages of having him around. Like him reeking beyond belief, or him shouting, roaring, and howling for no apparent reason, which happened most nights.
"It's been, ah interesting having him around" says the tribal leader, which causes his son Halatai to snort, and his brother the far hunter, as well as the other hunter to roll their eyes.
I bet, the lord and ruler of the lands Farque dryly thinks to himself, who after glancing at the rising sun in the east, nods his full helmed head, and accepts the tribe's leader Chanük's invitation to breakfast with them. More for Mira and Dorc's benefit as there's some hard traveling ahead for them as the undead warlord wants to cross the dry, arid plains of the nomads as quickly as possible.
They break their fast in one of the larger cuttings in the ground where the tribe have their camp. With many of the members of the tribe, coming to look at the two human strangers who aren't townsmen or those referred to as half bloods. Something that none of them, even the far hunter Saladén have never seen before, even though they know that there are humans who aren't townsmen of Belinswae.
After having the morning meal with the nomads, the trio of lord Farque, Dorc da Orc and Mira Reinholt the mage farewell the nomads and depart, with the once powerful mage taking a hide covered bucket from the nomads, as the deathlord of Farque asked the tribal nomads if they could borrow it. The undead warlord told them where they could find it, if they wanted it back.
As they leave the tribe's camp, followed part way by some of the nomads, including a fair few of the children who call out to Dorc da Orc, who they call monster, and wish him farewell.
Lord Farque asks the large ork "Where's this cave you've been living in?" Dorc da Orc grunts and says "This fucken way" the lord of the death realm nods his full helmed head and tells the warleader of the ork race to lead the way. Even though he already knows the way as he's been silently talking with Ryn the Sword of Power, who has been telling him everything the large ork has been up to while they've been here in the nomads plains.
As they walk to the nearby small hill where the cave that Dorkindle has been living in of late, the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks grunts as he remembers something, then he says to the Vexilian mage in exile "Here killer" and from his weapon harness, he takes the unique looking double bladed sword that belongs to the mage Reinholt, and gives it to him.
The once powerful mage who didn't even notice that Dorkindle had the sword, blinks in surprise, then with a grin upon his face, Mira Reinholt the mage says "Thanks Dorc" the swordmaster Reinholt who is genuinely pleased to have his sword back, says to the large ork "You have no idea how much I've missed having it with me" he then adds "Thanks again".
The ork warleader who can't remember the last time the mage Reinholt thanked him for anything, grunts then says "No worries cunt" and as they come up out of a gully, and they see the rotting corpse of a dead wyvern nearby, one of the one's the large ork killed last week. Dorc da Orc says "Got it off that shitty ship after me got out of that fucken prison them cuntheads put me in" the ork weaponsmith after muttering "Me hated that fucken prison" he asks "You get that veggie eating bitch who catched us?".
"We're working on that" dryly says the once powerful mage as the ork warleader leads them up through the boulder field to the cave at the top of the slight rise that comes up out of the predominantly flat plains. Dorkindle who is starting to sweat in the morning sunshine, as he would normally be going to sleep now in the cave they're heading to, grunts then mutters "Me gonna face fuck that pointy eared bitch after me kill her and chop her head off" the large ork continues muttering with "That tree whore deserves a good skull fuck for putting me in that nasty fucken prison".
And even though he's hot, Dorc da Orc shivers at the memory of his floating prison that was towed behind the twin masted sailing ship that Mira Reinholt was held prisoner on.
As they approach the cave at the top of the hill, the spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil, who happens to be a highly skilled swordmaster, dryly says "I like what you've done to the place Dorc" as he gestures at the wyvern head, well it's basically a skull now, that sits upon the very crest of the hill, above the cave entrance.
While the ork weaponsmith chuckles, the mage Reinholt points to one side, and says "What the hell is that?" the spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, adds "Or i should say, what was it?".
"Sand dragon" says lord Farque as they briefly stop and look at the corpse of the creature to one side of the cave "Dragon?" says the swordmaster Reinholt in surprise "No relation" the undead warlord tells him, the deathlord of Farque continues with "It's similar to a tundra beast, about the size of a small wyvern, though wider and more thick of neck, looks like a dragon without wings".
"Bit of a tough fucken cuntbag to kill" says Dorkindle who recalls how difficult it was to get through the thick natural armour of the sand dragon that he killed, the warleader of the ork race then grunts when the lord and ruler of the lands Farque gestures to him to enter the cave mouth.
Though he scowls down at the pool of water once he's in the cave, the large ork breathes a sigh of relief at being out of the sun, and in the relatively cool confines of the cave. Then suddenly Dorc da Orc feels his legs kicked out from beneath him, and he goes tumbling down the sandy incline of the cave "Fuck" growls the ork weaponsmith as he rolls downwards, he comes to a stop, spitting out sand, and he goes to get up when he feels a steel boot in the middle of his back.
"The fuck is this shit?" growls the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks, who then adds "Farque get off" as he knows who has a boot in the middle of his back as he lies there on the sandy floor of the cave. Dorkindle struggles to move, swinging his arms about, and kicking his legs, but he can't move as the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, who is taking to Mira Reinholt in the elven language, is immovable.
As he struggles, the ork warleader turns his head to the left, and he sees the exiled Vexilian mage at the edge of the pool of water, with the bucket he borrowed from the nomads a little earlier. And as the once powerful mage fills the hide covered bucket up, the large ork realises what's about to happen "Get fucked you cunts" growls Dorkindle who struggles even further, until lord Farque steps on him even firmer.
Uh oh, Dorc da Orc thinks to himself as he goes completely still after hearing a crack come from his back "Keep still you fat fuck" says the heavily armoured deathlord in the ork language as he stands there with one boot in the center of the large ork's back "I'll break it for good if you keep fucking struggling about cunt" adds the undead warlord, who then nods his full helmed head to the mage Reinholt who has walked back with a bucket of water.
The Vexilian mage in exile can't help but grin as he throws the bucket of water over the prone ork weaponsmith, who lets out a howl of protest at getting wet "Stop your fucking moaning you big fucking baby" says the lord and ruler of the lands Farque in the common language, who avoids a swinging backhand from Dorkindle, then he adds "You fucking stink you big piece of shit".
"I concur, you fucking pong more than usual Dorc" says Mira Reinholt the mage, who returns to the natural pool of water, and gets another bucket full. He knows the lord of the death realm could of just thrown the large ork into the water, but decided not to as the water is the water reserves of the nearby nomad tribe, and he didn't want it getting filthy from the pungent ork warleader.
The swordmaster returns to the pool of water about a half dozen times after throwing a bucket full of water onto Dorkindle, who howls in protest each time, and promises to kill both the mage Reinholt and the undead warlord for what they're doing to him, which they ignore  as they're accustomed to it.
The final time the highly skilled swordmaster returns with a bucket of water, lord Farque has picked Dorc up by the back of the large ork's weapons harness, and is holding the bedraggled looking ork warleader out to one side. Dorkindle swings an arm out to one side hoping to hit the heavily armoured deathlord, who he misses.
Then the ork weaponsmith goes to grab one of his throwing axes from the front of his weapons harness as he dangles there in the air, level with the ground. That earns him a slap across the back of the head, which causes him to flinch and rub his head as he grumbles "Fucknuts" just before the mage Reinholt throws the last bucket of water over him, over his head and face to be specific.
With water streaming down his face, Dorc da Orc finds himself standing back up on his own two feet, he goes to swing an arm back to where he can smell and hear lord Farque behind him. He barely moves his arm when he's shoved in the back, which thrusts him forward up the sandy incline to the cave mouth.
"Outside" says the heavily armoured deathlord, Dorkindle who comes to a stumbling stop, looks back and growls, until he feels how cold it has suddenly become, and he sees a pair of glowing blue eyes staring at him.
"Krom" mutters the warleader of the ork race, who looks quickly forward and heads up the incline followed by the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, and the spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil, who puts the bucket on a flat rock in the cave.
Once outside and in the morning sun, Dorc da Orc after glaring at both lord Farque and Mira Reinholt, who can't help but slightly smirk at the state of the soaked looking ork weaponsmith, says to them "It's too fucken hots for  Dorc". "You'll be fine" says the undead warlord, who knows the large ork will suffer in the heat of the day, but due to his incredible natural constitution, will endure the heat.
The deathlord of Farque points to the west, then says "That way" then the three of them, the three in the group of adventurers who have known one another the longest, set off, heading west across the nomads plains . . . . . .

Wonderful 42.

The Principality Of Maladimbah and The Nomads Plains...

Lord Farque and Mira Reinholt the mage spend two days coming down out of the mountains of western Maladimbáh. The Vexilian mage in exile who has got his power back, does all he can do to keep up with the undead warlord who is in a hurry as they head south.
The once powerful mage has to teleport often so that he can even keep the heavily armoured deathlord in sight, who is running at a steady pace for him. But would be a break neck one for anyone else as they come down out of the mountains, and into the foothills in the south western area of the elven principality.
After two days and nights traveling like that, the spellcaster who has only got his power back, and doesn't have a lot to begin with, starts to drop behind. So late one morning after he teleports, and he stops to have a drink from his water sack, the mage Reinholt spots the deathlord of Farque less than a hundred yards away, walking normally along a trail that heads downhill.
The exiled Vexilian mage hurries to catch up to him, and he runs down the bare looking hill, which partially resembles the arid looking plains that the once powerful mage can clearly see away to the south.
Once he's caught up to the undead warlord, and he gets his breath back, lord Farque briefly glances at him, before looking forward again and says "Will i have to carry you mage?".
I fucking hope not, Mira Reinholt the mage thinks to himself as he refrains from wincing at the prospect of being flung over one of the heavily armoured deathlords shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"I don't think that'll be necessary" says the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, who then sourly smiles when the lord and ruler of the lands Farque dryly says "You hope" then the mage from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands says "Times like this i wished i had a bit more of my original stores of power".
Draugadrottin as he's known by the people of his lands, doesn't say anything about that rare admission from the mage Reinholt about his lack of power, which was once vast. The deathlord of Farque just nods full helmed head, and slightly changes the subject as he says in a tone of voice tinged with irony "Well if you had learnt to cast a rift when you were younger, instead of trying to blow up every fucking castle, village and town we used to visit, you wouldn't be in this predicament now would you".
Mira Reinholt sourly smiles at the truth of that, then he says "Hey, you were the one who wanted me to blow up those castles, villages and towns" the once powerful mage adds "So don't go blaming me for something i didn't necessarily have the time to master".
"Are you blaming me because you don't know how cast a rift spell?" says lord Farque in a cool tone of voice as he looks down at the spellcaster who is more than half a foot shorter than he is "Ah no" hastily says the Vexilian mage in exile, who knows better than to get into an argument with the undead warlord, besides the heavily armoured deathlord is right in this case.
"I thought not" dryly says the lord and ruler of the lands Farque as the downhill trail they're on starts to level out a bit, next to the large figure in the dark blue, black full suit of plate armour, the mage Reinholt softly sighs, as he knows if he knew how to cast a rift, things would be a hell of lot easier for him in life. In particular right now, where he could move easily out onto the nomads plains which he can clearly see at the moment, stretching out to the horizon to the south.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, who wants to change the subject completely from his inadequacies when it comes to certain spells, asks the deathlord of Farque "How far out into the plains is he?" the lord of the death realm, who is known as Des'tier to an older generation of elves who might know who he is, says "About another two days travel" the undead warlord glances at the once powerful mage beside him, and adds in a slightly dry tone of voice "Well could be three or four for you".
Mira Reinholt refrains from sourly smiling which he wants to do, instead he starts jogging after the heavily armoured deathlord sets off again. Fairly quickly, the swordmaster from one of the most powerful and successful trading families in his homeland of Vexil, is left behind by the undead warlord. The spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands waits some time as he continues to jog, then once the heavily armoured deathlord can barely be seen in the distance, then he teleports to get slightly infront of lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
Mira Reinholt walks for a little while, and soon lord Farque runs by, in the long, powerful stride, that the Vexilian swordmaster in exile knows he can run in, well forever basically. After a while, the mage Reinholt starts jogging again so that he doesn't get left behind, as the two of them continue on their way southwards to the dry, arid plains where the nomad tribes of Belinswae dwell.
In the early evening, the once powerful mage has to stop and rest as he can't go on any further, the swordmaster Reinholt has something to drink and eat, and taking his blanket out from his pack, he lies down on some soft green grass, in one of the few areas of greenery to be seen anywhere so close to the nomad plains, and quickly falls asleep.
Lord Farque has stopped, and turned around, and in the nightfall, he heads back the way he's come from, the heavily armoured deathlord moves fairly quickly, running faster than the pace he's been moving at as he travels south. Draugadrottin soon finds the mage Reinholt, the undead warlord shakes his full helmed head as he stands over the sleeping spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands, who is out to the world.
"Knew I'd end up carrying you" dryly murmurs the deathlord of Farque who speaks in his own language, the ancient language of command, whenever he's alone. The lord of the death realm picks up the swordmaster's pack, and puts that over one shoulder, then he rolls Mira Reinholt up in the the exiled Vexilian mage's blanket, picks him up, and puts him over the other shoulder.
The once powerful mage is so exhausted, that he doesn't even wake at this, nor does he wake when the undead warlord sets off again. This time running quickly, and not at the steady pace that he had been previously, so that the mage Reinholt could keep up.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque heads south to the nearby plains of the nomads, heading to where he knows the person they're going to meet, is located.
The day after next, very early in the morning before sunrise, Dorc da Orc sits in one of the cuttings in the camp of the nomad tribe he's basically been staying with. The large ork is sitting there munching on a pile of snakes that have been cooked on wooden skewers, the ork warleader enjoys the smokey taste of the snake meat that's cooked over coals that are mixed with dried animal dung, and kerosene bushes.
The ork weaponsmith is happily munching away on the cooked snakes, making sounds of satisfaction, mixed with utterances in his native language, when he grunts when he smells and hears someone approaching.
"Fucken what?" says Dorc da Orc in the common language, which he tries to repeat in the dialect of the plains nomads, but he gets it entirely wrong.
After chuckling at what he just heard from the monster, Halatai says "People are coming" in his broken common as he looks down into the cutting where Dorc is sitting, stuffing his face with cooked snakes.
"Me know that" mutters Dorkindle in the ork language, after he growls "What the fuck you say ya little cunt?" in reply to what Halatai just said. Which caused the large sword on the back of his weapon harness, a sword that isn't his, to hit him in the back of the head, and inform that the nomad child just told him that some people are approaching the camp.
"Oh alright" mutters the large ork in his native language, after Ryn the Sword of Power tells him to get up, and go with young Halatai. The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks stuffs a handful of cooked snakes into his mouth, stands up, and easily climbs up and out of the cutting in the ground, and while chewing a mouthful of smoked snake meat, he asks the nomad child "Where cunt?" Halatai who got the gist of that, points then says "North" in the common language.
In the pre dawn darkness that's slowly turning to light, the large ork and the tribe leaders son start walking north, as they do, Dorc da Orc repeatedly sniffs, the warleader of the ork race briefly stops in surprise, then once he gets underway again, he snorts, slightly grins, then says "The fucken cunts".
"Two of them" quietly says Saladén the far hunter to his brother Chanük the tribe leader, who has just asked him "How many of them?" the far hunter who is just returned to the edge of camp with another of the hunters, quietly says "They're heading straight towards the camp".
"Think they're townsmen?" quietly asks Chanük who wouldn't expect townsmen to be this deep into the plains without a wyvern, or for them to approach from the north, as these two people are doing.
"Biggest damn townsmen I've ever seen" says the other hunter, who continues with "Even in this lack of light, i could see the shorter of the two must of been six foot tall, and the other one towered over him".
The leader of the tribe lifts his eyebrows in surprise at that, for townsmen are mainly short people as the nomads themselves are. You'd be hard pressed to even meet a townsmen or nomad who is five foot ten or over. No one in Chanük's tribe is over five ten, which his youngest brother the far hunter is about that tall.
The tribe's leader lifts his eyebrows again, when his brother Saladén quietly informs him "The larger of the two is wearing armour unlike any townsmen I've ever seen wear" the far hunter nods in the direction the two strangers are approaching from, as he adds "Even the knights i saw in their lands didn't wear head to foot steel like the out there is in".
The three of them turn as they hear who is approaching them from behind in the camp, it's the monster, the ork named Dorc, along with Chanük's son Halatai.
"Seems we've got some strangers coming in" says Saladén who is the one who speaks to the ork most often, as the far hunter is fluent in the common language, which he's speaking now to the monster, who they all slightly step away from, as he stinks more than usual this morning.
Looking down at the nomads in the darkness that's fading away, as the light of pre dawn starts to take effect, Dorc da Orc grunts then says "Me know" the ork warleader then adds "Not to fucken worry, me know 'em" the large ork continues with "They fucken" Dorkindle is about add  cunts, but the Sword of Power prompts him with another word, and he says "Friends?". The ork weaponsmith scowls as he definitely didn't want to say that, but he felt compelled to say it.
Dafuck? the large ork thinks to himself with a backwards glance over his right shoulder at the weapon across his back that isn't his, while Saladén the far hunter translates what he just said to him to the others.
Dorc da Orc looks forward again, and grunts as he sees the two familiar figures approaching from the north, it's by the time that the sun starts coming up over the horizon in the east, that the nomads can clearly see in the early light of dawn the two people walking this way towards their camp . . . . . .

Wonderful 41.

Belinswae...

Kaldeàlil Haldéilv appears near one of the roads that leads to the coastal city of Falnic. The elven magic user yawns after teleporting, then she turns and looks back to the east. And in the fading light of dusk, she can just make out the nomads plains in the distance.
The attractive elven maid looks more to the northeast, in the direction of her homeland, the principality of Maladimbáh. She sourly smiles as she thinks about how she's fled Maladimbáh, though with good reason, as a very powerful undead being, and a not very powerful mage, both from the Southlands, are in pursuit of her.
"Vengeful bastards" mutters Kaldeàlil Haldéilv who hopes over the last handful of days, she has finally lost her pursuers. She hasn't seen them, or sensed the once powerful mage, since a few days ago, in the west of the mountainous elven principality where Kaldeàlil was born and raised.
Figuring that the two who are hell bent on finding her, have lost the wyvern they took from her father's tower, a wyvern belonging to a justifier of Falnic who was visiting lord Haldéilv.
Has a feeling that the two of them will continue to dodge her steps here into Belinswae, if she is unable to lure the person she's after, and finally kill him, before escaping from this region north of the equator.
The elven magic user who wants a certain elven prince from the principality of Laerel dead, stretches to try and get rid of her fatigue, then she turns and starts walking down the road as the sun continues to set in the west.
The attractive elven maid who has been on a mission for the last three years, to exact revenge for her dead lover Xanderlith Karlavilt of Alínlae, who was killed by prince Helbenthril Raendril of Laerel. Knows that there's a number of villages and towns along this road, and if her memory serves her correct, there's a small town not that far from where she just appeared after teleporting, only a couple of miles away at most.
The elven magic user who is feeling tired after a few days of little rest as she often teleported, and created a rift a few times to get here to Belinswae, almost doesn't hear it at first as she's so exhausted. In the fading light, the attractive elven maid briefly slows down as she hears it, she grimaces as her naturally enhanced hearing picks up the quiet conversation form one side of the dusty road, from behind some boulders and light coloured shrubs.
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv refrains from sighing, and though she doesn't want to, as she's tired from casting so often in the past few days, the elven magic user casts a blast spell, followed by an energyball, though the ball of green energy is fairly small, just a couple of feet wide, testament of how tired the attractive elven maid is.
The blast spell smashes into three of the road bandits who come out from behind the boulders and rush the lone traveler on the road. And as they go flying back through the air, the green energyball hits the two men in the ditch on the otherside of the dusty road.
Those two bandits barely get out a scream as the energyball explodes in a shower of green sparks, which go through armour, cloth and flesh, consuming everything that it comes into contact with.
"Thieving bastards" mutters Kaldeàlil Haldéilv in her native language, the illegitimate daughter of an elven lord of Maladimbáh looks over at the three bandits who were hit by her blast spell, she doesn't even look at the other two in the ditch, she knows that they're dead.
The attractive elven maid who until a few years ago, was the lover of a nobleborn elf from the principality of Alínlae in the Southlands, finds that two of the three road bandits who were hit by her blast spell are dead. While the third, who was wearing the strongest, and best quality armour of the three, is still alive, though completely dazed, so much so, that he's only groaning in a quiet voice, even though both of his legs are broken, and he's bleeding from a gash to his forehead.
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv decides to leave him where he is, so that he can die a slow, painful death in the night, as dusk has rapidly become early evening. The elven magic user whose father is lord Haldéilv, and whose mother was a servant at the Haldéilv tower, that her father raped. Continues on her way along the dusty road in what is a warm evening, which isn't surprising as it's summer and not too far from the nomads plains. Which the attractive elven maid knows it can get quite cold there in the middle of the night during the other three seasons of the year, with winter being extremely cold at times on the dry, arid plains of the nomads.
After nearly a mile or so, the elven magic user spots the nearby town in the darkness, and though it's close to a further mile away, she's sure she catches sight of wyvern lying on the outskirts of the small town, the attractive elven maid stops.
"Get it together Kaldeàlil, it can't be them" the illegitimate daughter of lord Haldéilv mutters to herself as she realises that it can't be her pursuers who have got infront of her, and that it must a patrol from the city of Falnic, or the local justifier that the wyvern belongs to. Or that it's a raiding squad, either on it's way to, or returning from the nomads plains.
The attractive elven maid continues on her way to the village, and though she could teleport there now, as she can clearly see it in the night, where one of the moons of Volunell is in the sky, with a second rising, and the third not showing an appearance yet and still beneath the horizon. She's just too tired to cast at the moment, and casting magic while you're tired often leads to mistakes, something you definitely don't want to do when you're casting a spell such as teleportation.
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv reaches the town, which she does know, and she goes to one of the two inn's that are here, the other one isn't worth visiting, let alone staying in.
After entering the inn, the elven magic user gets herself a room, and tells the innkeeper, whose grandfather owned the place when Kaldeàlil last stayed here, to draw her a hot bath. After the attractive elven maid washes the dirt and sand of hard travel off herself, and soaks in the bath until the water turns cool, she dresses again in her clothes that's she's cleaned by expending a little amount of magical power as possible, and she makes her way down to the common room of the inn.
The illegitimate daughter of an elven lord of Maladimbáh attracts a lot of attention in the common room, especially from a group of justifier guards sitting at one of the tables, for the simple reason she's not a human.
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv after ordering dinner, and a drink of ale, a drink she doesn't normally have, but thinks it's appropriate to have after her hard travels out of Maladimbáh, and across the nomads plains. Listens to the guards on the otherside of the common room, whose wyvern it must be just a couple of streets behind the inn, on a large patch of stubby, straw coloured grass at the edge of town.
The elven magic user receives the tankard of ale from the serving woman, she takes a drink, and closes her eyes and savours the taste of the brew that's not just cool but cold, as the storeroom below the inn, has ice in it, thanks to a local herb witch who casts it in return for free meals and drinks whenever she's in town.
The attractive elven maid glances across to where the justifier's guards are, and she sees one of them getting up, and a second one follows him, after getting a nudge from a fellow guard, who quietly murmurs to him to go with the squad leader.
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv watches as the two guards, who she recognises from their tabards as belonging to an army from a justifier in the city of Falnic, make their way over to her table.
"Greetings" says the squad leader in passable elven, he then quickly adds in the common language "Sorry that's all i know in your language, apart from farewell" the elven magic user nods her head and says in common "Greetings" she nods her head again and says "Go ahead" even though she doesn't particularly want company as she eats, when the squad leader asks her "Mind if we sit, and have a chat?".
After the two guards sit down at the table, and Kaldeàlil takes another drink from her tankard of ale, the squad leader asks her "Did you come in from the coast, or from down south?" he doesn't mention the east, as straight out that way, is the nomads plains, which is about twelve miles away.
So he and his fellow guard from the city of Falnic are surprised, when the attractive elven maid tells them "From the east, across the plains" the two guards looked stunned for a few moments, then eventually the leader of the squad, who also happens to be the wyvern rider, says "How was that?".
Knowing what the townsmen is referring to, Kaldeàlil Haldéilv says "No problems whatsoever" she pauses as her meal of sauteed vegetables, and crispy flatbread with soft goats cheese melted across the top of it is delivered by the serving woman, is put down infront of her, then she says "I'm an elf, they don't care about me".
The elven magic user who has been across the hot, arid plains to the east a number of times in her life. Has never had any problems from the nomad tribes who dwell upon the plains. Infact they're quite courteous and hospitable to travelers, always willing to share a meal and drink with you. Just as long as you're not a townsmen from Belinswae, those they kill on sight.
"I've heard about that" quietly says the squad leader as the attractive elven maid starts on her meal, her first proper one in a couple of days, since having lunch at a camp of a nomad tribe in the middle of the plains "Never met anyone it's actually happened to" adds the wyvern rider who leads a squad of half a dozen.
Between bites, the elven spellcaster asks the two guards who are in justifier Parquet El's army "Going out on a raid?".
"We wish" says the guard who until now has remained silent, the squad leader glances at him and sourly smiles, then looking back at the attractive elven maid on the otherside of the table, he says "We're on road duty, stamping out any bandits who might be in the area".
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv wonders if they're legitimately out here doing that, or that they're in cahoots with the bandits, which is often the case with the justifiers of Belinswae.
The elven magic user who knows that justifier Parquet El is a stickler for the laws of Belinswae, quickly uses a bit of power to read the mind of the wyvern leader, and finds out, that indeed, they actually are here hunting down road bandits, even though he and the rest of his squad would rather be raiding out on the nomads plains.
After having some of the flat bread with melted cheese upon it, the illegitimate daughter of lord Haldéilv of Maladimbáh says "Well since you're out after road bandits, there's five of them on the road, a couple of miles south of here, near a pile of boulders" the elven magic user continues with "Four are dead, and the fifth was dying when i left them after they tried to attack me".
The two townsmen frown as they see she has no weapons upon her, apart from a dagger, then it dawns upon the squad leader what the only other option it could be "Sorry for disturbing you m'lady" the other guard blinks in surprise as he too realises what it means, the wyvern rider then adds "We'll just go and check on these bandits you came across".
As the two justifier's guards get up and move away, with the wyvern rider calling out to the rest of the squad, that they're going out to check on something right now. Kaldeàlil Haldéilv faintly smiles, for she knows that the townsmen of Belinswae have a healthy respect, and fear of spellcasters, due to the justifiers who rule the region.
Even weak hedge witches and wizards on the fringes of society, are for the most part shunned unless they can offer something of use to the inhabitants of the villages, and the smaller towns like this one.
Foreign spellcasters, like elven magic users such as Kaldeàlil is, are also avoided because the local populace respect, or to be exact, fear the practitioners of magic, due to how their rulers the justifiers behave.
Best thing about visiting Belinswae, is that you can get a hell of a lot done, if what you're doing doesn't conflict with whatever the hell the justifiers are up to, Kaldeàlil Haldéilv thinks to herself as she continues eating her meal . . . . . .

Wonderful 40.

Belinswae. The City Of Falnic...

"Look over there" says Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy with a nod of his head to the right along the street "What is it?" asks Riley Hait the mercenary ranger who is with the elf from the principality of Alínlae today "Dwarves" replies the elven spy, who is speaking his native language, as the human ranger is doing too.
The ranger Hait turns and looks in the direction Dalin has indicated, and he spots a group of dwarves at the far end of the street that's along the water's edge, here in the north of the city of Falnic.
From their attire, it's obvious the dwarves are not locals, there's very few dwarves in the port city anyway, and these dwarves are definitely not from Falnic, as they're all wearing various types of armour, and each of them are carrying a multitude of weapons.
"Warriors from up north" quietly says Riley Hait in the elven language, Dalinvardél Tanith nods his head in agreement, as they've heard that there's clans of dwarves living in the hill country along the coast about a hundred and twenty miles north of the port city of Falnic.
And though officially that hill country is part of the region of Belinswae, no one has ever bothered to tell the clans who live there about that. And there's no justifier in power anywhere near where the hill dwarves live, infact the nearest one is nearly forty miles southeast of there.
On occasion the hill dwarves from the north along the coast can be seen in Falnic in matters to do with trade, and it seems like this is one such occasion. As the dwarves are leading a cart drawn by a pair of ponies, on the back of which are a few chests.
The elven spy and the human mercenary share a look, as they can pretty much guess what's in the chests the dwarven warriors have in the back of the pony drawn cart. It's either precious metals, or precious gems. Knowing dwarves and their ways, it's more than likely both.
"I doubt road bandits bothered them on their way here" dryly says Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman, the elf from the principality of Alínlae nods in agreement, as the group of dwarves, who number ten, are all bristling with an assortment of weapons.
"They're like miniature Dorc's" murmurs the spy Tanith "Apart from being green, and totally demented" dryly adds the mercenary ranger, who then tells the elf standing next to him "Better not let the big idiot hear you say something like that, or he'll kill you" Dalinvardél Tanith just grins in reply to that.
The dwarves who are heading this way along the waterside street, spot the two of them as they stand near a row of street stalls that lookout over the harbour on the otherside of the street. The dwarves, all ten of them, who have been quietly chatting away to one another in their native tongue, fall silent and stare at the elven spy and the human ranger as they keep heading this way. Something they haven't done to anyone else on the street, or for that matter anyone else in the city they've entered just a short time ago.
Infact they've pretty much ignored everyone on the streets here in the north of the city of Falnic. "Hmmmm they've seen something they don't particularly care for" quietly says the elven spy from the principality of Alínlae in the Southlands, the human ranger who was brought up and trained in another of the Southlands elven principalities, Envadarlen, nods his head in agreement with Dalinvardél Tanith.
Then as the dwarves approach where the two of them are standing, Riley Hait fluently says in the dwarven language "Greetings" the mercenary ranger, well to be precise, Zubutai Timaginson, who once inhabited the body of a dwarven warrior. Infact it was the first body he inhabited after he was originally killed, then adds in the dwarven language, like any language he instantly knows when in a new body, and he retains to successive bodies "May Thaxel and Dovarn guide your journey".
The dwarves stop, some stare in disbelief, while others jaws drop open in surprise, for they've hardly ever met a human who can speak their language, especially here in Falnic. And some of the dwarven warriors are over two hundred years old, and they've been coming to the port city for quite some time, back when it was a far smaller place than it is now.
There comes a bark of an order from one of the older dwarves at the back, who tells the others to stop standing there like bunch of country yokels who have never been to a city before, and to get a move on.
As the dwarves get underway again, and move along with their cart, the older dwarf who spoke, briefly stops with another, a younger warrior, who nudges him and mutters something to him, as he nods in the direction of the mercenary ranger and the elven spy.
"Greetings to you stranger" says the older dwarf in his native language, he continues with the traditional saying that was given to him and the others "And may Thaxel and Dovarn guide you in your travels" the older dwarf never thought he would be invoking the dwarven gods to a human. But as his younger companion beside him, muttered to him that it's only fair to be polite to the human stranger, who greeted them so eloquently and perfectly in their language.
Then because he can't help it, the older dwarf says in the language of his people, in a slightly dry tone tone too "Pity about the company you're keeping" beside him his younger companion grunts in agreement as they both briefly stare at the elf next to the human, stares that are obviously not friendly.
Ah, so that's it, Riley Hait thinks to himself, who immediately identifies that the dwarven warriors don't particularly care for elven kind, the mercenary ranger "Don't worry about him, those pointy ears of his have no idea what we're talking about" the older dwarf grunts, then mutters "Good" then he asks the ranger Hait "You be stranger here in Falnic then lad?".
"Aye" replies Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman, who impresses the two dwarves with his correct pronunciation when it comes to their native language "The two of us are from faraway to the south of here" says the ranger Hait who doesn't mention how far away to the south they're from, then he adds "We're passing through on business".
"Aye, so are we" says the older of the two dwarves, who then adds "This city not be the best of places to visit, but alas we've got business here, so we're here then" then deciding it's time to catch up with the rest of the group he's traveled with from their homeland, the older dwarf says "Fare thee well lad" the younger dwarf beside him nods as Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman says to the two of them "And fare thee well to you".
They continue on their way, and as they catch up to the others and the pony drawn cart as the street rounds a corner and heads inland from the harbour, and goes in the direction of one of the hillside neighbourhoods in the port city. Thane the dwarven warrior says in his native language "By Dovarn's beard uncle!" he continues with "I never thought i would hear a human speak so eloquently in our mother tongue, especially in this piss poor excuse of a city".
"Aye lad" says Baédin the dwarven chieftain, then the older dwarf who spoke to the stranger, sourly grunts when his sister's son mutters "Pity the lad was hanging out with that pointy eared devil" Thane, the nephew of the clan chieftain then adds "I guess no one's perfect then".
Baédin grunts again, then the chieftain of clan Kraelin after running a hand through his silver speckled beard, says "Well you heard the lad, they be from the south somewhere, so at least that carrot muncher isn't from that shithole Maladimbáh".
The younger of the two dwarven warriors sourly smiles at the mention of the elven principality away to the east of Belinswae. Which the eastern area of the mountainous principality, before it was even a principality, was once the ancestral homeland of the dwarven clans of the Stone Hills, on the coast in the north of Belinswae.
"Still a bloody elf" mutters Thane, whose ancestors like all the ancestors of the Stone Hills clans, were driven out of their original homeland in the eastern mountains of what's now Maladimbáh, over fifteen hundred years ago during a war that lasted on and off, for nearly a hundred years.
Baédin the clan chieftain sighs as they follow the others up a hillside street, he shares his nephew's feelings, and the feelings of everyone else in the Stone Hills about the elves of Maladimbáh. But deep down he knows it's a waste of time to hold a grudge about something that happened before the time of his grandfather's, grandfather.
The chieftain of the Kraelin clan of the Stone Hills figures there's not even an elf of noble birth alive now who was in the war that drove the dwarves out of their mountain strongholds. And that most elves of the principality of Maladimbáh couldn't even care less about what happened all those years ago.
Still, the clan chieftain who is four decades over two hundred years old, doesn't exactly like elven kind, especially those from Maladimbáh.
"Ah well lad, at least we don't have to deal with any stinking elves here" says Baédin, who like his father before him, and his grandfather before that, is a hammermaster, the clan chieftain then dryly adds "Just the stinking justifiers of this arse backwards excuse for a port city".
Thane the dwarven warrior grunts, as he can't decide who is worst, elven kind, or the justifiers of Belinswae, in particular the justifiers of Falnic. He finally comes to the conclusion that elves are worse. But like his uncle said, they don't have to deal with any elves while here in Falnic on business, it's with some of the justifiers they have to deal with. And the dwarves of the Stone Hills know that the majority of the justifiers of Falnic are pretty much the worst of human kind you would expect to find anywhere.
"What was that all about?" asks Dalinvardél Tanith in the elven language as they watch the party of dwarves round a corner, and head up the street that makes it's way up towards one of the hillside neighbourhoods here in the north of the city.
"Oh just a friendly hello" is the reply of Riley Hait in the same language "Didn't exactly look friendly to me" dryly says the elven spy who clearly saw the hostile stares directed at him by the group of dwarven warriors, he is pretty sure that even their ponies gave him an unfriendly look or two when they briefly stopped.
The mercenary ranger who was raised and trained by elven warders in the principality of Envadarlen in the Southlands, shrugs his shoulders, then says to his traveling companion "I wouldn't worry about it, they just don't like elves for some reason".
Dalin rolls his eyes, then sourly says "Probably a war or something that happened way before i, or any of them were ever born". "Probably" says Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman, who continues with "When i told them that we weren't from here, and we're from faraway to the south, it seemed to placate them".
"Well that's something i guess" murmurs the elven spy from the principality of Alínlae in the Southlands, who losses sight of the dwarves heading uphill as they go behind a number of buildings, then Dalin who along with Riley, who have been trying to find out this morning, any information about the missing members of the group, quietly says to the mercenary ranger "Hopefully he's made a decision of what we're to do" the ranger Hait nods his head in agreement to that.
When they return to the White Gull inn at midday to have lunch and to find out if any of the others have found out anything about the missing trio of Mira Reinholt the mage, Dorc da Orc and lord Farque. They get the answer they've been looking for, as Helbe the elven thief informs them and the rest of the group that they're finally leaving the city of Falnic . . . . . .

Wonderful 39.

Belinswae. The City Of Falnic...

"What did you say?" demands the justifier Sammacin "I didn't mean" gets out the prostitute the justifier is strangling as he stands over her on his bed "Yes you did" quietly says the wizard Sammacin as he continues to squeeze the throat of the young prostitute who like him is naked.
The justifier takes one hand off the throat of the kneeling prostitute, who a few moments ago was pleasuring his manhood with her mouth. He holds out his free hand, and the prostitute is able to gasp in a bit of air.
A rope that's coiled up on a nearby bed stand, shoots across to the bed, and into the free hand of the wizard, who is one of the rulers of the city of Falnic. Sammacin quickly wraps some of the rope around dark haired prostitute's neck, and with a thought similar to the one that sent the rope to him, he sends it upwards to the ring in the ceiling he put in specifically for this purpose.
The young prostitute who can't be more than fifteen years old gasps in pain and fright as she realises what's happening. By spellcraft she's hauled up off her knees then off her feet as the rope through the ring in the ceiling, lifts her up in the air, and as she's hanged, the wizard Sammacin quietly says to her "Know one says that to me, especially not a nameless whore from the docks".
The city ruler holds out his right hand, and a long silver dagger on a nearby table flies into the palm of his open hand. Gripping the handle of the dagger, Sammacin with a dispassionate look upon his face, plunges the dagger into the stomach of the struggling prostitute whose legs are kicking about as she's hanged.
The justifier hops back out of the way so that blood doesn't get on him after he wrenches the dagger down, and rips it out of the belly of the young prostitute. The wizard looks at the dying prostitute for a moment, then smiles as he sees the look of despair and loss in her eyes as she's strangled to death by the rope around her neck, while her entrails slip from her stomach.
Justifier Sammacin drops the silver dagger then gets off his bed, the city ruler takes a robe from the back of a chair and puts it on, he then walks across his bed chamber and out the massive open balcony doors, he steps out onto the terraced balcony. And from his hilltop mansion, he looks down upon the harbour below of the city he helps to rule.
The wizard, a fairly young one at just twenty years old, who also happens to be one of the youngest justifiers not just in the city of Falnic, but all of the region of Belinswae. Shakes his head at having to kill another prostitute, as he didn't particularly want to kill this one, as he quite liked the look of her. That was until she opened her mouth and spoke to him, when he specifically told her not to say a single word, and the only thing she was to use her mouth for, was to pleasure him.
The Justifier Sammacin who has been in a sour mood since yesterday morning when he found out the squad of his guards who he had sent out to raid into the nomads plains last week. Came under attack when they returned to the city through the main east gate yesterday morning,
Five of his guards who were bringing in a group of nomad prisoners were killed. Four by an unknown assassin who was using a crossbow of some kind, and the fifth who fell from a rooftop when they were searching for said assassin, who escaped without being seen by any of his guards. Or by the guards of justifier Kaellin, who were on duty at that gate yesterday morning.
The young wizard sourly smiles to himself, then mutters "Damn nomads" as he can only think that there must be a nomad hiding in the city somewhere, as the chance of a nomad sympathizer amongst the local population is pretty much nill.
That leaves only one of the visitors to Falnic who could be responsible for what happened yesterday morning at the main east gate of the city. Justifier Sammacin has some of his guards looking into that, as they also search the city for any hidden nomad.
The young wizard, who didn't even get any pleasure or satisfaction in the public executions of the nomad prisoners yesterday afternoon, which he personally oversaw, which he normally doesn't do. Shakes his head again as he looks down at the harbour below, and all the activity on the water, and down in the docks.
The city ruler mutters "Damn nomads" again then after a moment's pause as he thinks about things, he murmurs "And where the hell is Kaellin?" for the justifier he's closest to, has yet to return from his trip to the elven principality of Maladimbáh.
The young wizard knows that his fellow justifier, the mage Kaellin has gone to Maladimbáh, to see if he can get permission to have some of his guards be stationed there, so that they can easily raid down into the nomads plains.
Hopes his colleague hasn't bitten off more than he can chew, and pissed off an elven lord or two, who would take it as an insult at such a suggestion from one of the rulers of Belinswae.
The wizard Sammacin knows that justifier Kaellin may be the most powerful justifier in terms of magic, for the simple fact he's a mage, the least common, and on average the most powerful of all the human spellcasters. But when it comes to the long lived elves, and their magic using nobles. How powerful one is, doesn't necessarily mean all that much, compared to the skill and experience of someone who has lived for centuries, or even a millennia. If there has been an altercation of some kind in justifier Kaellin's attempts to get permission for his plan.
The young wizard, who is one of the justifiers in Falnic who wants his colleague Kaellin to succeed, while others couldn't care less, while even others hope he fails. For the simple fact they didn't think to go ahead and try it, even though it's been talked about for generations here in the port city of Falnic.
Turns around and walks back into his bed chamber, and calls out "Guards!" the justifier has to call out again, this time augmenting his voice with a spell so that he can be heard, as the nearest of his guards are outside his large suite, that takes up a lot of the top floor of his mansion.
A short while later, and quartet of his guards enter the bed chamber, none of them are surprised at what they see, it's a fairly common occurrence, and they've all seen it before. "Get rid of her" orders the young wizard who waves a hand at the dead prostitute hanging there, slowly twisting around above the bed, with her entrails dangling out of her ripped guts. "And have the chambermaids clean up the mess the dead whore has made of my bed".
As the guards set about doing what he's told them to do, the wizard Sammacin goes into another room and gets dressed, once dressed and he makes his way back through his bed chamber, which is now minus the dead prostitute, who has been taken away, the city ruler heads out of his suite, and makes his way downstairs.
He breakfasts in the small dining hall next to the kitchens, he eats with his aunt Beralyn, he's spotted his mother Helmala out the dining hall windows, working in the back gardens. She doesn't have to, but the young wizard knows that his mother is happiest when she's potting about in the gardens on the mansion's grounds.
The justifier after eating, wishes his aunt Beralyn a pleasant day, then he heads outside, to a side courtyard, the one where the guards on duty here at his mansion, are garrisoned in the barracks. When their main barracks of the wizard Sammacin personal army is in the north of the city.
Waiting outside the barracks is the young wizards older cousin Galbin, who commands the army of the city ruler, there's a decade between the two cousins, but that means nothing when it comes to a justifier of Belinswae, who rule their part of the region, in this instance Falnic, with impunity.
Fortunately the two cousins are close, and have always got along, with the older Galbin teaching his cousin the wizard when he was younger, the way of warfare, in particular the type of warfare found here in Falnic and much of Belinswae, the raids into the nomad plains, against the mortal enemies of the townsmen of Belinswae.
"Any word on a hidden nomad in the city?" asks justifier Sammacin as they stand infront of the barracks in the morning sunshine on what promises to be a warm summer's day "Nothing during the night" replies commander Galbin who like his younger cousin, stands around five foot, nine inches tall. And while the young wizard is slim, the older cousin is more muscular, though both cousins have the same colouring. Dark hair and tan coloured skin, as the majority of the people here in Falnic have.
"Word has got out, and the other justifiers have their guards searching for a hidden nomad assassin too" says Galbin who then adds "They're also checking on the visitors to the city, to see if one of them was involved in what happened yesterday" the young wizard nods his head at that, then the justifier says "It's to be expected".
Sammacin knows that his fellow city rulers reveal in the fact when something goes wrong for one of them. But when it comes to any of their guards getting killed within the city walls, and that nomad prisoners were involved in any such incident. They will all want the culprit or culprits apprehended, and duly executed.
The two cousins briefly fall silent as they look away to their left, as a horse drawn wagon, in the back of which is the wrapped body of the dead prostitute that Sammacin killed earlier, leaves the courtyard.
Then commander Galbin who knows what happened in his cousins suite earlier, because it's happened before, often. And that the guards who are taking away the body, informed him of it. Says to his younger cousin "I find it hard to believe that there's a nomad hiding here in the city" the commander of justifier Sammacin's personal army continues with "I reckon even the damn half breeds in the city would rat out any gods forsaken nomad scum" Galbin then adds "My guess, is that a visitor, a foreigner did this".
So do i, the city ruler thinks to himself, for as much as the young wizard wants it to be a nomad assassin who was responsible for what happened yesterday at the main east gates of the city, it's extremely unlikely that a nomad, free within the city, was the one who did it.
Justifier Sammacin like his older cousin Galbin knows that the person most likely to be responsible for killing some of his guards as they brought in a group nomad prisoners yesterday morning, is a visitor to the city of Falnic. Which there are a number of them in the city at the moment, as is usual for the summer time in the port city.
"So" says the young wizard, who having made up his mind, makes s decision, and he tells his older cousin Galbin "I guess we check up on all the usual haunts of the foreigners" then as one of the wyverns in the far courtyard on the otherside of the large mansion's can be heard screeching about something, justifier Sammacin continues with "Gather a squad, and let's get going" . . . . . .