Wonderful 34.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

Mira Reinholt the mage wakes up and yawns, the once powerful mage pushes the blankets, the tops of which are up over his face, down. He sits up in the early morning sunshine, and looks around.
The Vexilian mage in exile looks down to the right, where about thirty yards away, the wyvern lies sleeping. The mage Reinholt then looks behind him, and up, where about fifty yards away, is the snow line on this particular mountain. Wherever the spellcaster, who is also a highly skilled swordmaster looks, he sees no sign of lord Farque, who left in the middle of the night, just after they landed here.
Mira Reinholt is in the mountains in the west of the principality of Maladimbáh, the exiled Vexilian mage who is on the north facing side of a mountain, yawns again and stands up, then stretches in the morning sunlight, on what's a cool, but clear, summer's day here in the mountainous elven principality.
The swordmaster Reinholt bends down and picks up the water bag lying next to his blankets, the once powerful mage as he has done a lot over the last few of days, drinks a fair bit of water, as he continues to purge the toxins out of his body, after being forced to drink a potion for over a month, that's blocked him from his magic.
The spellcaster from south of the equator, who is still unable to tap his meager stores of magical power. Knows that it's only time before he gets his powers back. And if his calculations are correct, he expects them back sometime today, or maybe tomorrow at the latest.
After drinking a lot of what, the inevitable happens, the mage Reinholt needs to take a piss. Over the last three days, the exiled Vexilian mage has never pissed so much in his life.
The highly skilled swordmaster with eyes closed sighs in relief as he urinates, then he opens his eyes as he continues to wee, and sees the wyvern wake, open a large eyelid and stare at him, then let out a squawk.
"Wonderful" dryly murmurs Mira Reinholt the mage as he stands there feeling totally vulnerable in the morning sunshine, cock in hand, taking a piss that feels like it will never end, while a rather annoyed looking wyvern stares at him, at what can only be described as indignation.
The once powerful mage finally stops pissing, much to his relief. He does up his breeches, then mutters in the elven language "Someone should stick a bloody big spear in you" as he looks at the wyvern, who again squawks at him.
The wyvern like all of it's kind, is temperamental, and it being tame, like all tame one's, makes it more temperamental in comparison to it's wild cousins.
The large winged creature barely tolerates the mage Reinholt, though it's more than well behaved around lord Farque.
Infact the spellcaster who also happens to be a highly skilled swordmaster has never seen a wyvern so well behaved, than this one is around the undead warlord, who speaks to it in a language Mira Reinholt has no idea what it is.
The mage, who was once the youngest member of the mage council of Vexil, in the history of that large city-state in the Southlands. Can barely tolerate the wyvern himself, though it's proven useful over the last few days in their travels across the principality of Maladimbáh.
The swordmaster Reinholt shakes his head as he looks at the wyvern for a few more moments, then the once powerful mage sets about making himself some breakfast from their supplies.
Well his supplies really, since lord Farque doesn't eat or drink anything unless he wants to. And the wyvern only hunts when the undead warlord lets it, usually when he and the mage Reinholt are upon it, and the lord of the death realm has total control over it.
After eating, Mira Reinholt packs up his things, then sits down upon the grassy ground more than halfway up the mountain he's on, the Vexilian mage in exile ignores the wyvern that's stretching in the sunshine, flapping it's wings, before finally settling back down again.
Instead the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, closes his eyes, and starts on a number of mental exercises that help him with his spellcraft. The mage may not have access to his powers at the moment, but he can do other things that aid him in his calling.
With eyes closed, Mira Reinholt basically falls into a trance, he's close to dozing in the morning sunlight, and is oblivious to pretty much everything around him as he starts with a counting exercise, and goes on from there.
The mage Reinholt is that state for a fair amount a time during the morning, until his concentration is finally broken by a loud squawk from the wyvern.
The swordmaster Reinholt sourly smiles, then opens his eyes, looks at the wyvern and mutters "Shut up you overgrown flying lizard" in the elven language which the large winged creature doesn't understand, unlike the common language, and the language which lord Farque speaks to it in, which it does understand.
The exiled Vexilian mage sees that the wyvern is up slightly on it's back haunches, and is looking off to the west, the highly skilled swordmaster looks away in that direction too.
It's sometime before the once powerful mage spots what the wyvern is looking at, Mira Reinholt stands up as he watches lord Farque walking in this direction.
Once the undead warlord rejoins the mage Reinholt, he hands something to the spellcaster, who like himself, is from south of the equator. "Where did you get this?" asks the swordmaster Reinholt in surprise as he looks at the cylindrical brass eyepiece that he's now holding "There's a hermit, a scholar, nobleborn too, who is living in a hut i spotted from the air last night" says lord Farque, who then adds "I got it from him" the heavily armored deathlord says "Here" and hands the Vexilian mage in exile a cloth bag containing bread and fruit.
After the swordmaster Reinholt packs away the new supplies, he examines the cylindrical eyepiece, as the deathlord of Farque, who is also known as Draugadrottin to the people of his lands, explains to him "He's studying the local wildlife here in this area of the principality, has done for last century or so".
Mira Reinholt who sees that the cylindrical eyepiece is better than the one that he used to have, which was taken from him when was first taken prisoner in the coastal city-state of Renoa in the north of the Southlands. Who already wants to change the leather wrapped around it, to a plain black or brown leather wrapping, instead of the brown leather with elven motifs currently wrapped around it, says to the undead warlord "You didn't, you know".
"I didn't what?" asks the tall, heavily armoured figure of the lord of the death realm who stares at the once powerful mage, who clears his throat, and after a brief pause, asks "Didn't kill him for it did you?" as he holds up the leather wrapped, cylindrical brass eyepiece.
"Of course not" says lord Farque, who then adds "What kind of stupid fucking question is that?" the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, says "Well, considering". "Considering what?" says the undead warlord in a flat tone as he interrupts the mage Reinholt, who clears his throat once more, and looks away as the large, heavily armoured deathlord stares down at him, then he says "Never mind" the once powerful mage then silently adds in a dry tone, considering you tend to kill everyone you run across.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque who informs the Vexilian mage in exile, that he bought the supplies and the eyepiece, which was a spare of the scholars, then says to Mira Reinholt "Neidegratsyn is his name, he sensed her early last night" Draugadrottin continues with "She was teleporting away to the south and west".
"Probably too tired to cast a rift" says the exiled Vexilian mage, who then adds "If she got any kind of decent rest during the night, she will more than likely be able to cast a rift this morning" lord Farque nods his full helmed head in agreement, then says "So i figured" he nods and says "Most likely" in response to the mage Reinholt saying "Fleeing westward to Belinswae, and the coast there, to that city of Falnic?".
The undead warlord gestures to the nearby wyvern and says to the highly skilled swordmaster "Let's go" the Vexilian mage in exile picks up his pack, and along with lord of the death realm, makes his way down to the waiting wyvern.
Switching to the elven language as they walk towards the wyvern, lord Farque says "That elven scholar Neidegratsyn says that dragon we've heard about, is somewhere in this part of the mountains".
"Can you sense it?" asks Mira Reinholt in the same language as he knows the lord and ruler of the lands Farque can sense anything living or dead, quite a long way away, even dragons, who are unable to be sensed by other spellcasters, like the mage, that's even if he had his powers at the moment.
"No" says the heavily armoured deathlord, who continues with "So it's not within twenty miles of us" the swordmaster Reinholt murmurs "That's a relief" the undead warlord nods in agreement, then as he looks at the wyvern, he silently adds in a dry tone, a good thing too, as it might be a bit of a problem if it turned up.
They get up into the saddle on the wyvern, though after the mage Reinholt has another drink of water, before he sits behind the large figure of lord Farque. They're quickly into the air, and the wyvern is winging away to the south and west across the mountains as they continue their pursuit of the person they're after.
A bit later in the morning, as the large winged creature is flying between peaks, lord Farque, who Mira Reinholt knows is looking everywhere with his incredible eyesight, that allows him to see vast distances, as well ad continually sensing, is just able to hear the undead warlord mutter "Fuck" over the wind that's blowing by them as they fly to the southwest.
The once powerful mage calls out "What is it?" the deathlord of Farque replies with one word, and it's in the elven language "Dragon" . . . . . .