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 . . . . . .