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 . . . . . .