Wonderful 61

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

The next day, and the group from the Southlands get off the river barges they hired in the town they came across yesterday. They left there yesterday afternoon, and stopped overnight in a small village, before continuing south on the river just before sunrise this morning. They disembarked at another riverside town, before the river turns east and empties out in a lake a half a dozen miles away.
After getting their mounts off the barges, and briefly stopping at a tavern in the town for a late breakfast, or early lunch. They continue their way southwards along a road. It's not long after leaving the town that it starts to lightly rain.
"You know, this is first rain since" says Tamric Drubine as he rides beside Lisell Maera "Well, forever it feels like it" continues the nobleborn boy from the kingdom of Sarcrin, who then adds "Definitely the first time since we came north out of the Southlands".
The teenage orphan from the city-state of Brattonbury nods her head in agreement, as it does indeed feel like forever since they've seen rain. For the region of Belinswae is fairly dry, while the nomads plains are even drier, much drier.
As the rain continues to fall, they look up at the tall peaks to either side of the road, which out of the town, is paved with stones, for at least a few miles before it turns to hard packed dirt. It's not often you see roads like this in elven principalities, unless it's in and out of large towns or cities, not small riverside towns in the middle of nowhere.
Up ahead of the two youngest members of the group, the elven spy Dalinvardél Tanith and Riley Hait the mercenary ranger are discussing the road that's turned from stone to hard packed dirt beneath the hooves of their horses.
"That road is dwarven" says Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy as he nods his hooded head back at the stone road behind them "It is?" says Riley Hait the mercenary ranger who lifts the traditional black hordes cloth he wears around his neck, to cover his head, though leaving his face open and uncovered as it continues to rain.
"Definitely dwarven" says the spy Tanith who then adds "Our esteemed leader the royal thief found out that there used to be a fair amount of dwarves in the principality" he waves to their right as he continues with "Apparently they had a mountain stronghold in the west of Maladimbáh, until they got run out of there well over a thousand years ago".
"Probably those dwarves we saw in Falnic, those ones visiting down from the north along the coast, are the descendants of the dwarves who lived here in Maladimbáh" muses the ranger Hait as he recalls when he and the elven spy saw a troop of dwarves in the coast city of Falnic in the region of Belinswae "Where were that lot from again?" asks Dalinvardél Tanith "The Stone Hills i think it was" replies Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman "Yeah that was it" says the elf who is from the principality of Alínlae in the Southlands.
While the mercenary ranger and the elven spy, who are riding behind sir Percavelle Lé Dic who is out infront, continue to chat as the rain gets slightly heavier.
The youngest members of the groups who are infront of Shur Kee the monk who is at the rear of the group with the two pack horses, are in a quiet conversation of their own.
"I wonder how we're going to handle things once we get further south to this lord Haldéilv's lands?" says Tamric Drubine who is leading the horse that Helbe the elven thief rides when he's with the group. For the young elven noble as usual is nowhere to be seen, for they all know he's out infront of the group somewhere, scouting out what they've yet to travel.
"I wonder if they're there, any of them" says Lisell Maera, who of course is referring to lord Farque, Dorc da Orc and Mira Reinholt the mage. For they know that the mage Reinholt was in the city of Falnic in Belinswae, a captive of Kaldeàlil Haldéilv. An elven magic user who is on a personal vendetta against Helbe the elven thief, who is the nominal leader of the group in the absence of the three missing members of the group.
"Hopefully Mira is there" says the son of the former knight of castle Drubine in the kingdom of Sarcrin "Or at least near it, after escaping from her" adds Tam, Lis nods her head but doesn't say anything, infact she falls silent.
After wiping rain of fhis face, the nobleborn boy who has a magical sword on his hip, glances sideways at the tall, lanky teenage girl riding beside him. Tamric Drubine refrains from frowning as he's noticed that Lis often falls silent of late, ever since she was briefly taken captive during their stay in Belinswae.
Though the youngster who more than likely will be a swordsmaster one day, knows he and the orphan teenager are not the closest of friends, and probably never will be. They do usually engage in easy conversations, especially when they're traveling, as they tend to be next to one another, especially when they're traveling on horseback.
Tamric Drubine who is just thinking of saying something to change the subject, hoping to engage Lisell Maera, wryly smiles as his horse shakes its mane, spraying his face with water droplets.
After wiping his face again, the nobleborn adolescent from the kingdom of Sarcrin says "Almost forgot what riding in the rain is like" Tam glances up at the low clouds obscuring a lot of the tops of the nearby mountains, then says "Rather enjoying the rain after not seeing it for so long".
"Damn rain, i hate it" mutters Tamric Drubine later in the day. It's the afternoon, and the light steady rain of the morning, has turned to heavy steady rain, often torrential as it pours down from the low cloud cover that's over much of the central region of Maladimbáh.
The group from south of the equator are heading up the road, that's turned to mud along a lot of it's edges. They're lucky there aren't that many others using it, to churn up the center of the road, which for the moment is still relatively firm.
Their horses head up a forested hill, thick with various types of pines on either side of the road. They haven't seen another traveler since just after they stopped at midday for a brief meal, where they saw a rider heading north.
At the crest of the hill they find Helbe the elven thief standing beneath a tree, who tells them "There's a village down in the valley below" the young elven noble who is dry, while the rest of them are soaked, continues with "We'll stop there" the elven magic user glances up at the sky as he adds "This rain won't stop until sometime later this evening".
"Can't you do something about the rain?" asks a hopeful Tamric Drubine "I'm not that powerful" dryly says the elven masterthief who is the grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel. There's a rather forlorn look on the face of the nobleborn youngster from the kingdom of Sarcrin when the elven masterthief tells him that.
The elven princeling says "I'll see you there" then he disappears from sight as he shifts away, he has no intention of riding with the others and getting wet like they are.
"Lucky for some" mutters Tamric Drubine as he looks at the spot where the young elven noble was, then down into the valley where the village apparently is. The son of the former knight of castle Drubine, along with the other humans in the group can't see the village at the moment, but Dalinvardél Tanith can see it in the distance, though not that clearly due to the low cloud cover and heavy rain.
They continue on their way downhill, all of them wet to varying degrees, with sir Percavelle Lé Dic who is out infront, the driest of them all. As there are some advantages to being encased in full suit of heavy plate armour. Though the constant pinging of the heavy rain on his armour, has put the usually boisterous nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic into a slightly dour mood.
Which is fine by the others, as the constant loud comments from the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che can get a bit annoying at times. Even Shur Kee the monk, the most patient of them, finds the heavily armoured knights constant blathering as they ride a test upon his patience and tranquility. It's one of the reason the short statured monk prefers to ride at the back of the line with the pack horses, as far from sir Percavelle as possible.
They're soon down in the valley, and later in the afternoon they see the village up ahead. It's like a lot of villages in the elven principality of Maladimbáh, relatively small, and surrounded by woods. Though this village does boast a tavern come inn, which isn't the norm for most of the smaller villages throughout the principality.
There's even a stable beside the tavern, though it's small, and some of the horses have to double up in the stalls. Tamric Drubine after using a curry brush on his mount, and giving it a half bucket of oats. Is the last along with Shur Kee the monk to hurry through the falling rain to the tavern.
After taking off his wet cloak and shaking it as he stands on the covered porch, the nobleborn youngster from the kingdom of Sarcrin enters the tavern saying to the acolyte in the order of Bru Li "I hope they've got a hot meal of some kind".
The monk from the far eastern coastal kingdom of Wah Lee which is located on the otherside of the continent, faintly smiles, as he knows as well Tam, that elves tend to have cold meals during the summer time, even on rainy days like this. It's not often you'll get a hot meal, even in the evening, especially since most elves are vegetarians, and especially in a village like this, where they don't exactly get a lot of visitors who aren't elven kind.
After sitting down at one of the two round tables the group are sitting at, Tamric Drubine smiles sourly when the server, an elven maid informs him and the others what's to eat. Though he slightly grins when she commends him on his command of the elven language when he tells her what he wants.
Then after she's left the common room, the nobleborn youngster looks around at the others who are in the tavern. There's not many, just a pair of elves sitting at a corner table, quietly discussing the weather, and how it'll effect their business, which seems to be haulage.
Another elf sits at a table alone, from his heavily muscled forearms, and the long leather apron he's wearing, he's obviously a smith or an apprentice smith, more than likely from the smithy they passed as they entered the village from the north.
There's also a pair of guards in the service of the local lord, their mounts are the only other ones in the stables next to the tavern.
"Are we going to stay here tonight?" asks Tamric Drubine who sits with Helbe the elven thief and Riley Hait the mercenary ranger at one table. While sir Percavelle Lé Dic, Shur Kee, Lisell Maera and Dalinvardél Tanith sit at the next table along.
"We are" replies Helbe the elven thief, who grins as the nobleborn boy from the kingdom of Sarcrin looks at the plate of food that's put down infront of him by the server, there's an unenthusiastic look upon Tams face as he stares at the leaves, vegetables, fruit and nus on his plate. Though he does slightly brightened up when a warm loaf of bread is put on a board in the center of the table, as well as a saucer with butter on it.
"Bread's good" mumbles Tamric Drubine who is into the bread first, ignoring his plate of food for now, he might pick at the fruit and nuts on it later, but that's it.
As the group from the Southlands eat, Helbenthril Raendril who can't help himself, and because it's a good habit to have when one's traveling. Reads the minds of the other customers in the tavern, as well as those who work here.
The nobleborn elf slightly frowns after he reads the mind of the two guards of the local lord.
The ranger Hait who is eating the segments of a citrus fruit notices the frown upon the face of the hooded figure of the elven masterthief, the mercenary ranger quietly asks the elven princeling "What is it?".
Knowing that every elf here in the common room will hear him, no matter how quietly he speaks. Helbe the elven thief replies to Riley aka Zubutai Timaginson's question by using mindspeech.
Riley Hait lifts an eyebrow in surprise, then frowns when he hears in his mind what Helbe the elven thief explains to him about something . . . . . .

Wonderful 60.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

"There's another one up ahead" says Riley Hait the mercenary ranger, who continues with "He's gone to check it out" beside the ranger Hait, kneeling on the trail looking down the heavy forested hill, Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy nods his head, then looks back along the trail, to where the others can just be seen.
Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman looks that way too, then wryly smiles as he sees sir Percavelle Lé Dic pacing back and forth across the trail "Seems someone's itching to get back to civilisation" dryly says the mercenary ranger who was brought up and trained in the elven principality of Envadarlen in the Southlands.
"Maybe this place is a little bit bigger than the last one we came across" says Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy "Looked like it from a distance" says the ranger Hait who like the spy Tanith, is speaking in the elven language.
The two of them continue to look down the hill that the trail eventually goes down, they know that a town is around the side of the peak they're on at the moment, one that Helbe the elven thief is checking out.
"Hopefully this one is bit more receptive to travelers" quietly says the elf from the principality of Alínlae in the Southlands, the mercenary ranger beside him nods in agreement, then Riley Hait says "Well we are in the middle of nowhere" he continues with "I doubt this part of the principality gets many visitors" the spy Tanith can only nod to that.
It was yesterday morning that they went through the portal in the nomads plains they came across, the otherside of which brought them out into the central part of the mountainous principality of Maladimbáh. And ever since yesterday morning they've been traveling south, keeping mainly to the valley's, foothills and lower peaks, that their mounts can easily traverse. Unlike the higher peaks and mountains, which are no places for mounted travel, well mounted upon a horse that is.
The ranger Hait moves to his right and sits upon a flat rock next to the trail, as he and the elven spy continue to look downhill through the trees. The mercenary ranger, who in actual fact is a hordes outrider form the southern tundra appreciates the cooler climate here in the mountains of Maladimbáh, compared to the hot, dry, arid plains of the nomads they were in previously.
Even here on the heavily forested peak they're on, it isn't particularly warm, and it's the middle of the day too, a day that's in the later half of summer.
"Well, since we're here, i wonder if she's here to confront us" quietly says Dalinvardél Tanith, it's a topic on all their minds, though one they've hardly spoken about since leaving the city of Falnic. Especially not spoken of infront of the elven princeling who leads them in the absences of lord Farque, Dorc da Orc and Mira Reinholt the mage.
"I'd count on it" says Riley Hait who continues with "She's been after us" he pauses for a moment, before saying "Well, him really" the mercenary ranger then adds "For three years straight, now she's back in her homeland, we're she's bound to have an advantage or two".
"Unfortunately" dryly says Dalinvardél Tanith, who the others often refer to him as just plain Dalin, the elven spy who has been with the group for the last three years, continues with "I wonder where she's from exactly?". "Hopefully he can find out in the town nearby" says Riley aka Zubutai Timaginson, who then adds "But from the previous place we came across, they hadn't heard of her" the spy Tanith nods, then says "This place has a lot more isolated communities than the principalities in the Southlands" he continues with "I doubt there's not that much travel between the lands of various lords in different parts of the principality, only those who are close to one another".
The two of them, the mercenary ranger and the elven spy continue to quietly discuss things. While back along the trial, the heavily armoured knight sir Percavelle Lé Dic continues to pace back and forth. While the others, Shur Kee the monk, Lisell Maera and Tamric Drubine, sit beneath the trees off to one side of the trail, near where their horses are picketed.
Meanwhile, down the slope and around to the east, where the forest trail leads, Helbe the elven thief is in small town beside a river, the town may be small, but it's definitely bigger than the previous settlements they've come across since coming through the portal from the nomads plains yesterday morning.
The young elven noble from the principality of Laerel in the Southlands, is blurred and shielded as he makes his way through the riverside town. The elven princeling is in the home of one of few traders in the town, and is going through his books and maps in the traders little office.
The elven magic user nods his head when he finds out exactly where they are in the central part of Maladimbáh. The map the trader has of the principality is much more detailed than the one's the elven masterthief has, so he decides to take this one, just straight up steal it as it's better.
Helbenthril Raendril sees that the lands of a lord Haldéilv is in the south of the principality, not that far from the northern reaches of the nomads plains.
Must be her father, Helbe the elven thief thinks to himself, who then rolls up the map he's taken from a pile on the desk in the office he's in, and puts it into an inner pocket of his hooded cloak. The elven magic user then looks out the clear glass window of the office, and shifts outside. The blurred and shielded elven masterthief looks around, then continues on his way through the small riverside town, finding out any relevant information that may be important to him and the others in their search for the missing trio of lord Farque, Dorc da Orc and Mira Reinholt the mage.
As well as any relevant information about Kaldeàlil Haldéilv, who the elven master assassin, knows has finally got her wish, of having him come to her homeland of Maladimbáh.
As Helbe the elven thief is walking through the town, Narladene the ground pixie appears on his right shoulder and says "There's some here" the tiny winged creature gestures to the nearby piers that jut out into the river, and the houses just back from them "They mostly work as fishermen, or on the river barges that take goods to the local lords town".
The young elven noble nods his hooded head as he spots a couple of humans working on some nets behind one of the houses near the piers "Any goblins?" asks the elven magic user "None that I've seen" quietly replies the ground pixie who is 'attached' to the elven prince.
"Good enough then" quietly says Helbenthril Raendril who then adds "Go to Riley and tell him and the others to start heading this way" the elven masterthief continues with "I'll meet them on the trail before it reaches the town".
Narladene sourly smiles at the prospect of showing herself to any of the others, though out of the rest of the group who the young elven noble is in charge of. It's the man who was once Zubutai Timaginson the barbarian hordesman she's most comfortable appearing infront of, more so than Shur Kee the monk who she has known for longer.
The tiny winged creature disappears as she drops down into the ground, and heads up to the peak behind and to the west of the riverside town. While she does, the elven master assassin she is attached to, continues to explore the small town.
"Should be able to purchase some more supplies there" says Riley Hait the mercenary ranger who continues with "Looked like it was next to a river, so I'm guessing that get a fair bit of commerce going through, as well as the occasional visitor or two".
"Hope so, I'm kind of getting sick of having dried fruit with every meal" says Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy, which causes the ranger Hait to grin, then softly chuckle, the mercenary ranger is just about to say something about that when out of the corner of his eye, he spots something a bit down the trial.
About twenty feet away, Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman spots Narladene the ground pixie about six feet up in the air. The ground pixie nods her tiny head when she sees him looking at her, then she points down the trail, and waves in a beckoning manner.
The mercenary ranger who is from the elven principality of Envadarlen in the Southlands slightly nods in understanding, then the ground pixie disappears from sight.
"Come on, we're going" says Riley Hait "We are?" asks the spy Tanith, the ranger Hait nods his head that they are, then he looks back along the trail, and whistles. Sir Percavelle Lé Dic stops his pacing and looks their way, he nods his head when he sees the mercenary ranger waving him forward.
The group from south of the equator are soon leading their mounts along the trail, heading downhill through the trees. With Dalinvardél Tanith in the lead as the travel single file, while Shur Kee the monk is in the rear.
It's early in the afternoon once they get downhill through the heavily forested peak, and are on more flat land, through the trees up ahead where the trail widens out to what one would call a wagon track, wide enough so that it's easy enough to mount upon their horses and ride at walking pace, Helbe the elven thief waits for them.
The young elven noble takes the reins of his horse from Tamric Drubine who has been leading it, and he gets up in the saddle, and rides forward next to the ranger Hait, who is behind the spy Tanith.
"We're definitely in the middle area of the principality, more east than west" says the elven princeling, who is the grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel "We'll keep heading south" adds Helbenthril Raendril, who after a slight pause says "Seems her father's lands are in the south of the principality, not too far from the edge of the plains".
The ranger Hait lifts his eyebrows in surprise at that, then he says "We'll continue our search as we head there?" the elven magic user nods his hooded head in response to that as the river, then the small town beside it comes into view.
The crazy bitch is probably waiting for us there, Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman dryly thinks to himself, the mercenary ranger then nods to the town they're approaching, then says to the elven master archer riding beside him "Looks like a city compared to the other two places we've come across so far".
Prince Helbenthril Raendril slightly grins at that, then he says "Looks like it alright" the young elven noble from the principality of Laerel continues with "We'll be able to get plenty of supplies for our journey along the river" he then adds "It goes more or less south for another twenty miles or so, before turning east to a number of lakes".
The ranger Hait nods, as he's seen from the maps they have, that Maladimbáh is a principality that's much longer east to west, than it is from north to south due to the mountain ranges that run east, west through it.
After glancing at the rest of the group, Riley Hait quietly says to the elven masterthief as they reach the outskirts of the riverside town "Hope we don't get into too much difficult while we're here in the principality".
"The word you're looking for is trouble" quietly says Helbe the elven thief in reply, the young elven noble continues with "Knowing us, we probably will" Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman sourly smiles at that as they ride into the town . . . . . .

Wonderful 59.

The Nomads Plains...

"Land you stupid thing" mutters Mira Reinholt the mage as he tries to get the wyvern he's flying to land down next to the large glossy green, black one that he, along with lord Farque and Dorc da Orc have been flying on since leaving the city of Falnic on the coast of the region of Belinswae.
As the maroon coloured wyvern he's on continues to slowly circle, as well as slowly drop down in altitude. The once powerful mage sees that the undead warlord and the large ork have got off the one they're on, and the two of them are walking towards the last wyvern, that's injured along with the surviving townsmen, most of whom are injured.
"Well that lot are dead" dryly murmurs the Vexilian mage in exile as he sees the heavily armoured deathlord say something to the ork warleader, who the mage Reinholt sees laugh, then trott towards the downed wyvern and the surviving raiders from Belinswae.
"Land you idiot" says the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster as he shakes the reins of the wyvern, which eventually gets it into its thick head to land. The once powerful mage from south of the equator who has never liked flying wyverns, sourly smiles as the one he's on, lands a good fifty yards from the one the deathlord of Farque and the ork weaponsmith were on.
"Settle down you overgrown lizard" says Mira Reinholt as the maroon wyvern squawks and screeches once it's on the ground, the exiled Vexilian mage sees lord Farque turn in this direction, then shout something out in what must be the dragon language. For the maroon wyvern calms down, so much so, it lies down flat, making it easy for the mage Reinholt to get off it without any difficult. Though that's after the swordmaster from the Southlands biffs the reins away from him in disgust.
The Vexilian mage in exile makes his way across the dry, dusty hard packed ground of the plains, the once powerful mage sourly smiles as behind him he hears the maroon wyvern snoring as it's fallen quickly to sleep in the afternoon sunshine.
"Huh?" says the swordmaster Reinholt once he stops beside the large, heavily armoured figure of the lord of the death realm "Did you tell him not to kill them?" asks Mira Reinholt as he watches what Dorc da Orc is doing "Ah ha" replies lord Farque as the large ork grabs one of the uninjured townsmen who has tried to attack him.
The ork warleader picks up the justifier's guard by the sword arm, squeezes it, breaking it. Then Dorkindle grabs the screaming townsmen by the leg and bites it. Tearing out a chunk of the guard from Belinswae's thigh, along with a patch of the townsmen's trousers.
The ork weaponsmith drops that screaming guard, and makes his way to another of the raiders, who has just shot at him with a crossbow, and now scrambled around to the otherside of the injured wyvern.
Dorc da Orc grunts and pulls out the bolt in his upper right arm, steps on the right leg of another townsmen, this one injured on the ground, who is trying to crawl away.
After breaking that justifier's guards leg, the large ork takes a hammer from his weapon harness as he walks around to the otherside of the downed wyvern.
"See if they know anything about the others" says lord Farque as he and Mira Reinholt make their way to the surviving townsmen who have been raiding the tribal nomads here on the dry, arid plains to the east of the region of Belinswae.
They come to the first of the wounded, the one Dorc da Orc bit in the leg. The spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil reads the mind of the screaming townsmen, then says to the undead warlord "He doesn't know anything about them" the mage Reinholt adds "Nor does he" after he reads the mind of the nearby townsmen whose right leg is snapped in two, thanks to the warleader of the ork race who stood on it.
After finding out that these raiders from Belinswae are from one of the large trading towns on the river to the south of the coastal city of Falnic, and they know nothing about the rest of the group from the Southlands, or their whereabouts here on the nomads plains, the lord and ruler of the lands Farque says to the swordmaster Reinholt "Come on, let's get going".
"Dorc!" calls out the heavily armoured deathlord, who then adds "Hurry up, we're leaving" as he and the Vexilian mage in exile turn and make their way back to the large glossy green, black wyvern they stole from a merchant trader in the city of Falnic.
Dorkindle makes his way back around the the injured wyvern after wounding everyone of the surviving townsmen, earning them all a slow death here on the dry, hot, arid nomads plains.
The only one the large ork gives death to, is the wyvern itself. When he takes a spear, and rams it into the left eye of the crippled wyvern, shoving the spear further into the head, then brain of the wyvern.
After pulling his spear free, and as the wyvern slumps flat onto the ground dead, the ork weaponsmith trotts after lord Farque and Mira Reinholt. The large ork who is sweating profusely in the late afternoon sunshine, wipes his forehead with the back of his right arm as he catches up to the other two from south of the equator.
"Fucken hot" mutters Dorc da Orc when he joins the undead warlord and the once powerful mage near the wyvern they stole from the city of Falnic. As usual the lord and ruler of the lands Farque along with the exiled Vexilian mage ignore the complaints from the warleader of the ork race, and the lord of the death realm says "There's a nomad camp to the northeast of here" he continues with "Probably where this fucking lot were going to raid at dusk most likely" the undead warlord then adds "We'll go there and see if they've see the others".
Mira Reinholt sourly smiles as the undead warlord points at the maroon wyvern sleeping about fifty yards away, and tells him to follow them on the large glossy green, black wyvern.
The heavily armoured deathlord calls out something in the dragon language, and the maroon wyvern wakes up, as does the wyvern from Falnic that's been dozing in the late afternoon sunshine.
As the swordmaster Reinholt makes his way to the smaller maroon wyvern, lord Farque calls out to him in the elven language "It will follow behind us" followed by "It'll behave too". "That's a fucking relief" dryly murmurs the once powerful mage as he walks to the maroon wyvern, as he wasn't particularly looking forward to flying the wyvern by himself.
They're soon in the air, and the two wyverns, with the smaller maroon one following a couple hundred yards behind the larger one from the city Falnic, are sweeping away to the northeast, gaining altitude as they do. Much to the relief of Dorc da Orc as lord Farque has the large glossy green, black wyvern finally level out at about eight thousand feet up in the sky, where the slightly colder air somewhat cools down the large ork.
They fly more than twenty miles, and it's dusk by the time the lord and ruler of the lands Farque has the wyverns drop down in altitude, and head towards the ground after they've flown over quite a large area of what the nomad tribes call long sand.
The lord of the death realm has the wyverns head east for a mile or two, before calling out in the dragon language for them land. This time in the fading light of early evening, the maroon wyvern lands next to the larger glossy green, black one from the city of Falnic.
The trio from the Southlands start walking east, where lord Farque and Dorc da Orc have already seen what's just ahead from when they were approaching on the wyverns. While Mira Reinholt hasn't seen it due to the fading light that's quickly turning to darkness, as nightfall happens fairly quickly here on the nomads plains.
After walking about fifty yards, lord Farque stops then after a brief pause he says in the hordes dialect of the southern tundra "Greetings". There's a moment of silence, then the word "Greetings" is said in the same language, and the head of a nomad pops up from a cutting in the ground, after the hide covering it, is pulled back.
"I was wondering if you could help us with something" says the lord and ruler of the lands Farque using the dialect of the hordes of the southern tundra which is located south of his own lands faraway to the south. The dialect which is the same language used by the nomads tribes, here in the hot, dry, arid plains east of the region of Belinswae, and north of the equator.
After explaining who he's looking for, the undead warlord nods his full helmed head as the nomad, a hunter whose cutting is on the southern outskirts of his tribe's current camp, says "I think you better speak to the leader of my tribe".
A short time later and the trio from the Southlands are in the camp proper, sitting in one of the cuttings amongst the large warren used predominantly by the tribe's leader and his extended family.
Dorc da Orc is sitting at one end of the cutting away from everyone else, the large ork is slurping form a gourd containing the fermented sheep's milk that the nomads prefer to make, and drink.
While at the other end of the cutting sits Mira Reinholt and lord Farque, with the undead warlord speaking to the tribe's leader and a few others.
"So they left here yesterday morning?" asks the deathlord of Farque in the language used by the plains nomads after finding out that the others were here, after saving a couple of the tribe's children from two sand dragons on the edge of the nearby long sands.
"They did" replies the tribe's leader who then adds "They are continuing their journey to the north and east". "To the elven lands of Maladimbáh?" asks the undead warlord, the tribe's leader nods his head yes, then he continues explaining something which causes the lord of the death realm to lift an eyebrow in surprise, then ask "How far is that?". "Oh a long days travel on foot, over thirty miles".
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque and the nomads speak for a little while longer, then the trio from south of the equator depart the camp, and head back in the cooler air of the night to where the two wyverns are.
"What is it?" asks Mira Reinholt "There's a portal to the east of here" says lord Farque who is looking up at the stars in the night sky, the undead warlord then looks at the once powerful mage and tells him "My guess it's directly in a northeast to southeast line to the one we came across a couple hundred miles to the southeast of here" he then adds "And while that one goes to just outside of Falnic, the one not far from here goes north into Maladimbáh" the lord and ruler of the lands Farque briefly pauses then says "This one is working".
"Shit" murmurs Mira Reinholt who then says "They've probably gone through" the undead warlord nods his full helmed head, then says "Just over thirty miles away" in response to the Vexilian mage in exile asking him "How far away is it?".
Lord Farque looks back to where Dorc da Orc is trailing a good fifty yards behind them, and he says in the ork language "Hurry up cunt, we're going" the heavily armoured deathlord then glances at the swordmaster Reinholt as they approach the two wyverns, and the once powerful mage asks him "Are we going to go through it, or continue on flying to Maladimbáh?".
"We'll soon find out" says the lord and ruler of the lands Farque who then gives a command in the dragon language for the pair of dozing wyverns to wake up . . . . . .

Wonderful 58.

The Nomads Plains...

Dorc da Orc finds himself sitting backwards on the wyvern he was thrown onto. Facing him is a shocked looking justifier's guard from the region of Belinswae, who is fumbling for his sword.
The large ork swings an arm, knocking off that guard out of the saddle, who luckily for him, his neck is instantly broken when Dorkindle connects with his head. So he doesn't experience the fear of falling to his death.
There's seven more guards, townsmen raiders from Belinswae, still upon the back of the wyvern, including the one at the reins, who is seated behind the ork warleader, trying to look back to see what's happening, and to see what stinks so much behind him.
"Cunts" growls Dorc da Orc as one of the guards gets up with sword in hand, the ork weaponsmith, who never cares about his own safety anyway, gets up too.
The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks, thrusts his head forward as he's getting up. He head butts the justifier's guard coming at him swinging a sword.
The large ork's head slams into the chest of the townsmen, sending him hurtling off the back of the wyvern, which like the rider at the reins, is looking back trying to see what's happening on it's back.
"Whoah cunt, keep still" mutters Dorkindle as he puts down a hand to steady himself on the back of the wyvern as he stands up. Then the ork weaponsmith as he's in that stance, grunts as he thinks of something.
With a cackling laugh, Dorc da Orc whacks the wyvern with a fist, causing it to hiss and jerk up a bit. As it does, the warleader of the ork race is lifted up off his feet, and goes flying forward. To smash into the remaining guards upon the wyvern's back with the exception of the one with the reins at the front of the saddle.
The townsmen who are scrambling for weapons, including one with a loaded crossbow, who gets off a shot, before they go tumbling when the large ork bowls into them all.
On another of the wyverns from the region of Belinswae, Mira Reinholt the mage suddenly appears. The once powerful mage thinking it's best not to use his long double bladed sword on the back of the wyvern, has his other sword in hand, the longsword that has a black blade, a blade that's been hardened by dragon fire.
The Vexilian mage in exile who is actually levitating as he lightly stands upon the back of the wyvern, swings the longsword with the black blade that lord Farque used to kill a dragon in the elven principality of Maladimbáh.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster blinks in surprise as the blade scorched by dragon's fire easily takes off the head of the unsuspecting justifier's guard sitting infront of where he's standing.
As the headless townsmen topples out of the saddle, the mage Reinholt who is judiciously using as little of his depleted power as possible, steps forward as he levitates, and kicks the next justifier's guard in the back of the head.
That townsmen is knocked out, and falls sideways off the wyvern, though he doesn't fall to his death, as he's actually using the straps that holds one into the saddle. His unconscious body thump along the right flank of the wyvern that's trying to chase after the large glossy green, black one that lord Farque is on.
The rest of the riders upon the wyvern now know something is up, as they hear over the noise of the wind, the body of the unconscious townsmen thumping along the side of the wyvern, who is hissing in displeasure as the knocked out justifier's guard repeatedly whacks into its side.
As the raiders from Belinswae upon the wyvern look back to see what's happening, the levitating Mira Reinholt steps forward again, swinging the longsword with the black blade that's been kissed by dragon's fire.
The exiled swordmaster from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands starts to methodically kill the rest of the wyvern riders one by one as he works forward along the back of the wyvern he's on.
As he's in pursuit of the last of the wyverns from Belinswae they've attacked this afternoon, lord Farque glances back to the wyvern that Mira Reinholt teleported to.
The undead warlord sees the once powerful mage cut down one of the wyvern riders on the back of that particularly wyvern as the mage Reinholt starts to clear the raiders from Belinswae off that wyvern.
As the heavily armoured deathlord has the large glossy green, black wyvern bank away to the left as they pursue the remaining wyvern they've yet to directly attack, he looks back and down, to the wyvern that Dorc da Orc is on.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque rolls his eyes, as he sees the large ork holding onto one of the rear legs of that wyvern, which is kicking that leg, trying to dislodge the ork warleader.
"Idiot" mutters lord Farque as he watches Dorkindle trying to climb up the leg, and onto the back of that wyvern that's steadily dropping in altitude towards the ground.
Of the townsmen raiders from Belinswae on that wyvern, there remains just the rider in the front of the saddle at the reins. While another hangs down the right flank of the wyvern, hanging onto the side of the saddle for dear life.
While another is hanging down the other flank, though he's dead as some of the straps that one uses to hold themselves into the saddle, are wrapped tightly around his neck and head, which have hung him.
The deathlord of Farque shakes his full helmed head, then looks forward and down to the last of the wyverns of the raiders from Belinswae, the undead warlord calls out a command in the dragon language, and the large glossy green, black wyvern increases its speed, and begins to sweep down towards the last of the wyverns the townsmen raiders from the region to the west of the nomads plains are upon.
"Cunty wyvey" growls Dorc da Orc as he holds onto the right rear leg of the wyvern he's on, the large winged creature which screeches in displeasure, kicks its right leg back trying to dislodge the large ork who is trying to climb back up onto the broad back of the wyvern.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks grins as he sees the dead townsmen hanging by the neck just a bit further along the right flank from him, Dorkindle chuckles as he also hears another of the townsmen on the otherside of the wyvern, who is holding onto part of the saddle for dear life, yelling at the justifier's guard at the reins, to slow the wyvern down so he can climb back onto its back.
The ork warleader hopes it does too, as his grip upon the leg of the large winged creature is more than a little precarious, considering they're only a few hundred feet above the dry, arid plains, and still dropping in altitude.
"Keep still ya cunt, me trying to climb up and kill the rest of them fucken assnuts" growls Dorkindle as the wyvern once again kicks back in an attempt to dislodge the large ork who hails from south of the equator. Then the wyvern thinking of something else to get rid of the large, not to mention heavy and smelly thing that's holding onto it, backwings while kicking both of its rear legs forward, then kicking them quickly backwards.
Dorc da Orc eyes go wide as he loses his grip, and the sensation of weightlessness, which to be honest he rather enjoys, briefly takes a hold of him.
Then the ork weaponsmith reaches out and grabs anything he can, and triumphantly says "Got ya cunt" as he holds onto the tail of the wyvern.
The large ork who is beneath the tail, wraps his legs around it, as the wyvern which squawks in anger, suddenly drops as there's now a seven hundred and fifty pound ork holding onto its tail which it needs for balance and to fly correctly.
Dorkindle looks down, and mutters "Uh oh" as he quickly sees the ground approaching "No cunt" says the ork warleader who continues with "Bad wyvey" then silently adding in the voice of his 'mother' you're fucked now you fat cunt.
With his face screwed up in anger, displeasure, as well as anticipation in what's about to happen, Dorc da Orc starts biting and headbutting the tail of the wyvern, which makes it squawk even louder, as well as drop out of the sky even quicker.
"Fuck" sourly mutters the large ork just before he hits the ground, the large orks breath is knocked out of him as he grunts, then he scrapes along the ground as the wyvern attempts to fly away.
"Ooww!" shouts Dorkindle, who follows it up with "Oooww!" and another, and another as the wyvern flies just above the ground, repeatedly whacking its tail down onto the ground, along with the ork weaponsmith.
Dorc da Orc grabs the nearest weapon from his harness, which turns out to be a short spear, which he starts to stab into the tail of the large winged creature that's battering him into the ground.
"Take that cunt!" shouts the large ork, which is followed by a "Oooww!" as the wyvern which shrieks in pain, slams him into the ground again. This is repeated a few more times, as the warleader of the ork race slams his short spear into the tail of the wyvern, which in turn slams him into the ground.
Fuck, that's not good, Dorkindle thinks to himself as he dryly mutters "Oooww oooww oooww oooww" as his head repeatedly scrapes along the ground as the wyvern is now swinging it's tail from side to side as it flies just above the ground.
The large ork takes the short spear, and shoves it further along the tail, hoping to get the wyvern in the ass. Whatever it does, there's a loud screech form the large winged creature, which whips its tail to one side so fast and violently, that the ork weaponsmith is flung off it.
"Fucknuts" mutters Dorkindle as he goes flying off the tail of the wyvern, he never gets more than ten feet off the ground, but he does travel a good fifty feet before he hits the ground, which he tumbles and rolls across for another twenty five feet before coming to a stop.
Dorc da Orc groans and spits out a mouthful of dry dirt and sand, the ork weaponsmith gets to his hands and knees, and in a rather wobbly manner, he stands up. Not too steady on his feet, the large ork looks for the wyvern he was just on, and spots it flying away in the distance.
It's not flying that quickly now, nor is too high off the ground, as there's the ork warleaders short spear stuck in the base of it's tail. The townsmen who was holding onto the saddle has fallen off, and now the justifier's guard at the reins is hanging over the side, hanging onto the reins, yelling at the large winged creature to land.
It doesn't as it's in too much pain, and soon the townsmen hanging onto the reins loses his grip, and falls sixty feet to the ground, which killed him as he hits the plains head first.
The wyvern continually squawking in pain flies slowly away to the southeast, with a body of a dead townsmen with saddle straps wrapped around his neck and head, continually thumping and bouncing along the right flank of the fleeing wyvern.
"Hmmmmm now fucken what?" murmurs Dorc da Orc as he looks around and up at the sky, the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, spots lord Farque on the large glossy green, black wyvern. It's got it's front claws in the back of the last wyvern from Belinswae, and is driving it down towards the ground.
The smaller wyvern, and those who are still upon it, hit the ground with a thump and go tumbling across the dry, arid plains where the nomad tribes dwell.
The ork warleader sees lord Farque and the wyvern he's on, do a sweeping turn low off the ground, then head in this direction. The large ork slightly frowns, as he sees the lord and ruler of the lands Farque hold up an arm and give a number of hand signals.
Dorc da Orc grins, then turns around and starts running, slow at first, it's more of a stumbling run more than anything, as he's a little sore to say the least, after taking that battering from the wyvern he was on.
The large ork picks up pace, looking back as he does so, he chuckles then holds up his left hand as he runs, as he sees the large glossy green, black wyvern flying low above the ground, with lord Farque leaning down the side of the neck of the wyvern.
"Fucking get some!" shouts Dorc da Orc as he runs with his left arm held aloft, he hears the wyvern quickly approaching him from behind. Then suddenly he feels a strong, armoured hand grip his upraised arm, and he's lifted up, and flung upwards. The large ork laughs as he's flung up, and onto the back of the wyvern, into the saddle right behind lord Farque, who commands the wyvern up to where Mira Reinholt the mage has taken over, and is now flying another of the wyverns from Belinswae . . . . . .

Wonderful 57.

The Nomads Plains...

The wyvern drops down quickly, as it does lord Farque says to the other two "Hold on" the undead warlord glances back to where Dorc da Orc is sitting behind Mira Reinholt the mage, and he repeats what he just said, but in the ork language, with a fair few swear words added in as the large ork tends to sit in a too relaxed manner on the back of the wyvern.
As the ork warleader grunts, Mira Reinholt the mage says "Think some of them on that first one have spotted us" as he looks at the five wyverns from Belinswae that are below them.
The deathlord of Farque nods his full helmed head, then says in the elven language to the Vexilian mage in exile "When i give the command, attack the dark blue wyvern, the justifier on it is a wizard".
The mage Reinholt who as usual is holding his limited power within himself, nods in understanding, then he along with ork weaponsmith listen as the lord and ruler of the lands Farque tells them in the common language "We're going to dive straight down" he pauses for a moment, then he adds "And so are they".
The undead warlord who is also known as Draugadrottin to the people of his lands, has the large, glossy green black wyvern level out a bit as it sweeps down towards the other tame wyverns. Who, along with some of their riders, has spotted the one the trio from south of the equator are flying on.
The five wyverns from Belinswae are flying in a traditional V formation, with the lead wyvern, instinctively slowing up a bit, bunching up the others behind it, as the wyvern the three from the Southlands are on, sweeps down upon them.
The others in the formation slow up too, as they all think that the wyvern lord Farque, Dorc da Orc and Mira Reinholt the mage are upon, is also a raider from Belinswae. They don't realize it isn't until the last moment, when they finally spot the large form of the ork warleader sitting at the back of the saddle, and before the pair of justifiers in the raiding party of townsmen can cast to communicate with those they think are from Belinswae.
As the large glossy green, black wyvern sweeps down infront of the lead wyvern in the flight, lord Farque shouts out a command in the dragon language. The wyvern the trio from south of the equator, tucks in it's wings, and dives head first, straight down to the ground a little over five hundred feet below.
So do the first three wyverns in the formation from Belinswae, much to the surprise of those onboard them. While the two wyverns at the back of the V formation, screech and squawk, and come to a halt in midair, as they wonder what's happened to their flight mates, as they were too far back to clearly hear the command in the dragon language from the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
As he tries not to throw up his lunch, as well as not get squashed by Dorc behind him, who is laughing maniacally and hollering away in the ork language as they dive straight down at the ground.
The mage Reinholt stops holding his power within himself, and looks back behind the grinning ork warleader. And as the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster sees a number of riders falling from the trio of the wyverns from Belinswae that are diving head first at the ground, as they were unprepared as to what just happened.
He quickly creates a mageglobe, which he sends shooting back up into the sky, towards the dark blue wyvern, which is one of the three wyverns from Belinswae diving towards the ground.
The five hundred feet or so to the ground quickly disappears, and just twenty feet above the surface of the dry, arid plains the large glossy green, black wyvern the trio from the Southlands are flying on, levels out after lord Farque gives it a command, it sweeps away to the left, gaining altitude as it does so.
The three other wyverns diving towards the ground, pull up too, though in varying degrees of success.
One barely levels out and heads away to the right, while another clips it's right wing upon the ground, and tumbles in the air just above the ground, just keeping itself aloft as it struggles away from the ground.
Of those two wyverns, they've lost at least half of their riders, who have fallen to their deaths, after being thrown, or to be more precise, fallen from the backs of the wyverns they were riding upon.
The third wyvern isn't so lucky, it's the dark blue one, that a justifier, a wizard is upon. As he was busy trying to keep the other eight riders on the back of the wyvern as it headed straight down out of the sky. The mageglobe created by Mira Reinholt, exploded right infront of the large winged creature as it was spinning head first towards the ground.
The living piece of magic burns away part of the right jaw of the dark blue wyvern, and along its right flank, as well as much of its right wing, which was tucked in against the side of it's body.
The front rider, the one with the reins trying to control the plummeting wyvern, is bunt away from the shoulders up. As his body falls away, the rider behind him, his right leg is basically burnt away, and he falls off the wyvern, screaming in pain. As the rider behind him is doing, as his right arm and side are on fire.
As the dark blue wyvern screams in pain, and tries to open out its wings, with only the left doing so, as the right is all but brunt away, with just a few scorched bones, and charred membrane remaining of it.
The seriously wounded wyvern slams head first into the hard, dry ground, hitting the plains at terminal velocity. The large body of the wyvern, as well as those still upon it, splatter across the ground, with the barrier spell the justifier had put up to try and stop those riding upon the wyvern from falling off. Completely failing as he's killed instantly like the other riders, and the wyvern do when they all hit the ground at speed.
Dorc da Orc laughs as he looks back in the afternoon sunshine to see what's just happened. Then as the two surviving wyverns that dived at the ground try to gain altitude, the large ork spots the two remaining wyverns from Belinswae further up in the sky, sweeping down at speed towards the large glossy green, black wyvern the trio from the Southlands are upon.
From one of those two wyverns higher up in the sky, comes a fireball, heading directly towards them, as the wyvern lord Farque commands, climbs up towards the two wyverns the townsmen raiders from Belinswae are flying down at them.
The mage Reinholt creates another living piece of magic, and sends the mageglobe flying up at the wyvern the fireball came from, this one having a sorcerer upon it's back.
As the once powerful mage does this, he ducks down because lord Farque puts an arm back, and calls put something in the ork language. Dorc da Orc grunts, then quickly takes a throwing hammer from his weapon harness, and slaps it into the gauntleted hand of the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
The heavily armoured deathlord has the large glossy green, black wyvern easily avoid the oncoming fireball, which like all fireballs goes in a straight line.
Then as the mageglobe created by Mira Reinholt explodes right infront of the diving wyvern with the remaining justifier on it. Causing no damage as the sorcerer has put up a pretty powerful barrier spell infront of the large winged creature he's on.
The undead warlord pulls back the hand he's holding the hammer with, and as the wyvern the trio from south of the equator are on, passes just thirty to the left of the diving wyvern the fireball came from.
The lord of the death realm throws the hammer, shouting out a command in the dragon language as he does so.
The hammer easily breaks through the barrier spell of the sorcerer, smashing into him, taking his head off which splatters apart. Another of the riders from Belinswae falls off the wyvern along with the headless justifier, as their wyvern speeds up as it dives towards the ground.
The large glossy green, black wyvern the three from the Southlands are on, has increased in speed too as it continues to climb up into the clear afternoon sky above the nomads plains.
"It's almost impossible to command them one at a time" explains lord Farque, Mira Reinholt figured as much, as the deathlord of Farque was giving the same commands to the wyvern they're on, to the one's the townsmen raiders from Belinswae are on.
The undead warlord has the wyvern they appropriated, or to be exact, they stole from the city of Falnic, sweep away to the right, as they look down at the remaining wyverns the townsmen are on.
The one the sorcerer was on has landed, it has obviously crashed landed, as one of its wings seem to be broken, and the squawks of pain from the injured wyvern can easily be heard a couple thousand feet in the sky, where the trio from south of the equator are flying at the moment.
The other wyvern that dove near them, is circling around, and gaining altitude as tries to come after them.
While the remaining two wyverns, those that were amongst the three that initially dived head first at the ground, are sweeping low across the dry, arid plains with more than half of their riders missing. They're slowly gaining altitude as those townsmen still in the saddle, decide what to do. As coming under attack from another tame wyvern is a surprise to say the least.
"Here take the reins" says lord Farque after he has large glossy green, black wyvern level out and slow down "Why?" asks Mira Reinholt "Fine, then I'll throw you onto that approaching wyvern instead of that fucking lunatic Dorc" dryly says the heavily armoured deathlord in the elven language.
"I'll take the reins" quickly says the exiled Vexilian mage who snatches the offered reins out of the gauntleted hand of the lord of the death realm.
The undead warlord after giving another command in the dragon language, stands up on the saddle as the wyvern the trio from the Southlands slows down even more.
The swordmaster Reinholt lies down flat as the lord and ruler of the lands Farque steps over him "You're going for a ride cunt" says Draugadrottin in the ork language.
Dorkindle grunts, then looks back to where lord Farque who is standing infront of him, has nodded. The large ork sees one of the wyverns steadily approaching them from behind on the right quarter, or from a stern on the starboard side if they were onboard an airship.
"Clear them off" says the deathlord of Farque in the ork language, who then adds "Try and keep that damn wyvern there alive" Des'tier as he's known to an older generation of elven kind then says in a dry tone "We might need the stupid fucking thing"
Dorc da Orc chuckles, then briefly grabs onto the saddle, as the lord and ruler of the lands Farque calls out a command in the dragon language.
The large glossy green, black wyvern almost stops in midair as it starts to back wing, the approaching wyvern from the rear to the right shoots forward.
As it does, the undead warlord grabs Dorc da Orc by the back of the weapon harness, then dryly says in the ork language "Don't fall off cunt" then picks the large ork up and out of the saddle, and throws him out to the side.
The ork warleaders eyes go wide as he's thrown out to nothing, and though he gulps, and wants to angrily shout "Cunt!" he can't help but grin as he goes flying out into the sky.
His flight comes to an abrupt stop forty feet from where it started, as he slams into the wyvern that was quickly approaching from the rear as it comes alongside the large glossy green, black wyvern that was stolen from the yards of a wealthy trader in the coastal city of Falnic.
Dorc da Orc growls as he holds onto to anything he can, in this case the side of the saddle and the leg of one of the riders upon the back of the wyvern.
The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks grunts as he's whacked on top of the head by a sword "Dumb cunt" mutters the large ork, who reaches up and grabs the arm that swung the sword.
The ork warleader pulls that townsmen off the wyvern, and chuckles as he briefly watches the justifier's guard falling to his death. Then Dorkindle hauls himself up onto the back of the wyvern he's now on, to attack the remaining riders, while they attack him in return.
"Poor bastards" dryly murmurs Mira Reinholt as he looks back to the wyvern that Dorc da Orc is now on, the once powerful mage ducks down low in the saddle as lord Farque steps over him, the heavily armoured deathlord sits back down, and takes the reins from the swordmaster from the city-state of Vexil.
As the large glossy green, black wyvern starts dropping down in altitude and heads towards the other two wyverns from Belinswae, the deathlord of Farque looks back at the mage Reinholt and tells him "I'll get close to one of them, teleport over at clear them off".
Mira Reinholt whose hood of his cloak has blown off his head, nods, then does so again, when the undead warlord tells him "I'll take care of the remaining one" as they head down to the right in a long curving sweep, as the two remaining wyverns which the last of the townsmen raiders are upon, head up towards them . . . . . .

Wonderful 56.

The Nomads Plains...

In the morning sky above the nomads plains, a wyvern from the city of Falnic soars upwards, using the rising heat coming up off the dry, arid plains to gain altitude. Upon the back of the wyvern is lord Farque, Dorc da Orc and Mira Reinholt the mage, who are searching for the rest of the group they normally travel with.
Since leaving the port city of Falnic they've been flying back and forth, from north to south and back again, while heading steadily east across the nomads plains.
While the undead warlord has the best chance at finding the others, the mage Reinholt, and when he can be bothered, Dorc da Orc, are also on the lookout for the rest of the group, who they know are traveling by horse across the nomads plains, as they head northeast to the elven principality of Maladimbáh.
Dorkindle, who yawns and is starting to feel hot again as the sun in the morning sky hots up the ground a few hundred feet below them. Grunts in appreciation as the lord and ruler of the lands of the Farque commands the wyvern to head higher up into the sky.
As they climb higher and higher, the temperature starts to drop, the heavily armoured deathlord has the large winged creature level out at about ten thousand feet above the ground.
"Well i can't see anything now" dryly says Mira Reinholt the mage in a loud voice as he sits behind the lord of the death realm, the once powerful mage ignores the muttered comment behind him from Dorc da Orc of "Blind cunt" and takes out his newly acquired elven made, brass, cylindrical eyepiece after he does up his cloak and puts on his gloves, as he feels the cold in the wind this high above the ground.
The Vexilian mage in exile looks through the leather wrapped cylindrical eyepiece, down at the dry, sandy plains below as they sweep to the north again, the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster spots something then says "What's that up there?" the mage Reinholt adds "A nomad camp?".
"It is" replies lord Farque who can clearly see to the north what the once powerful mage has caught a glimpse of "There's smoke" says Mira Reinholt, the deathlord of Farque nods his full helmed head, then says "They've been attacked fairly recently, probably just before dawn".
The undead warlord commands the wyvern northwards, dropping down in altitude too, much to the disappointment of the ork warleader, who can be heard grumbling to himself in his native language, about it getting too fucken hot again.
They're soon above the nomad camp, a fairly small one, and when they start circling at about five hundred feet, the exiled Vexilian mage says "Are we going to land?". "No need" replies lord Farque who is also known as Draugadrottin by the people of his lands, the lord of the death realm continues with "No one's alive" the mage Reinholt winces, while behind him, the large ork licks his lips, and starts to drool as he looks down at all the dead, in and around the cuttings where this particular tribe of nomads made camp.
The undead warlord points out a number of things then says "The townsmen who attacked them came in on wyverns, four or five of them by the looks of it" the heavily armoured deathlord continues with "I doubt they took prisoners to take back to Belinswae to execute" he points out a handful of dead bodies then adds "Some of the raiders there, they didn't lose that many considering how many nomads they killed".
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque gives a command to the wyvern, and it heads up higher into the morning sky, as it does, the undead warlord says "No doubt they're flying about looking for other camps to raid, they'll probably go to ground in the middle of the day when it's hottest" lord Farque who can't sense any sign of other wyverns or their riders within twenty miles of where they are, adds "Keep an eye out for them".
Through the morning they continue the search for the others of the group from the Southlands they usually travel with, they also keep a watch out for the raiders from Belinswae who attacked the nomad camp they came across earlier in the morning. As the morning progresses, they find no sign of either as they fly back and forth, from north to south, while heading progressively more to the east.
As it approaches midday, when it's hottest, and with Dorc da Orc constantly complaining about how hot is, no matter how high the wyvern flies. They land down on the plains, landing in a deep ravine, one of the few places they've seen so far that isn't universally flat.
They spot a deep indentation in one side of the ravine, and land infront of that. Dorkindle is the first to get off the wyvern, by basically falling off it when it lands, and he hurries out of the sun and into the deep cleft in the side of the ravine.
The ork warleader sighs in relief at being in the shade, as the cleft in the ravine goes in about forty feet, he sits down and takes a drink from one of the barrels of ale he's brought from Falnic, that he's been hoarding for the last couple of days.
The undead warlord and the once powerful mage enter the indentation in the side of the ravine, while the wyvern curls up infront of it, and promptly falls asleep. Like all of it's kind, it pretty much ignores all types of weather, and infact it quite enjoys the heat, the hotter it is, the better for a wyvern. It's why they're so abundant here on the nomads plains, and in central and northern Belinswae, especially along that part of the regions coastline.
Not wanting to hear the ork weaponsmith endlessly complain, even if it is cooler here in the cleft in the side of the ravine, than it is outside. Mira Reinholt casts a spell, and the temperature drops in here, the large ork grunts in appreciation, then gets something out of one of his snacks to gnaw on.
After sitting down, the mage Reinholt looks over at lord Farque who is standing nearby, looking out into the ravine, the spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, asks in the elven language "Anyone or anything close by?".
The heavily armoured deathlord briefly glances back at the once powerful mage and says to him in the language of the elves "There's some people about fifteen miles away to the northeast" the lord and ruler of the lands Farque continues with "A tribe of nomads" as he can sense people of all ages, along with livestock, the sheep and goats that the nomad tribes keep.
Mira Reinholt nods his head as he gets comfortable on the bedroll he purchased in Falnic amongst other supplies, then the undead warlord tells him "No sign of the others" as he can't sense anyone else within a twenty mile radius.
After having something to eat and drink, the Vexilian mage in exile settles down for some rest in the coolness here within the cleft in the side of the ravine. The swordmaster Reinholt is soon asleep, like the snoring Dorc da Orc already is. As they do, lord Farque stands vigil at the mouth of the cleft in the ravine, sensing all around at the signs of life, as well as death.
Later in the afternoon, and the deathlord of Farque wakes up the once powerful mage and the warleader of the ork race, they pack up their stuff, and head out to the sleeping wyvern, who Draugadrottin wakes with a command in the language of the dragons, and a thump on it's side.
The trio from south of the equator are quickly up on the back of the large winged creature and in the saddle, lord Farque gives the wyvern a command after it stands up and stretches it's wings a few times. The wyvern, which is a fairly large specimen, and is a glossy greenish, black colour, launches into the air.
Once out of the ravine, which is over a hundred feet deep at it's deepest point at one end. The wyvern circles in slow lazy sweeps to gain altitude, then when it's a few thousand feet above the ground, the deathlord of Farque has it level out, as they head northwards.
They haven't been flying for too long since leaving the ravine, when the lord and ruler of the lands Farque calls out "We've got company!" the undead warlord then adds "About eight miles away, to the southwest". "Not north" mutters Dorc da Orc "Five wyverns and their riders" adds the heavily armoured deathlord, he then says "Two justifiers with them".
"Raiding party" mutters Mira Reinholt, who then asks in a loud voice "You think they know where those nearby nomads are?".
Lord Farque is silent for a few moments as he senses, then he says "Maybe" the lord of the death realm adds "They're roughly heading that way" the undead warlord continues with "For all we know, the townsmen might of mapped out all the places where the nomads camp here in the western half of the plains" he then says "And it's probably why the nomads move around so much when the townsmen increase their raiding".
Dorc da Orc looks back to the southwest, as does Mira Reinholt, through his elven made, leather wrapped, brass cylindrical eyespiece. They look for quite a while as it gets later in the afternoon, then the large ork with his natural farsight spots something, and he says "There's the cunts" the ork weaponsmith points down and to the southwest, as they're flying at over five thousand feet at the moment.
The mage Reinholt takes longer to spot them even with his brass, cylindrical eyepiece, and when he does finally spot them, they're at least a few miles to the rear of them, and much closer to the ground. Flying at a height of just a few hundred feet, and flying fairly quickly too.
"Must be nearly fifty riders" says the once powerful mage, who sees that each wyvern is carrying eight to ten riders, the swordmaster Reinholt continues with "I don't think they've spotted us". "They probably won't" dryly says lord Farque, who continues in a dry tone with "Most people don't look up when they fly, whether it's on a wyvern or griffon, or onboard a ship".
The deathlord of Farque glances back as he continue to sense, then seeing that indeed the raiders from Belinswae must know where the site of the nomad camp is to the northeast, as they are basically heading in that direction. He makes up his mind, then murmurs "Besides they might know something about where the others are" then he commands the wyvern to quickly drop down in altitude.
"They'll probably see us" calls out the mage Reinholt as he sees that they're going to end up in the path of the flight of wyverns from Belinswae "I know" says lord Farque, who then adds "I want them to".
Both the Vexilian mage in exile and the warleader from the Ork Range are silent for a few moments as they take that it, and guess what it means "Oh by the shape of fire, fucking hell" mutters Mira Reinholt who rolls his eyes, while Dorc da Orc chuckles, then loudly says "Get some!" . . . . . .

Wonderful 55.

The Nomads Plains...

The sand dragon sir Percavelle Lé Dic was attacking finally dies when Helbe the elven thief levitates a large rock, and shoves into the gullet of the large creature, causing it to choke to death. Members of the group reclaim any arrows and bolts that can be used again from the bodies of the two dead sand dragons.
Then with the sun up in the morning sky, they gather the two nomad children, and the body of the other that was killed, and get underway again.
The two children were not in the least reluctant to go with them, after all none of them, with the exception of maybe Lisell Maera looks anything like a townsmen. Even Shur Kee the monk, who is short enough to pass for a townsmen of Belinswae, doesn't look like one thanks to his slightly slanted eyes, and the slight golden hue he has to his skin tone.
It also helps that Riley Hait the mercenary ranger can speak the nomads language fluently, for it's exactly the same as the dialect of the southern tundra hordes, which Riley as Zubutai Timaginson actually is.
The group head directly to the east, keeping the long sand to their south, the tribe the children belong to are eastwards, Narladene the ground pixie has gone ahead to check the tribe's camp out.
As they ride, they learn that the boy's name is Tamilane, and the girl is his younger sister Pallen. The boy who was killed, and is now wrapped in a blanket across one of the pack horses, was their friend Banigur.
The boy, who is riding behind Tamric Drubine is doing the majority of the talking as Riley Hait converses with him and his sister Pallen, who sits infront of Lisell Maera, on her horse. Both of the nomad children have no fear of the horses, and though their particular tribe haven't been horsemen in many generations, they instinctively know what to do as they ride with the older youngsters from south of the equator.
In a break in the conversation he's having with young Tamilane, Riley Hait the mercenary ranger turns and looks at Helbe the elven thief and says to him in the elven language "They were out early looking for some missing stock" the human ranger who was raised and trained in the elven principality of Envadarlen continues with "When that first sand dragon attacked them" he then adds "It probably killed their missing goats too".
"I know" says Helbe the elven thief, who continues with "Being a magic user does have an advantage you know" for the young elven noble read the minds of the two nomad children, and the ranger Hait as they were talking.
The mercenary ranger sourly smiles when he figures out what the elven masterthief means, then Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman dryly says "Is nothing private around you?" the elven magic user grins, then says to Riley Hait "Nope, not really" then he nods ahead, and says in a more serious tone of voice "Their camp is ahead, probably less than a mile away, i can hear it".
The elven princeling tosses the reins of his mount to the mercenary ranger and says to him "I'll check things out, and see what Narladene has found" Helbenthril Raendril blurs himself then shifts away.
"Er?" says the ranger Hait, who then adds in the dialect of hordes of the southern tundra "I'm not exactly sure" in reply to Tamilane quickly asking him "Is he a spirit walker?". The nomad youngster who took on a five tonne, thirty foot long sand dragon, with just a pair of long daggers and lot of courage, not to mention a fair bit of luck, then says "He flew before, now he just disappeared" Tamilane, like his sister who has never seen an elf before, but knows that some of them live to the north of the plains, and have heard of what they look like, adds "That elf sure acts like a spirit walker, able to do things others are unable to do".
"Oh you mean spells?" says the ranger Hait, who then adds an ancient word in the dialect of the barbarian hordes of the southern tundra "Palendanuk" that has been long out of use for multiple generations, for thousands of years.
"Yes that's it" says the boy Tamilane, Riley Hait nods, then says "Yes he is" the mercenary ranger from south of the equator continues with "A spellcaster, specifically in his case a magic user". Both of the nomad children look at the ranger Hait with wide eyes, then the older sibling Tamilane says "We hear legends of spirit walkers like we used to have in the tribes countless moons ago" he continues with "Never would i of thought i would get to meet one".
Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman blinks in surprise, then he says to the two nomad children "You mean to say there's no spellcasters, or spirit walkers in your tribe?" the mercenary ranger continues with "In any of the tribes on the plains?".
"None that i know of" says Tamilane, who then adds "But I'm only nine, and I've only visited a few of the other tribes" he then adds "But from the legends told by the tribal bard, there hasn't been spirit walkers amongst us since there was green grass across some of the plains, and when all of the tribes had herds of horses".
That's odd, the ranger Hait thinks to himself, as he knows that wherever you find any human population, you'll find spellcasters. True, they might only be a tiny percent of the population, but they do exist. So finding a fairly decent sized population of human beings without any practitioners of spellcraft, is very odd indeed.
As the mercenary ranger thinks over this, infront of him, Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy says "Their camp is just up ahead" the elf from the principality of Alínlae in the Southlands who is riding next to sir Percavelle Lé Dic, continues with "It's fairly well hidden".
Riley aka Zubutai Timaginson and the others can't see it yet, it doesn't help that the newly risen sun is shining in their faces, but the mercenary ranger takes the word of the elven spy, as his eyesight is far better than any of their's.
"Percy go back and give Shur Kee a hand with the pack horses" says the ranger Hait, who slows down too to let the monk in the order of Bru Li to catch up. Once he's alongside the pack horses, the mercenary ranger from the elven principality of Envadarlen takes the blanket wrapped body of the dead nomad child, and lies it across his knees. Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman then rides forward to the front of the group, where he finds that Helbe the elven thief has returned.
"We've been spotted" says the elven prince to the ranger Hait, the young elven noble continues with "There's the welcoming party now" Helbenthril Raendril who is speaking in the elven language, then adds "The tribe's leader is the one with long hair, that's braided more intricately than the others" he follows this with "Wearing a half sword".
Riley Hait nods in understanding as he and the others see what seems to be people popping up out of the ground, which in actual fact are just a group of nomads climbing up out of the cuttings that make up their camp, that are cleverly hidden along a wide area of flat ground.
A few of the nomads come up a bit closer to the mounted group, they're the hunters who first spotted the group from south of the equator.
"The rest of you stay back" quietly says prince Helbenthril Raendril in the elven language, he repeats in the common language for Shur Kee the monk and sir Percavelle Lé Dic who can't speak the language of the elves, then the elven masterthief murmurs to the ranger Hait "Have those two nomad children come with us".
The group come to a stop, and dismount about thirty yards from the nearest of the nomads, who are predominantly armed with spears and long daggers. Though Riley aka Zubutai Timaginson sees a few with bolas and whips, weapons that are also common to the hordes of the southern tundra. He also notices that there's almost as many women as men awaiting them. Something else the nomads have in common with hordesman of the vast southern tundra. Where the women are expected to fight for, and defend the hordes just as much as the men.
After Riley Hait tells the two children Tamilane and Pallen to come along, the mercenary ranger carrying the blanket wrapped, dead body of their friend Banigur. Walks forward with the elven magic user, who he hopes is casting something to divert any misunderstanding that might occur. The young elven noble is indeed doing something like that.
The two nomad children rush forward when they see those they recognise, Tamilane and Pallen call out to their fellow nomads as Helbe the elven thief and Riley Hait the mercenary ranger walk behind them.
The two from south of the equator stop a bit back as the two children are greeted by some of their tribe, then as Narladene the ground pixie appears on the right shoulder of the elven princeling, who is the only one able to see her at the moment. A number of the nomads move forward, including the tribe's leader.
"Greetings" says the Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman in his native dialect as the nomads come to a stop, and stand about a dozen paces away.
"Greetings" says the tribal leader in reply, who looks them over, along with the rest of the group further back, momentarily pausing as he looks at Lisell Maera, before staring at Tamric Drubine with his bright blue eyes and blond hair, something he's never seen before on a human.
"No townsmen?" asks the leader of the nomad tribe "No townsmen" says the ranger Hait "Well that's obvious" murmurs one of the other nomads beside the leader of the tribe. Who has seen elves a few times in the past crossing the hot, arid plains that the nomads call home, but never humans who weren't nomads, townsmen or half breeds.
The nomads who are surprised to find that one of the strangers can speak their language so fluently, listen to Riley Hait say "We came across the children a few miles to the west of here, near the sands" the mercenary ranger continues with "They were being attacked by a pair of sand dragons" Riley aka Zubutai Timaginson holds out the dead child wrapped in the blanket in his arms, and says "Unfortunately we got their too late to save this boy".
One of the nomad hunters moves forward, and takes the dead child from the ranger Hait. The hunter rolls back the top of the blanket, then quietly says to the other nomads "Banigur".
The tribe's leader winces, so do the others, while the one who murmured earlier to his leader, mutters "Fuck" as they look at the blanket wrapped body of one of their children.
The tribe's leader looks back at Tamilane and Pallen who are chatting away with some of the others further back, then he looks at the mercenary ranger and the elven masterthief and asks "And the sand dragons?".
"Dead" replies Riley Hait, the leader of the tribe looks around the two of them, to where the rest of the group are standing patiently with the horses, then he says "Sorry for your losses" the tribal leader then adds "How many did you lose?".
"None" replies the mercenary ranger who is in actual fact, a hordes outrider from the southern tundra. More than a few of the nomads within listening distance, including the tribes leader and those with him, lift their eyebrows in surprise. Then after he clears his throat, and looks up at the sun in the morning sky, which promises another hot day on the hot nomads plains, then looking back at young Tamilane and Pallen, the tribal leader says "Thank you for bringing back our children" he follows that up with "Welcome to you strangers, let us get out of the sun, shall we?". . . . . .

Wonderful 54.

The Nomads Plains...

Riley Hait the mercenary ranger dismounts, then calls out "Are you alright?" in the hordes dialect of the southern tundra to the two nomad children who are nearby. After a moments hesitation at hearing someone speaking their language, who isn't a nomad, the boy replies with a shouted "Yes!" in his native language.
Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman who sees Helbe the elven thief floating up in the air, shooting his royal longbow. Rushes forward, then comes to a stop at the edge of a wide depression.
"Oh shit" murmurs a surprised Riley Hait at what he sees, the mercenary ranger looks up at Helbe the elven thief who calls down to him with "They're immune to magic!" in the elven language.
The ranger Hait takes his elven longbow, and quickly strings it as the others start to arrive behind him, the mercenary ranger who is in actual fact, a hordes outrider from the southern tundra soon has an arrow to his bow, and shoots it off.
Riley aka Zubutai Timaginson goes for the creature, which he guesses is a sand dragon, as they heard plenty about them in the city of Falnic, that prince Helbenthril Raendril is attacking. The other one is being attacked by sir Percavelle Lé Dic, and that madman is on top of that one, and the mercenary ranger doesn't want to accidently shoot the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic, even though he wouldn't lose any sleep over it if he did shoot him by accident.
Seeing that Helbe the elven thief is shooting the sand dragon in the legs, flanks and back, where it's natural armour isn't. The ranger Hait puts his arrow into the front left leg, making sure to miss it's large bony looking knee. The sand dragon lets out hiss as it tries to come around the side of the depression, up onto the flat ground where Riley Hait and the two nomad children, and now where the others are.
Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy jumps off his horse in one smooth movement, he's already got his crossbow in hand, and has extended it out, making the stock longer, and expanding the bow arms. The elf from the principality of Alínlae in the Southlands runs by the pair of nomad children, and when he's alongside the ranger Hait, and sees what's happening, the elven spy lifts his weapon and shoots off a bolt.
Seeing where the sand dragon has been shot, Dalinvardél or Dalin as the rest of the group often call him, shoots the same one that both Riley Hait and Helbenthril Raendril are attacking.
Though the head of the sand dragon is protected by plates of natural armour, the elven spy who served in one of the noble houses in Alínlae, sees that the flat looking face of the sand dragon, isn't that well protected, apart from it's forehead, eye ridges and eyelids.
So Dalinvardél Tanith slams one bolt, followed quickly by a second, into the face of the large thirty foot long creature, that has a long, stocky, but tapered looking body, similar to the thunder beasts of the southern tundra.
The elven spy aimed for the mouth, and is rewarded as one bolt gets lodged in the lower lip of the sand dragon, which lets out a hissing bellow, while the second bolt goes right into it's open maw, and thuds into it's thick tongue, causing it more than a bit of discomfort as it starts to shake it's head as trundles up around the side of the depression in the ground.
Meanwhile as the others in the group dismount, down in the depression, sir Percavelle Lé Dic yelps, then says "Ungrateful beast" as he's shrugged off the back of the sand dragon he's on, and he goes sliding down it's side, then hits the ground.
The heavily armoured knight rolls to one side to avoid getting stomped on by the wounded sand dragon. The knight in the order of Saint Mar-che is quickly back onto his feet, and repeatedly slamming his pick and claw hammer into the side of the sand dragon.
"Ha ha you fiend, take that!" says the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic in the Southlands as his claw hammer and pick axe, one after the other, slam into the right flank of the large creature, which bellows in pain as the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che attacks it.
"Narille" mutters the earl of Lé Dic who is almost knocked over by the badly wounded sand dragon as it shuffles sideways with it's right rear leg dragging along behind it. The paladin, well he still thinks of himself as a paladin, ducks down, and rolls beneath the sand dragon.
Flat on his back, the heavily armoured knight slams his claw hammer and hand pick into the belly of the thirty foot long creature. From the high pitched screech it emits, it's fairly safe to assume that it's underside is particularly sensitive compared to the rest of it's body.
"Ungrateful bugger" mutters sir Percavelle as he quickly rolls the other way, and out from underneath the sand dragon, before it drops down, and is able to crush him to death.
The knight who was amongst the highest ranks in the order of Saint Mar-che before he was demoted, slams his pick axe into the left flank of the bellowing sand dragon that's trying to lift itself up off the ground, but is having difficulty doing so due to it's useless right leg.
The nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic slams his hand pick so hard, it gets wedged in the side of the large creature "Here you go Percy lad" says the paladin who quickly backs up, before running forward and jumping upwards.
The large heavily armoured knight who in his early forties, is still agile and dexterous, leaps up, putting a steel boot on his pick axe, lodge in the side of the sand dragon. And uses that to boost himself up onto the broad back of the large creature.
The earl of Lé Dic gets his balance as he stands, then from across his back, the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che who has more weapons than is good for him, takes a heavy hook with a steel link chain attached to it.
"Lets see how you like this shoved up your nose you big ugly brute" says a gleeful sir Percavelle as he works his way up the back of the sand dragon, trying to stay on it, and not come off it.
Meanwhile, the others who have arrived, with the exception of Shur Kee the monk, who is trying to gather the reins of the horses, are attacking the other sand dragon, that's almost come up the around the side of the depression, onto the flat ground above.
Parts of the second sand dragon resemble a pin cushion, for Tamric Drubine with his bow, and Lisell Maera with her repeating crossbow that originally belonged to Shur Kee, have joined the others in shooting the large creature of the long sands.
The wounded sand dragon with a bellow stumbles up onto the flat ground, and Helbe the elven thief who is floating up in the air, disappears as he shifts, an instant later he's on the ground, right behind the large creature, holding his sword in hand, while his longbow is once again across his back.
Casting increased strength upon himself, the elven princeling from the island of Laerel, slams his sword into the left rear leg of the sand dragon, easily cutting into it's thick hide with his increased strength. As the large creature bellows in pain again, the elven masterthief moves quickly to the other hind leg to attack that.
Lisell Maera who is to one side, and is shooting the repeating crossbow at the right flank of the sand dragon, sees what prince Helbenthril Raendril is doing, she drops her crossbow, draws her sword, and runs to join the young elven noble at the rear of the sand dragon as it stumbles forward bellowing in pain and anger.
"Hell, it's a tough bastard for sure" says Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy as another bolt shot from his crossbow thuds into the face of the stumbling sand dragon. Beside the elf from the principality of Alínlae, Riley Hait the mercenary ranger nods his head in agreement, and says "That it is" as the two of them back up as the large creature stumbles their way.
The ranger Hait glances back, and sees that Shur Kee the monk, who has gathered the horses and taken them some distance away, has run back, and has placed himself infront of the two nomad children. The mercenary ranger sees the monk in the order of the Bru Li take a hold of the jade pendant he wears on a silver chain around his neck.
Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman is about to call out to the physical adept that the sand dragon is immune to direct magic which Helbe the elven thief told him about. When he remembers that the power the short statured monk possesses, is not exactly magic. Infact it's far from it, it's something completely different.
"Move" says the ranger Hait to the elven spy next to him, the two of them run to the side, near where Tamric Drubine is using his bow to shoot at the sand dragon. The mercenary ranger sees Lisell Maera and Helbenthril Raendril at the rear of the large creature, attacking it's back legs "Lis, Helbe get out of there!" shouts Riley Hait.
Helbe the elven thief glances around the side of the sand dragon when he hears the ranger Hait call out to him and the orphan teenager from the city-state of Brattonbury. The elven masterthief spots Shur Kee the monk, who is holding his jade pendant that's around his neck, the pendant that's now glowing green.
The young elven noble grabs Lisell Maera after she hacks her sword in the right rear leg of the sand dragon, and he shifts the two of them away. Just as Shur Kee lets go of his pendant, and gets into a fighting stance, with his left leg out infront of his right, and both of his hands, to that side and slightly behind.
A moment later and the monk from the kingdom of Wah Lee on the far eastern coast of the continent, is pushing both hands out infront of him, and then Shur Kee the monk shouts "Bru Li spirit!".
A large ball of white looking energy, about eight feet wide forms infront of the short statured monk, then shoots off towards the wounded sand dragon, that's bellowing in anger and pain as it stumbles forward.
The ball of energy travels the twenty five yards to the sand dragon, and smacks straight into it's flat face. The large creature puts out a high pitched screech, and it's wide head snaps back with force. It lifts up as if it's going to rear up on it's hind quarters, an impossible feat as it's far too heavy to do so. But all the same it's lifted up as it continues screeching in pain, then up off it's front legs, the sand dragon, topples over onto it's side, hitting the ground with a loud thud, where it lies immobile, as it quickly dies.
There's a few moments of silence, then from down in the depression, the voice of sir Percavelle calls out "Hello up there, a little assistance in dispatching this damn brute might be in order!" the earl of Lé Dic in the kingdom of Druvic continues with "The sandy beast is providing quite the task for i, the great sir Percavelle to vanquish, though in due time, I'm sure I'll be up to the task, but in the meantime, assistance would be welcomed!".
The others make their way to the edge of the depression and look down. Where they find sir Percavelle standing on top of the back of the sand dragon. He has a hook lodge in it's nose, and is pulling back on the chain attached to the hook. The sand dragon is hissing as it's already bloody mouth is wide open, and unable to be closed because of what the heavily armoured knight is doing to it.
There's also a pick axe in it's side, while a claw hammer is in it's face, just below it's right eye, which like the left, is closed, with it's armoured eyelid over it. There's a sword sticking out of the large creatures back, just down from the armoured plates, the sword must of severed the spine, as the sand dragon is flat on it's stomach and not moving, though it's still alive.
"Come on, we might as well help him out with it" says Helbe the elven thief to the others . . . . . .