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!" . . . . . .