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 . . . . . .