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 . . . . . .