Wonderful 79.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

"Your name?" asks lord Farque, the elven noble is reluctant to give it, but a simple squeeze on his left arm that the undead warlord is holding, is enough for him to answer.
After giving his name, the elven noble says "My mother is cousin to lord Haldéilv" as the two of them stand near a pair of intertwining trees on the forest floor, he continues with "I was at my lord's tower when you attacked the dining hall, when you freed that prisoner of my lord's ungrateful get".
"I see she's popular with the rest of her family" dryly says the heavily armoured deathlord, the elven noble sourly smiles at the reference to lord Haldéilv's illegitimate daughter, Kaldeàlil.
The two of them look up, and the lord and ruler of the lands Farque says "Looks like your mount won't return for you" the lord of the death realm who can sense how badly injured the elven noble's griffon is, continues with "It'll die soon anyway if it keeps flying" as they hear the large winged creature screeching in pain with every beat of it's wings.
"What do you want?" asks the elven noble who like the deathlord of Farque is speaking in the language of the elven nobility "What's been happening lately in your lord's lands?" asks Draugadrottin as he's known by the people of his lands.
"Will you kill me?" warily asks the cousin of the local lord, who knows his magic is ineffective against the large, heavily armoured figure who has a tight grip upon his left arm. "No" replies lord Farque who then silently adds, well not yet.
"Well, what's been happening since i attacked your cousin's tower?" asks the lord of the death realm, who after sensing, and slightly shaking his full helmed head, behind the visor of which, he wryly smiles, gestures away to their right, and says "That way" followed by "Start walking" then he adds "Come on, don't go fucking quiet on me now, spill".
A long, low groan issues from the mouth of Dorc da Orc as he lies, gut down, over one of the bottom branches of the tall tree he's fallen through. Above him is a path of broken and snapped branches that he's smashed through, until finally coming to a stop on the thick branch he's lying over.
"Bads birdy cat" mutters Dorc da Orc, which he can barely get out as he's winded, and it hurts to breath, probably from broken ribs. The large ork grimaces, and he looks down at the ground about fifteen feet below. Not caring, he slides backwards, and falls to the ground, which he hits with a thud, this illicits another low, long groan from the ork warleader.
"Fuck" gasps Dorkindle, who over the years has taken untold falls, many of them through trees as tall as the one he's just smashed down through. Though this time it particularly hurt, because the griffon he was holding onto, smashed him into the trunk of the tree a couple of times before he fell.
Hope that fucken birdy cat gets killed dead, the ork weaponsmith thinks to himself as he hears the griffon far in the distance, constantly screeching in pain as it flies away, Dorc da Orc though in pain, grins as he knows the spear he thrust into the griffon's breast will kill it, if it's not removed quickly, or if it continues to fly for too long.
"Got you cunt" murmurs Dorkindle, who then chortles, then hisses in pain and grimaces as it hurts to laugh.
Neh get fucked, the warleader of the ork race thinks to himself after the voice of his 'Mother' within his mind suggests that he takes one of the healing potions he has tucked in a slot in his wide belt.
"Me just lie here for a fucken bit" murmurs Dorc da Orc as he lies on a bed of dry pine needles, in a bit of shade, so the morning sunshine doesn't hit him. The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks sniffs deeply a few times, even though it hurts to do so.
He grunts at what he smells in the distance heading in this direction, and thinks just lying here and waiting is probably the best thing for him to do at this moment in time "Could do with some fucken booze" murmurs Dorkindle as he lies there waiting.
"Bloody hell" mutters Mira Reinholt the mage as he looks back to the east in the direction lord Farque, Dorc da Orc and the other wyvern went off after the griffon. The once powerful mage who saw in the distance, the other wyvern, the large glossy green, black one fall out of the sky, and into the forest.
Spots far in the distance, heading further east and south, the griffon which seems to be laboured as it flies away. The Vexilian mage in exile can't see the undead warlord or the ork warleader. Though he thought he saw the deathlord of Farque falling through the air with someone else, probably the griffon rider.
The mage Reinholt who with his limited power, is too far away to sense the elven noble who was on the departing griffon, has got problems of his own.
Another griffon, this one from the mountains to the south, is rapidly approaching him and the maroon coloured wyvern that he's on.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster sourly smiles as he knows the smaller wyvern he's on, will easily been caught by the fast moving griffon. Which is the fastest things in the skies of Volunell, with the exception of dragons, and Greater Dragons.
Mira Reinholt who is over the western edge of the forest, and is now heading over farmland in an area that's less than twenty five miles north of the seat of power of the local lord, which is on the otherside of the mountains to the south.
Has the wyvern slow down a bit, when he pulls the reins back. The exiled Vexilian mage who knows the smaller wyvern cannot flee the approaching griffon, also knows that's what it will instinctively do when the griffon gets close to it.
Knows his only chance is to try take out the elven noble riding the griffon, or take out the griffon itself. After his brief encounter with the previous griffon, and seeing what lord Farque did, he knows his best chance will be to eliminate or incapacitate the griffon. For more than likely, the nobleborn elf will certainly be far more powerful than he is at magic.
The swordmaster Reinholt who figures the approaching griffon rider probably saw some of which just happened, does the unexpected, he pulls back hard on the left rein, and the wyvern, which lets out a protesting squawk, starts to slowly turn in a wide arc, so that they start heading south, directly towards the approaching griffon, that's heading this way fast.
"Need a bit of a top up there Mira" murmurs the mage Reinholt, who puts a gloved hand into a hidden pocket in his black cloak, and drains some of the spell gem he has there. The once powerful mage who instantly feels a boost in magical energy, creates a trio of mageglobes, one after the other. Promptly losing most of the magical power he just drained from the gem he took a hold of. The spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands doesn't care as he watches the three mageglobes shoot forward towards the approaching griffon and it's rider.
"You won't be expecting that" murmurs the practitioner of magic who was once the youngest member of the mage council of his homeland, as he knows he must of been sensed by now by the elven magic user on the fast approaching griffon, and the last thing they would expect from him is a mageglobe, three of them as well.
The swordmaster Reinholt puts up a barrier and protection spell as he fights the wyvern by pulling down on it's reins, as it's reluctant to fly straight at the approaching griffon. With a tight lipped smile Mira Reinholt watches as his fast moving mageglobes home in on the griffon and it's rider. From which comes a wave of green fire towards the exiled Vexilian mage and the maroon coloured wyvern he's on.
"Fuck" mutters the highly skilled swordmaster who is pretty sure he also sees a disturbance in the air behind the tall wave of fire coming towards him. He looks quickly down as he hears his first mageglobe explode, he then looks up and sees the griffon and it's nobleborn elven rider fly through the cloud of fire from the mageglobe exploding unharmed.
The mage Reinholt pulls on the right rein, and the wyvern turns sharply, all too willing to veer away from the oncoming griffon. The once powerful mage grimaces as the green wave of fire turns in mid air, and continues towards him and the wyvern.
He hears his second mageglobe explode, the spellcaster from south of the equator looks more to the left, and sees the griffon and it's rider are fine, though they've turned away, and are being chased by the last of the mageglobes created by the Vexilian mage in exile.
Although he gets some satisfaction at what he sees, Mira Reinholt mutters "Fuck, fuck, fuck" as the wave of green fire continues towards him and the maroon wyvern, which has turned northwest, while the griffon and the elven nobel on it, has turned southeast as they fly from the last mageglobe that's pursuing it.
The once powerful mage knows his barrier and protection spells might save him against the high, wave of green fire rippling through the morning sky. But it definitely won't stop what's behind it.
And as the wave of fire gets closer and closer to the maroon coloured wyvern from it's left side, the mage Reinholt looks quickly down again. The spellcaster who is a highly skilled swordmaster keeps his spells up, hoping to give the wyvern a slim chance. But all the same, he disappears, as he teleports down to the ground, just over five hundred feet below.
As Mira Reinholt appears next to a low barn on one of the farms to the west of the forest, the maroon coloured wyvern is broadsided by the wave of green fire. The large winged creature lets out a loud screech, but it flies through the wave relatively unharmed. With just wisps of green coloured smoke coming off it's flanks and wings.
The Vexilian mage in exile as he looks up winces, as the wyvern which has just survived the wave of green fire, is hit side on by the blast spell that was directly behind the rippling wave of fire. "Damn" murmurs Mira Reinholt, who then quietly adds "I didn't even like the stupid thing" as he shakes his hooded head, and feels sorry for the maroon coloured wyvern as he watches it drop out of the sky, with a large hole in the side of it's left flank, and most of it's left wing missing.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster glances towards the nearby farmhouse, then around the side of the low barn. He sees a few elves out in a field who have been watching what's been happening in the morning sky above, walking away in the distance, to where the dead wyvern has just hit the ground.
The once powerful mage who is too far away to sense either his last mageglobe, or the elven noble on the griffon it's chasing. Turns and walks behind the low barn, he hops over a low stone wall, scattering a few chickens. In the distance to the east, a few miles away, he can see the forest on the otherside of the road, that goes through this part of lord Haldéilv's lands, in a north, south direction.
Mira Reinholt teleports that way, he goes about half a mile, and after he reappears in the middle of a wheat field, he walks not wanting to waste anymore of his limited power.
"Hope they're not too far away" mutters the swordmaster Reinholt after he takes a drink from his water bottle as the late summer's morning gets warmer and warmer, and he heads towards the forest to the east, hoping to find lord Farque and Dorc da Orc as soon as possible . . . . . .