Wonderful 80.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

"A relative of yours?" asks lord Farque, the elven noble beside him nods his head yes as the two of the look to the sky to the south. They can't see what happened because of all the trees in the way, but they both sensed what happened about four miles away, when a mageglobe finally exploded.
"Not anymore he isn't" dryly says the undead warlord, the elven noble grimaces as tears threaten to fall from his eyes. Then he continues walking, as the lord and ruler of the lands Farque is doing, as he holds the left arm of the cousin of lord Haldéilv.
"You were saying" says the heavily armoured deathlord as they make their way eastwards through the forest, the elven noble clears the lump in his throat, then he says "She's been seen here in my lord's lands again" he continues with "She isn't welcomed, and her father's guards and others, like myself have been ordered to bring her in for what happened the other week at my lord's tower".
"You're welcome" says the lord of the death realm in a cheerful tone, the elven noble sourly smiles at the reminder that the large, heavily armoured figure walking beside him is the reason for the attack on lord Haldéilv's seat of power.
"If she hadn't brought that damn human spellcaster she had prisoner" mutters the elven magic user whose mother is a first cousin of lord Haldéilv "Easy there, I'm a human too" says lord Farque, who then silently adds, a dead one though.
The elven noble sourly smiles, and they turn a bit to the left, more north after the lord and ruler of the lands Farque nods his full helmed head in that direction, and says "More that way".
"What else?" asks Draugadrottin as he's also known by to the people of his lands faraway to the south of the equator, after sourly smiling again, the elven spellcaster rather reluctantly says "Word we got early this morning, before dawn was that some of my lord's patrols had been attacked recently" he continues with "Add that to the sightings of mercenaries in my lord's lands, more of his house guards along with others like myself, are on patrol to quell the unrest".
"I blame that daughter of his" says lord Farque who ignores the muttered "Illegitimate" from the elven noble and continues with "She's a major shit stirrer if I've ever seen one" the undead being known as Des'tier by an older generation of elves who might know who he is, silently adds, she'll do anything to find Helbe, and draw him into whatever trap she has planned.
"If you find her, you'll find the cause of all the problems you've been having recently" says the lord of the death realm, who pauses for a moment as the two of them hop over a fallen tree, then he adds "Kill her, and no more problems".
"Oh so you'll disappear if she's killed too?" says the elven noble who doesn't do anything to hide the sarcasm from his voice, the heavily armoured deathlord slightly snorts behind the visor of his full helm, then he says "I'm not a problem to you and your lord" he continues with "I might remind you, you attacked me and my acquaintances this morning, not to mention your lord allowed her to hold her prisoner in his tower" he pauses for a moment, then adds "So who was the problem again?".
The elven noble falls silent at that, and remains so as they walk through the forest, passing beneath tall pines, and around smaller junipers as the morning continues on. After a while, the lord and ruler of the lands Farque asks "Is that justifier from Belinswae still in attendance at your lord's tower?" the undead warlord then adds "The one who was there, when i ah, paid a visit?".
The elven noble sourly smiles at another reference to the attack upon lord Haldéilv's seat of power, then he says "Yes the mage Kaellin and what's left of his routine are still there" he continues in slightly dry tone of voice with "He's not exactly happy with his situation, nor is my lord".
"But Haldéilv is still willing to take the justifier's gold to allow him to station some of his guards in your lord's lands, so they've got easy access to raid into the plains to the south" knowingly says lord Farque "I'm not privy to my cousin's decisions" says the elven noble, who after he sees the large, heavily armoured figure, who stands even taller than he is, glance sideways at him from the eye slots in his full helm, he adds "But I suspect you are correct".
Of course i am, any idiot could work that one out, the deathlord of Farque dryly thinks to himself, who then gestures to a knoll in the forest just up ahead, and he says "Beyond that" as they walk that way, the two of them, the elven magic user, who knows whatever spell he could cast, would be useless against the large heavily armoured figure who has a tight grip upon his arm. And the undead warlord continue their conversation in the language of the elven nobility.
Dorc da Orc scowls as sunlight streams down onto his face through the branches above, or what's left of them. The large ork gets a few moments of respite as a small cloud passes overheard, but the morning sun is soon shining on his face again as he lies there on the forest floor on a pile of dry pine needles.
"Krom" mutters Dorc da Orc, who grunts and winces slightly in pain as he lifts his rift arm, and covers his face with his forearm "Fucken cunt sun" growls the large ork, who still has plans to fly an airship to the sun and destroy it. How and when he's going to do this, he hasn't exactly figured out.
The ork warleader who has left his nose uncovered, turns his head slightly to the right, and ignoring the babble of voices in his head, the loudest of which is his 'Mother' he sniffs deeply a couple of times, and grunts in satisfaction. He continues to lie there and wait, listening carefully as he does so.
Not too long afterwards, Dorkindle hears voices, one of whom is very familiar. The ork weaponsmith sourly smiles as they're talking in one of the elven languages. Which one, he has no idea, he doesn't care, he thinks both of them are shit. And he's perfectly fine in not understanding either one of them.
The large ork grunts after he smells and hears two people standing close by, he lifts his arm away from his face, slightly wincing in pain as he does so. Then Dorc da Orc says "Nah me just lie here for a fucken bit" the ork weaponsmith adds in a mutter "Me a bit hurties" in response to lord Farque telling him "Get up cunt".
The undead warlord looks down at the ork warleader, sensing as he does so, and notices the big ork has shattered ribs, as well as internal injuries. And though Dorkindle's fast acting natural healing abilities are already taking effect. It'll be a day or two before he's fully healed, and the deathlord of Farque hasn't got time for that.
"Take one of those fucking potions you've got, we need to go" says the lord of the death realm "Nah those things taste like veggie shit" mutters Dorc da Orc who like the large figure in the blue, black heavy plate armour, is speaking in the ork language, he then says "Who the fuck is this leaf eatin' cunt?" as he looks at the elven noble beside the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
"No one" says undead warlord who then nudges the prone ork weaponsmith with a steel boot, and tells him "Hurry up, take that healing potion you cunt". "Neh" says Dorc da Orc in a belligerent tone of voice.
Lord Farque rolls his eyes, then reaches down and takes a small glass vial out of a slot in the belt of the ork warleader. Draugadrottin sees the large ork firmly shut his mouth, so when the deathlord of Farque stands up, he puts a steel boot on the throat of Dorkindle and pushes down.
Before he's able to move his arms, Dorc da Orc opens his mouth and gasps for air, the small glass vial drops into his mouth, and lord Farque takes his steel boot off the big ork's throat, reaches down and slaps the bottom of the ork weaponsmith's chin, causing him to shut his mouth and swallow.
Dorkindle makes a face of disgust, then says "Yuck!" he groans then sits up as the lord of the death realm slightly shakes his full helmed head, as he feels like laughing, but he refrains from doing so.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque knows Helbe the elven thief specifically makes the healing potions for the large ork to have a strong, concentrated vegetable taste. He wonders what that one tasted like. Like all of them, whatever it was, it was disgusting to the sense of taste of the big ork from the wolf tribe of orks.
As Dorc da Orc sits there, mouth open, tongue out, which he's rubbing with a large hand, and repeatedly saying "Yucky" lord Farque tells him "Get up, we're going cunt".
Eventually, with a scowl plastered on his big, broad, feral looking face, the ork warleader gets up, groaning as he does so. Dorkindle who is unsteady on his feet for a moment or two, heads after the deathlord of Farque and the elven noble he's holding by the arm, who have turned and are walking back the way they've come from.
The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks stumbles the first few steps he takes, then once he rights himself, he's walking normally and he soon catches up to the other two, no longer feeling the tired ache that's the result of taking a magical healing potion.
With the scowl still on his face, Dorc da Orc growls "Who's the cunt?" as he gestures at the elf, who like he did when he stood over the large ork when he was prone on the ground, has put his free hand over his nose and mouth, because the ork weaponsmith has a rather pungent aroma to say the least.
"No one" repeats the deathlord of Farque, who then switches from the ork language to the language of the elven nobility, and continues the conversation with the cousin of the local lord, lord Haldéilv.
Dorkindle sourly smiles as he walks beside the other two, listening to them talk in a language he has absolutely has no idea about.
It's mid morning by the time Mira Reinholt crosses the farmland and the road and enters the forest proper. The once powerful mage just walks directly eastwards, knowing that the other two will find him more easily than he will find either of them.
The Vexilian mage in exile has only gone into the forest less than a thousand yards, when he spots lord Farque, Dorc da Orc, and an elf through the trees, walking towards him.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster stops, and waits for them. It's not long before the three of them reach him.
The once powerful mage nods his hooded head at the elf who he senses is a magic user, making him nobleborn. Lord Farque says to the exiled Vexilian mage "Is everything he's told me true?".
"Wait a moment" says Mira Reinholt the mage who then casts a spell to see if the elven noble has been telling the truth or lying to the undead warlord, the spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, nods then says "He's been telling the truth".
"Good" says lord Farque with a slight nod of his full helmed head, then the lord of the death realm lets go of the elven noble's arm, and quickly grabs his head instead, and twists it. There's an audible crack, and the lifeless body of the elven magic user drops to ground.
Dorc da Orc chuckles then says "He dead" the mage Reinholt lifts an eyebrow, for the lord and ruler of the lands Farque looks down at the elven noble he just killed, and mutters "Shit".
"What is it?" asks the exiled Vexilian mage "I should of got him to teleport us south before i killed him" says Draugadrottin, who continues with "Cause you can't exactly teleport us far and both of the wyverns are dead" the swordmaster Reinholt just shrugs to that, for that is true enough.
They start walking west to the edge of the forest, and Mira Reinholt says "So we continue southwards?" lord Farque nods his full helmed head, then says to the other two "The others are there, about twenty miles away, near those mountains to the south" he continues with "Too far for Narladene to sense you Mira" .
"At least we know where they are now" murmurs the mage Reinholt, the heavily armoured deathlord nods in agreement, then he says "Just a pity there's just about everyone you can think of after them now, thanks to that scheming bitch Kaldeàlil" lord Farque then he adds "Whether they know it or not, they're heading right into her trap, whatever it may be" . . . . . .