Wonderful 98.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

Dorc da Orc grunt which causes Mira Reinholt the mage to stop, look back and ask him "What is it Dorc?".
Throwing away the gnawed on leg, the large ork sniffs repeatedly as he looks south through the trees, then Dorc da Orc says "They fucken moving". "Which way?" asks the once powerful mage "That away" replies the ork warleader with a wave of his right hand to the west as he adds "Not north" Dorkindle grunts again, before continuing with "All 'cept that tree bitch Helbe, and Farque, they goin' that away" as he waves eastwards this time.
The mage Reinholt nods his hooded head as they stand beneath a tall tree in the forest, then the Vexilian mage in exile continues on his way, heading more to their right as they head further down into the valley. The ork weaponsmith follows him as they start walking to the west as much to the south.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster is heading the direction the rest of the group are going. As he knows that he and Dorc should be with them, for lord Farque and Helbe the elven thief can look after themselves. As the two of them are more than capable with dealing with anyone or anything who might get in their way and cause trouble.
While the others, who himself and the large ork haven't seen for a few months, are less likely to deal with any trouble they might get into.
Not that I've got any spare power to waste, added to the fact I'm with this big fucking walking disaster, Mira Reinholt dryly thinks to himself as he glances back at the warleader of the ork race, who is scowling at the moment, as they cross a fairly decent sized gap between some of the trees, and the warm morning sun streams down and hits them.
Once they're beneath the canopy of the trees again, and after Dorc da Orc loudly mutters "That cunt sun, me is gonna kill it one of these days" which causes the mage Reinholt to roll his eyes. The highly skilled swordmaster from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands is just about to ask the ork weaponsmith if the rest of the group are still heading westwards, when Dorkindle quietly, well quietly for him anyway, says "Fucken hold up a mo killer".
The once powerful mage stops and as the large ork stands alongside him, Mira Reinholt quietly asks "What is it?". The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks is looking between the trees around them, though mostly infront of them, quietly says "Peoples".
"Who?" quietly asks the exiled Vexilian mage "Fucken tree humpers, leaf eaters" answers the ork warleader meaning elves. "Guards?" quietly asks the swordmaster Reinholt who knows the ork weaponsmith can smell a freshly oiled blade, and newly polished armour from well over a mile away.
Dorkindle grunts then says "Yeah cunt" he points to the southwest and adds "A fucken road that way".
"Come on" quietly says the mage Reinholt with a nod of his hooded head for the large ork to follow him. The spellcaster who at one time, was more powerful than any other mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, sets off at a brisk pace, walking quickly, and jogging at times.
The ork warleader who like the mage, is exiled from his own homeland, is soon sweating, not to mention swearing, as he keeps pace with the highly skilled swordmaster from south of the equator.
Dorc da Orc who would really not want to be moving so quickly on what's a warm end of summer's day, is buoyed by the prospect of the thought of violence.
For even if the once powerful mage thinks it's not wise to attack the elves that the ork weaponsmith has caught a wind of, the large ork has every intention to attack them no matter who they are.
The large ork who killed a fair few elven house guards yesterday afternoon in the town north of the mountains they stopped at. Is in the mood to kill again, especially as he has caught the scent of horses with the elves he knows are to the south and west of them, and he wants to indulge in a little bit of horse rape.
They head up a slight incline in the forest, once they crest it, the exiled Vexilian mage scrambles down behind some bushes as he sees a road less than sixty yards away that cuts through the forest.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks plops down beside the highly skilled swordmaster, and he says "They still gonna fucken see us" Mira Reinholt wryly smiles then quietly says "Of course they will with your big fucking head sticking up like that" as the large ork's head is clearly above the bushes.
Dorc da Orc shrugs, and after lying back and resting on his elbows, so that he's beneath the tops of the bushes, the ork who was named warleader of his race by lord Farque five years ago when they were in the city of Vexil, says "They still gonna fucken see us" he continues with "They fucken elvey shits, prolly fucken hears us too" the large ork then adds in a mutter "Pointy ear bitches".
The swordmaster Reinholt slightly nods as he knows the ork weaponsmith is probably right, then the once powerful mage gestures down to the road, and quietly tells the large ork "Come on then, let's wait for them out in the open".
A wide grin splits the feral looking face of Dorc da Orc who after chuckling, says "Sounds fucken good to me cunt".
The two from south of the equator get up, and make their way quickly down to the forest road, then after looking to the east, the mage Reinholt stands beside the ork warleader and looks westwards as he is doing.
Dorkindle nudges Mira Reinholt which sends the Vexilian mage in exile stumbling a couple of steps as the grinning ork weaponsmith quietly says to him "Hey Mira, this just like fucken old times eh?"
The swordsmaster Reinholt after righting himself, can't help but grin himself, for the large ork must be happy as he actually used his name, instead of his nickname killer, or cunt, which he calls most people.
But also because the ork warleader is right, this is just like old times. When the two of them along with lord Farque when it was just the three of them traveling together, would stand out in the open, in the middle of roads. Where they would rob wagons, riders, and travellers between villages, towns and cities of the various city-states, principalities, kingdoms, and unruled lands right throughout the Southlands.
"Yeah Dorc, just like old times" quietly says the grinning mage Reinholt as he and Dorc da Orc wait on the forest road, after a few moments the Vexilian mage in exile quietly asks "The others still heading west?".
"Not north" mutters Dorkindle who looks away to their left, to the south, and sniffs, he grunts then says "Yep" the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordsmaster then asks "How far?" though not expecting anything accurate from the big ork.
"Fucken mile or so" answers the ork warleader who grins and holds up three fingers, the once powerful mage nods his hooded head and guesses that the others are between a mile and three miles away to the south and west, more than likely two, if that answer from the large ork is anything to go by.
Mira Reinholt slightly frowns as he figures that the group with the exception of lord Farque and Helbe the elven thief seem to be heading to the tower of lord Haldéilv. Which the elves on this road, coming from the west, have left from.
Wonder what they're up to? the swordmaster Reinholt thinks to himself, then the mage who is in exile from his homeland of the city-state of Vexil, is pretty sure he hears something in the distance to the west, he glances at Dorc da Orc, and asks him "It's that them?" the once powerful mage adds "The house guards?".
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks answers with a grunt in the affirmative, the mage Reinholt slightly nods, then walks further west along the road, until he gets a better view through the trees to the west, the warleader of the ork race joins him further along the road.
Mira Reinholt is still as he waits, while Dorc da Orc rocks back and froth on the balls of his feet as he waits. And though where they are on the road has no shade on it at the moment, the large ork doesn't complain about being in the direct sunlight.
After a little while the mage Reinholt spots the first of the elven house guards through the trees, riding along the road this way. The Vexilian mage in exile murmurs to the ork weaponsmith "Any magic users with them?". Dorkindle shrugs his shoulders then replies with "Can't smell any magicky cunts" the once powerful mage slightly nods, but he still holds his power within himself, so as not to give himself away to any other spellcaster who might be in the area.
The house guard, who must be the fore rider of a squad, slows down when he spots the two from south of the equator through the trees, standing in the middle of the forest road. After a short while, more of the squad come into view, they too slow down when they spot Mira Reinholt and Dorc da Orc.
The Vexilian mage in exile murmurs to the ork warleader "Don't say or do anything until i say so". The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks, who would normally ignore something like that, looks down at the mage in the black hooded cloak who stands at least a foot and a half shorter than himself.
The large ork looks at the oncoming riders, then again down at the mage Reinholt standing next to him, and grunts and quietly says to him "Sure killer".
The swordmaster Reinholt watches the elven house guards, the first of whom, bring their mounts to a halt, just thirty yards from where the two from south of the equator are standing.
Even from this distance, the spellcaster who was once more powerful than any other mage of his generation in the Southlands, can hear some of the house guards quietly talking to one another in their own language.
He hears a few of them wondering if Dorc is a troll, then one who apparently has traveled to Belinswae, informs the others that Dorc is too short for a troll, not to mention he's far uglier and nastier looking than any troll he saw in the shipyards of the city of Falnic.
You got that right, Mira Reinholt thinks to himself, who also hears that if they wonder the two of them are amongst the group of mercenaries they're suppose to also look out for. Though apparently they're not, as they don't meet the description of the group of mercenaries they've also been told to look for as they head east to the border with lord Walashàele's lands.
Must be the others they're talking about, the swordmaster from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands thinks to himself, the once powerful mage who doesn't recognise any of the house guards, knows that they'll probably recognise him if he was to take the hood of his cloak off his head to fully reveal his face.
He counts the mounted elven house guards, then slightly nods as he watches one of them ride forward through the group, he figures that house guard is more than likely to be the squad leader.
Whoever he is, once he's out infront of the rest of the riders, he says in the common language to the two on the road "Stand aside travelers" he nods to one side of the road, then adds "Get off the road".
Mira Reinholt who out of the corner of his right eye, is pretty sure Dorc da Orc is using all his willpower not to attack the elven house guards, as the large ork is noticeably swaying from side to side, and back and forth, as he moves on the balls of his feet.
Says in the common language to the rider out infront "No that's alright" the highly skilled swordmaster continues with "Why don't you lot ride around?" he pauses before he adds "And we'll just continue on our way".
There's silence from the elven house guards, and the one forward of the others, who is indeed their leader, frowns as he stares at the two from south of the equator, though in particular at the exiled Vexilian mage.
The squad leader still frowning, says "You, show your face" he continues with "Take that hood off".
"Ah well, i better do that then shouldn't i" quietly says the mage Reinholt, who then lifts his hands up, takes a hold of his cloak's hood, and flicks it back off his head.
Well that's done it, the once powerful mage dryly thinks to himself, as he sees a look of recognition pass across the face of the squad leader, and a couple of the others in the squad of mounted house guards. As the three of them were in the banquet hall the night that lord Farque freed the highly skilled swordmaster from the tower of lord Haldéilv where he was being held prisoner by the local lord's illegitimate daughter, Kaldeàlil Haldéilv.
It starts to dawn on the others at who the figure in the black cloak is, as they've all heard of what he looks like. And as the squad leader says "You!" in a tone of shock, and goes to draw his sword, Mira Reinholt quickly says "Dorc if you would like to".
The Vexilian mage in exile doesn't even get to finish what he was going to say, which was "Dorc if you would like to help yourself".
Because the large ork has reached back as he rocks back and forth on his feet. Grabbed a throwing axe from across his back on his weapon harness, and in one motion pull his arm around and forward, and thrown the crescent bladed axe.
The axehead slams into the upper chest of the leader of the squad of elven house guards, blood sprays everywhere as the squad leader is knocked backwards off his horse, and hits the road dead.
There's a moment of silence, with the exception of the horse out infront neighing as there's no longer a rider in the saddle on it's back.
Then the silence is shattered by a loud roar from Dorc da Orc, which is followed by a shout of "Get some!" from the large ork. Then more violence ensues . . . . . .