The Homecoming 138.

Close Calls...

On the battlements along the south wall of castle Lé Dic. Riley Hait the mercenary ranger finds himself in the midst of some heavy fighting as he makes his way eastwards along the parapet where the enemy have gained another foothold.
The mercenary ranger who hails from the elven principality of Envadarlen, pulls a townsman out of harms way. And slams one of his long daggers into the side of the neck of one of the enemy.
The ranger Hait who doesn't even have the time to cover the lower half of his face with the black cloth that's wrapped around his throat and neck.
Shoves the dying Harkonin soldier off the parapet, sending him to the courtyard below. The less of the enemy, living or dead upon the parapet, the better.
The mercenary ranger who is really a hordes outrider from the southern tundra by the name of Zubutai Timaginson, who due to circumstances beyond his control, happens to find himself inhabiting the body of Riley Hait.
Ducks beneath an axe swung at him, then drives one of his long daggers up into the groin of the Harkonin soldier who just tried to chop his head off.
The mercenary ranger pushes that enemy soldier backwards, sending him toppling off the top of the wall, screaming as he falls to the moat on the otherside of the wall.
Looking ahead, Riley Hait the mercenary ranger mutters "Fuck" and he quickly drops to the parapet. Narrowly avoiding a Harkonin soldier who comes flying backwards at him, passing overhead, before tumbling to a stop.
With a sour looking smile upon his face, Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman stands back up. And nods, as further along the parapet, sir Percavelle Lé Dic calls out to him "Awfully sorry about that old chap, didn't see you there wot!".
Then the human ranger who was brought up and trained by some of the elven warders of Envadarlen, shakes his head, as further behind the former earl of Lé Dic. He spots the large form of Dorc da Orc stomping his way along the parapet, heading this way.
The ranger Hait wonders if the ork warleader and the heavily armoured knight are going to be fighting each other, as much as the enemy.
After all they have done so in the past since the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che joined the group.
And only the presence of lord Farque has kept them from trying to kill each other.
But with the battle for castle Lé Dic going since the morning, and now it's approaching mid afternoon. The two members of the group who dislike one another. Who for them, have been fairly civil to one another so far today.
Things could quickly change, if one or the other tries something that could be construed as an attack against the other.
Sir Percavelle Lé Dic who kicks an enemy soldier between the legs, then slams the shield of Saint Mar-che into the face of the Harkonin soldier, sending him off the back of the parapet, to fall to the courtyard below.
Rolls his eyes, and sourly smiles behind the faceplate of his full helm, as he smells a god awful stench coming towards him from behind.
He then hears the heavy stomps, and the grunts that usually accompany the familiar stench.
"Quack!" shouts Dorc da Orc like an oversized duck, as he swings the axe he's got in his right hand.
"Narille!" yelps the former earl of Lé Dic who immediately knows what that means, and he ducks down, and narrowly avoids the heavy ork axe that would of easily chopped his head off, helm and all.
The axe slams into a Harkonin soldier who has just hauled himself up onto the top of the wall.
The axe sheers through the body of the enemy soldier, chopping him in half just above the waist as the ork warleader yells "Get some!".
The top half of the Harkonin soldier falls away to the moat below, followed a moment later by the waist and legs.
Sir Percavelle Lé Dic spins around, and holds the shield of Saint Mar-che out infront of him, bracing himself as he clutches the sword of knockdown in his right gauntleted hand.
Behind the visor of his full helm, the former paladin scowls as he looks up at the large ork who towers over him.
As for the ork weaponsmith, he stands there scowling down at the heavily armoured knight. Keeping a careful watch upon the magical sword in the right hand of sir Percavelle Lé Dic, a sword that was once his.
"You wanna go cunt?" asks Dorc da Orc "We can fucken do this now if you wants" adds the warleader of the ork race, who truth be told, doesn't really care who he kills, just as long as he gets to kill someone.
The two of them, the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks, and the former earl of Lé Dic.
Are cautious of one another. For the simple reason that sir Percavelle or Percy as he more commonly referred to by the rest of the group. Has his magical sword and magical shield.
While Dorkindle, who is so physically overwhelming, and incredibly strong. And wears a plate of armour from a dead dragon. Could easily kill one another if they got lucky.
In the years before the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che joined the group. They repeatedly tried to kill one another whenever they ran across one another.
It's not from a lack of trying that they haven't been successful. It's just plain luck, and a fair bit of utter stupidity from both of them, that they weren't able to kill one another.
Now as they're upon the south wall parapet of the massive castle that's been the home of sir Percavelle's family for centuries. Facing one another, there's a slight pause as they both think. Momentarily think, since neither one does a lot of thinking in general. What they'll do.
The pause is interrupted by a Harkonin soldier who gains the top of the wall right next to the two of them.
"Get some!" shouts the large ork as he swings his axe at the same time the former knight of the first class yells "Lé Dic!" as he stabs the sword of knockdown.
The heavy axe slams down into the head of the enemy soldier who is trying to stand up onto the top of the wall. The axe goes down through the chest, almost down to the navel of the Harkonin soldier, almost splitting him in twain.
Just then the point of the sword of knockdown touches the enemy soldier in the lower guts. And he goes flying backwards away from the battlements.
There's a slight pause, then Dorc da Orc burst into laughter as the enemy soldier goes back a good thirty feet in the air, continuing to split, before he drops to the moat below.
He's completely split down the middle when the two parts, the left and right parts of his body hit the moat just short of the waters edge.
Sir Percavelle Lé Dic guffaws as well when the enemy soldier, hits the water in two parts. Then the heavily armoured knight and the ork weaponsmith turn and look at one another. Both scowling again as they see what one or the other will do.
Their standoff upon the south wall parapet of castle Lé Dic is interrupted by "Dorc, Percy shove that fucking ladder off the wall!" from Riley Hait the mercenary ranger who calls out from further along the battlements.
The knight in the order of Saint Mar-che sourly smiles, while the ork weaponsmith grunts in a dissatisfied tone. The nobleborn knight picks up a discarded polearm. And puts it to the top of the enemy scaling ladder that's infront of them, and pushes.
After a few moments, Dorkindle grabs the back half of the polearm, and pushes as well.
With the enormous strength of the big, burly ork added to the efforts of the former paladin, they easily push the scaling ladder away from the face of the south wall of castle Lé Dic,
The two Harkonin soldiers climbing up it, fall off before it crashes down into the water.
Sir Percavelle Lé Dic quickly lets go of the polearm just incase the large ork behind him, gets it in his head to push him off the top of the wall too.
From the disappointed grunt he hears from the ork warleader behind him, that's exactly what the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks was exactly thinking.
Letting go of the polearm, and as the heavily armoured knight moves to one side. The large ork picks up a dead enemy soldier, looks over the top of the wall, and throws the body down at the raft below, that had the ladder they just pushed off, on it.
Dorc da Orc then looks across to the otherside of the moat, sniffing as he does so, and says to himself more than anything "Where that fucken magicky cunt that gots me?".
Knowing who exactly the ork warleader means, the former knight of the first class, who doesn't particularly want to tell the big, burly ork anything, decides to tell him "There be villains you seek beast".
The weaponsmith from the southern polar region of the world glances at the nobleborn knight beside him, who gestures towards the enemy camp to the rear.
"That foul druid Palvarc returned, it was he who smite you with his dastardly spellcraft" says the uncle of lady Linara Lé Dic "He and that poor excuse for a baron he advises, badly i may add" continues the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che, who then tells the warleader of the ork race "Fled to their camp yonder, after a certain mishap which caused their near destruction when that evil doer did try to smite me with his staff of devilry".
Dorkindle shakes his head, and mutters in his native language "Fucken windbag" as he looks at the former earl of Lé Dic, he then glances down at the large skull of his mother tied to his belt, as he silently adds, the silly cunt yaks as fucken much as you do.
'Piss off, i don't rattle on as much as that fucking idiot knight, you fat fucking cunt' Dorc da Orc thinks to himself, who then scowls at the skull tied to his belt, then mutters in the ork language "Ah fuck up ya nasty whore, me wasn't fucken takin' to you". Which infact, he actually was doing. Not that he'd admit it to anyone, especially to himself.
The large ork grunts as he looks to the enemy camp, that's on the tourney field to the south of the massive castle that's been the home of the Lé Dic family for generations.
The ork weaponsmith then glances at the nobleborn knight, who walks away, heading in the direction of the very center of the parapet along this side of castle Lé Dic. To above the main gates in the south wall of the massive castle. Which Riley Hait the mercenary ranger is walking back to, after fighting his way along the parapet in this direction.
The big, burly ork with one last look in the direction of the enemy camp, sets off after the former earl of Lé Dic.
There's a deep looking scowl upon the broad, green, brutish looking face of the ork warleader as he sets off after the former knight of the first class.
The mercenary ranger from the elven principality of Envadarlen who is in command of the defence along this side of castle Lé Dic. Looks back along the battlements, in the direction he's walked from.
The ranger Hait sees that sir Percavelle Lé Dic is heading this way along the parapet, followed by Dorc da Orc.
The two of them, the former earl of Lé Dic, and the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks. Are cutting down any of the enemy in their path as they head this way.
Well, they aren't exactly cutting them down. They're actually sending them flying off the battlements.
Either with Percy hitting them with his sword of knockdown, and using the shield of Saint Mar-che to batter the enemy off the top of the south wall of castle Lé Dic.
Or with Dorkindle, grabbing any Harkonin soldier the heavily armoured knight infront of him misses.
The big, burly ork who hails from the southern polar region of the world, just biffs the enemy soldiers off the wall he grabs.
Sometimes down to the south courtyard, but usually over to the moat. Hoping to hit any of the Harkonin soldiers and camp followers down on the water.
And the fact that he sees getting wet, is far more hazardous than hitting the cobblestones nearly fifty feet down, in the courtyard below.
If he was going off the battlements, he'd rather hit the courtyard again, than hit the water in the moat, that's for sure.
Riley Hait the mercenary ranger, who is just to the left of the very center of the parapet along the south side of the massive castle that's the ancestral home of the Lé Dic family.
Is soon joined by the former earl of that family's fief. A few moments later and the warleader of the ork race joins them.
"That incompetent, and inbred baron, along with his pet druid, who has returned" says sir Percavelle Lé Dic to Riley Hait "Are yonder in that piss pot, ramshackle camp of their's" adds the former paladin, who continues with "Ran off after that evil doer Palvarc tried his magics upon me, and failed miserably".
"I know" says the ranger Hait, who glances at the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che first, then at the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, who as usual, is making himself an easy target for those of the enemy with bows and crossbows.
"What shall we do then?" asks Percy who then adds "About the threat of that heathen druid?". It's exactly what Dorkindle is thinking too. Though no way would be of phrased it like the former knight of the first class just did.
"We wait" is the reply from Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman as he looks to the enemy camp where baron Harkonin and his advisor, the dark druid Palvarc are.
Not exactly satisfied with the answer from the mercenary ranger who hails from the elven principality of Envadarlen.
Sir Percavelle Lé Dic glances up at Dorc da Orc, who isn't exactly pleased with the answer from the ranger Hait too. Though the scowl on his big, broad, green, feral looking face is directed at the former paladin as much as at what Riley Hait just said.
The large ork grunts, then slightly nods to the heavily armoured knight, then looks to the enemy camp on the tourney field to the south.
The former earl of Lé Dic looks that way as well, as the two of them have exactly the same idea in their heads . . . . . .