The Homecoming 141.

Within The Enemy Camp...

Sir Percavelle Lé Dic stops and looks back, and rolls his eyes as he sees that Dorc da Orc has run into the rather large tent to the left.
From within tent, the heavily armoured knight who is the former earl of the Lé Dic fief, can hear screams of terror from those who have the misfortune of being in it with the big, burly ork.
"Get some" growls Dorc da Orc who kicks over a camp bed with an enemy soldier on it. Then stomps on the head of another soldier from the Harkonin fief, who is lying on a stretcher, trying to move but is unable to.
The large ork from the southern polar region of the world, back hands one of the surgeons in the healers tent, who runs at him, swinging a sword with little skill.
There's an audible crack of the man's skull shattering when the ork warleader hits him, and he falls to the ground.
Dorkindle tips over another camp bed with a wounded Harkonin soldier on it. Kicks an injured messenger who is trying to crawl away.
Then grabs another wounded soldier, a more capable, and not so injured as the others, who swings an axe at the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks.
The big, burly ork chuckles after he headbutts the Harkonin soldier, shattering apart the front of the man's head.
Dorc da Orc flings the body away, picks up the discarded axe, and slams it down into the face of an enemy soldier who is trying to get up from the camp bed he's on.
The large ork who is the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks, then stiff arms one of the tent poles as he continues on his way through it.
The section of the tent behind the warleader of the ork race collapses. Then he biffs the purloined axe, throwing it at a healer who is trying to escape, attempting to lift up a side of the large tent.
The axe slams into the back of the healer, propelling him forward, ripping the side of tent open, and sending him outside.
"See cunt, me just helps you outside" chuckles the big, burly ork who doesn't have to really duck down as he makes his way through the tent as it's so large.
Then Dorkindle who after stomping on the back of an an injured Harkonin soldier who is trying to crawl away with a broken leg. He spots what he's caught a whiff of.
"Oooohhhh" so says the ork weaponsmith in delight as he stops and picks up a clay jug of cleaning alcohol, the big, burly ork downs it in a few gulps. Makes a bit of a screwed up face as it's particularly strong, then he burps, and grins in satisfaction.
He tosses the jug away, tips over another camp bed with a petrified Harkonin soldier on it who can't move. And continues on his way through the large healers tent here in the heart of the enemy camp on the tourney field to the south of castle Lé Dic.
"Beast!" calls out sir Percavelle Lé Dic as another part of the large tent that Dorc da Orc is in, falls down upon itself.
The knight in the order of Saint Mar-che who is looking around for those they're searching for, in particular baron Raevar Harkonin, and the baron's advisor, the dark druid Palvarc.
Punches in the face a wounded enemy soldier who comes stumbling blindly out a side opening in the large tent.
"Take that you foul villain" declares the former paladin after dropping the blind Harkonin soldier, then kicking him in the side of the head with a steel boot, as he lies there helpless upon the ground.
The nobleborn knight who once ruled the Lé Dic fief then sourly smiles behind the faceplate of his full helm as he catches wind of the smell of smoke from within the large tent he's next to.
The former knight of the first class, who is probably the most well known ordered knight, not just here in the eastern region of Druvic, but the entire kingdom.
Rolls his eyes as he hears the all too familiar, growling and rumbling laughter of the ork warleader from within the large tent, which from the smell of it, the large ork has just set on fire.
After kicking over another brazier, Dorkindle grunts as an enemy soldier who is trying to flee, bumps into him, and drops to the ground.
The big, burly ork who hails from the bottom of the world, reaches down and picks up the dazed Harkonin soldier. And throws him on the camp bed that's just caught on fire. With another enemy soldier in it, who was unconscious and unable to move when the large ork tipped the lit brazier onto it.
Waving away smoke that's infront of his face, the ork weaponsmith from the southern polar region of the world looks around. Then after he kicks a crawling Harkonin soldier out of the way. He heads towards the side of the large tent.
Dorkindle bashes an enemy surgeon in the side of the head, who comes stumbling through the smoke towards him. Then the big burly ork runs into one of the tent poles, knocking it down as he heads to one side of the large tent.
As most of the healers tent collapses, sir Percavelle Lé Dic gets out of the way of it, and the large ork who comes charging out of the side of it, trailing smoke around and behind him, as it goes up in flames.
The former paladin looks quickly around trying to spot their quarry, who he knows is somewhere in the enemy camp that's been set up on the tournament field off to one side of the road, that's to the south of the massive castle that is his family's ancestral home.
The heavily armoured knight looks between some tents in the direction he and the ork warleader were heading until the large ork got distracted.
"Beast, where is that vile druid who serves that despot baron?" asks the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che as he looks back at the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks.
The big, burly ork from the very bottom of the world, grunts and looks around as he sniffs, waving away smoke that's coming from the large tent that's on fire.
Frowning as he looks around, the large ork sniffs, then growls and follows that up with "Fucken magics".
Sir Percavelle Lé Dic or Percy as he's more commonly referred to by the rest of the group. Quickly takes his shield from across his aback, and draws the sword of knockdown as he hurries behind a nearby tent.
The locally born nobleman waves for the big, burly ork to follow him. And for once the warleader of the ork race actually does.
"Which way?" quietly asks the former earl of Lé Dic, who screws up his face in disgust behind the visor of his full helm, as the large ork who is standing right beside him, stinks beyond belief.
The heavily armoured knight wants more of the smoke from the burning tent to blow this way to help mask the smell of the ork weaponsmith.
But unfortunately for him, the slight wind this afternoon is blowing in the other direction. Sending smoke and burning embers away across the camp back towards the road next to the tourney field where the Harkonin army have their camp.
Dorkindle pops his head up over the top of the tent they're behind. Then he ducks down quick, and quietly says "North" followed by "Me can't see the cunt" the warleader of the ork race then adds "There some other fucken Harky cunts going that way too".
The former paladin nods his full helmed head, and wonders if the spellcaster from the fief across the border to the east is invisible at the moment. He suspects so as he glances around one side of the tent.
Then the ordered knight, looks back at the large ork, who at seven and half foot tall, who when he stands upright, can see over most of the tents used by the enemy army.
And realising that the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks will make a far larger target than himself, not to mention another shield between him and the dark druid Palvarc.
He quietly tells the ork weaponsmith from the southern polar region of the world "Here beastie, you led the way to this dastardly druid".
The big, burly ork shrugs his massive shoulders, as he doesn't care if he's out infront or not.
Then he walks straight ahead, right into the tent they're standing behind. The large ork brings down the tent as he walks into the side of it.
Dorc da Orc takes an axe from the front of his weapon harness as he repeatedly sniffs the air. Not even the smoke from the nearby burning tent can hide the scent of the nearby spellcaster who has caught wind of.
The warleader of the ork race, more of less heads in a straight line to where he can smell the dark druid Palvarc, who seems to be coming back in this direction.
Behind the big, burly ork, the former knight of the first class follows fairly closely. And though Percy wants to hold his nose, as not to smell the large ork.
He grins and bares it, as he keeps fairly close to the weaponsmith who is the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks.
Dorkindle briefly halts after breathing in through his nose, then he turns right between two rows of tents. The big, burly ork crouches down a bit as he walks quickly between the tents.
While other tents, further back, on the otherside of the burning healers tent that's collapsed. Ignite into flames as fire starts to spread through the enemy's camp.
The warleader of the ork race, who can definitely smell the dark druid Palvarc close by. Sniffs as he walks, and soon locates the spellcaster who is the personal advisor to the ruler of the fief across the border to the east, baron Raevar Harkonin.
Dorc da Orc stops again, and looks back at the heavily armoured knight who has stopped behind him.
The big, burly ork grunts, then points with his axe, to where he can smell the dark, druid Palvarc "That way" mutters the ork weaponsmith, who then adds "The fucken asscunt".
The former paladin in the order of Saint Mar-che nods his full helmed head then quietly says "Lead on" to the large ork.
The big, burly ork grunts and continues on his way, keeping fairly low, at least beneath the height of the tents to either side of them.
Behind the warleader of the ork race, the nobleborn knight follows him closely. Keeping an eye out for any sign of baron Harkonin's advisor, the dark druid Palvarc.
Once again Dorkindle stops, though this time he growls as he slightly crouches behind a tent that has a wagon next to it.
Then all of a sudden the large ork, for someone so big, moves quickly off to one side, almost diving behind the tent to the right.
Without pause, sir Percavelle Lé Dic moves that way too. Diving to the right, to land on the ground next to the ork weaponsmith, behind that tent.
An instant later and the wagon explodes in a shower of wood and metal. Peppering the tent they were just behind.
Bits of wood ping off the heavy armour of the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che. While shards inbed themselves into the upper left arm, and left side of the big, broad, feral looking face of the warleader of the ork race.
After wiping blood and bits of wood off the side of his face, Dorkindle is up and moving. Followed closely by the former earl of Lé Dic.
The large ork who is moving his head slightly from side to side, as he listens as much as he sniffs. Comes to a stop behind another tent.
The heavily armoured knight stops behind him, and then nods his full helmed head, when the ork weaponsmith gestures with the axe he's holding, where exactly the invisible spellcaster from the fief across the border to the east is.
The big, burly ork who has been in the group longer than anyone else. When the group was just him and lord Farque. Gives a couple of hand signals to the nobleborn knight.
And though the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che only knows a few of the hand signals that the ork warleader, and the lord and ruler of the lands Farque use. He knows exactly what the large ork from the southern polar region of the world wants done.
Fine by me you smelly beast, Percy thinks to himself after quickly nodding his full helmed head in agreement to the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, the former paladin then silently adds, besides that doth put you in harms way more than i, wot.
Dorkindle narrows his eyelids as he crouches there behind one of the tents in the camp of the Harkonin army. A camp that's catching on fire closer to the road, here on the tourney field to the south of castle Lé Dic.
The big, burly ork who is listening as much as he's smelling their quarry. Can hear who assumes is the dark druid Palvarc. Moving slowly, and quietly, behind a row of tents, just twenty yards from where he and the former knight of the first class are.
The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks, the matriarch who he killed, which led to his exile from the Ork Range at the very bottom of the world.
Hears and smells the unseen spellcaster from the Harkonin fief, turn in this direction.
The large ork glances back at sir Percavelle Lé Dic and nods, the heavily armoured knight nods in return, then moves.
After quickly glancing at the magical shield and magical sword the nobleborn knight has. A grin briefly appears on the broad, green, brutish looking face of the ork weaponsmith.
Dumb fucken knight cunt, you get me to go fucken first to set Dorc ups eh, the ork warleader thinks to himself, that large ork then silently adds, that magicky fuckhead is after you 'cause of that stupid fucken shield, and Dorc's sword you gots.
The ork weaponsmith looks back at the former earl of Lé Dic, who slips between a couple of nearby tents.
Then Dorkindle grins again as he hears and smells the nearby dark druid, stop again, then turn slightly, and start heading in the direction that the heavily armoured knight has gone.
Dorc da Orc as he crouches there behind one of the tents in the enemy camp, keeps absolutely still, holding his axe in his hands, while he waits for the invisible spellcaster to walk by where he is . . . . . .