The Hire 80.

Phelm. Nastell...

Dorc da Orc scowls as another of the forward scouts rides back by them along the road. That's about the tenth one to ride by him and his battalion in the last little bit.
The large ork who is already in a foul mood, due to it being another hot, sunny day here in the kingdom of Nastell. Especially at this time of the day, the early afternoon.
Is in an even fouler mood because of what he smells somewhere up ahead of them on the road.
Then as he spots another rider coming back, most likely on his way to the first of the armies further back along the road from where the ork warleader and his battalion of goblins are.
Dorkindle has Teabagger the goblin Cunt stop the scout, to see what's going on up ahead on the road.
If the big, burly ork was already in a foul mood. He's absolutely disgusted when he hears what the scout in the Farqian mercenary army quickly tells the goblin commander Teabagger.
The ork weaponsmith who like all of his kind, is from the southern polar region of the world. Who is naturally angry to begin with.
Is even more angrier as he trudges ahead along the dusty road, in the early afternoon heat. Not even a flock of sheep in a paddock away in the distance to the right can distract him. As he stomps his way forward along the road at the front of his battalion of goblin soldiers in the mercenary army from the lands Farque.
All of whom, including their commander Teabagger, stay a bit back from their general. Not just because he's in an angrier mood than normal.
But also because he reeks beyond belief. As the large ork still refuses to take off the poncho, that's made out of a side of a tent. That was made by a number of the battalion. When it rained for a few days earlier in the campaign. Back when they were still up in the southern reaches of the Colevar Mountains.
It hasn't rained since, and doesn't look like it will rain anytime soon. Even here in central Phelm, where a lot of the paddocks and fields are still fairly green. With some only starting to turn brown, or straw coloured now as the hot summer continues across the north of the kingdom of Nastell.
They make their way around a wide bend in the road, that goes by one of the very few hills of significant height here in the central region of the duchy of Phelm.
They only go about another thirty yards when Dorc da Orc suddenly stops and growls "Fuck" in anger as he sees what's up ahead.
Further ahead along the road, are most of the forward elements of the Farqian mercenary army. Who are at ease, off to the sides of the road.
Away to the left, or east. Is a river. The river Mareb to be exact. It goes in a wide bend as it flows from the east, then turn southwest.
And the road goes over the river. Well it did. Because the large bridge that's spanned across this part of the river for the last couple of centuries. Has been destroyed. Recently by the looks of it.
With a look on his broad, green, brutish looking face that's a mix of anger, hate and abject disappointment, as well as resignation.
The warleader of the ork race heavily sighs, and resumes walking, quickly followed by his battalion of goblin soldiers.
The big, burly ork who is the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks. The matriarch he killed. Which was only fair, considering at the time she was doing her best to kill him.
Grunts when he spots the cavalry company of Darid Parsen off to the side of the road, closest to the riverbank where the bridge once stood on this side of the river Mareb.
The large ork who is from the very bottom of the world. Where in the frozen climate there, you would usually find an ork. As they're really not suited for the warmer climate further north of the southern polar region of the world.
Sourly smiles as he spots his rival sir Percavelle Lé Dic, is still with the cavalry company led by commander Parsen. Who Dorkindle will always think of as Zubutai Timaginson. Or at least someone pretending to be Zubutai the barbarian hordesman.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks has always thought that, no matter what body over the years, Zubutai the son of Timagin has inhabited.
"Someone should push that fucken knight cunt in the river" mutters Dorc da Orc, who then orders Teabagger to have the battalion fall out. As it looks like they're not going anywhere, anytime soon.
Then the ork warleader along with the small, bright green goblin who commands the battalion of goblin soldiers in the armies of Farque. Make their way forward to where commander Parsen, his second in command Kalleb, and other officers in the forward elements. Along with Shur Kee the monk, and sir Percavelle Lé Dic. Are standing where the foot of the bridge once stood on this side of the river Mareb.
"Hey cunt" says Dorkindle in greeting to commander Darid Parsen. The large ork nods to Shur Kee the monk, and completely ignores sir Percavelle Lé Dic who is off to one side, chatting with some of cavalry company he and the short, statured monk have been traveling with for the last few days.
Ignoring sir Percavelle Lé Dic who loudly says "I do say, has someone dug a privy trench, because all of a sudden things do pong, wot".
The warleader of the ork race says to the cavalry commander "Gonna need someone to fucken fix that cunt" as he looks at the remnants of the bridge. Which all that's left, are the base on either side of the river.
"Tovis and his engineers will be coming forward to rebuild it" says Darid Parsen the cavalry commander, who continues with "He and his corp have the equipment and material to fix such things".
"Should just have one the magicky cunts spell it new" mutters the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
"Magic doesn't exactly work like that Dorc" dryly says the cavalry commander, who in reality is a hordes outrider from the southern tundra by the name of Zubutai Timaginson, who just happens to find himself inhabiting the body of Darid Parsen. Who previously was a foot soldier in the army of lady Linara Lé Dic in the kingdom of Druvic.
"Useless fucken magics" mutters the ork weaponsmith, who is the general of his own army. Well battalion really. Which is made up of nearly two hundred goblins.
Looking at the fairly wide river in disgust, Dorc da Orc who like all ork kind, totally abhors water, asks the cavalry commander "Any other fucken way across the cunt?".
Nodding his head, commander Parsen, who is also a member of the personal council of the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, points away to the southwest, the way the river flows, and says "There are, some of the scouts have gone on ahead to check on them".
Darid aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman continues with "And some of the armies can go that way, and approach the city of Almaic from the north and west".
Dorkindle grunts, as provisionally, that's the way he and his battalion will be going. Though all hasn't been determined as they've yet to see the enemy defensive lines around the city of Almaic. Or if they're even got any.
"Though others, and all of general Halvane's army will have to cross the river before it turns directly south and runs alongside the city" adds councilor Parsen who continues with "Because if we end up attacking the city, they'll have to cross across the river once more to take it from the east side".
"Fuck that" mutters the Dorc da Orc, who when the provisional plans to attack the city of Almaic was drawn up immediately after the city of Savariss was taken. Ruled himself, and his battalion out, from attacking the capital of the duchy of Phelm from the east.
Infact the three field commanders didn't even bother to think of letting him and his goblin battalion attack Almaic from the east. As they, and everyone else knows of his distaste of water. Or even being on water. As those who, or if they have to attack that side of the city, will have to do.
The warleader of the ork race looks in disgust at the former earl of Lé Dic. Who he hates almost as much as he hates water, and the sun. The things that orks hate the most in life. Along with dwarven kind who are their natural enemies. Because they hate getting wet. And they hate getting hot.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world looks beyond where the heavily armoured knight and some others are standing near the edge of the water. Then he grunts as he spots in the distance, who he could smell approaching.
"That girly coming this fucken way" says the ork general who gestures away to the west. And though the humans can see that someone is riding this way from that direction.
It takes a little while before Darid aka Zubutai Timaginson identifies the rider heading this way.
"Lis" murmurs the cavalry commander as they watch the messenger heading this way along the riverbank.
And when she gets to them, and reins in Lisell Maera says to the council member "Zaneff's found a spot that you might be able to ford".
The attractive young woman who hails from the coastal city-state of Brattonbury, who is now a messenger in the armies of Farque, continues with "Though only those who are on horseback" she then adds "He said something about him not being a courser, and it'll be difficult to hold the water back for even a short amount of time".
Commander Parsen slightly nods as he kind of understands what his lead scout Zaneff means, then Darid aka Zubutai the son of Timagin asks the messenger "How far away?".
"About two and half miles, just before the river turns directly south" replies Lisell Maera who is more commonly called Lis by those who know her well.
"Better than nothing" murmurs the cavalry commander, who then calls to the other officers of the forward elements, to attend him.
The member of lord Farque's personal council starts issuing orders, one of which is to find any water elemental coursers. Though he knows most of them who in the Farqian mercenary army. Are the contacts with the spies who have infiltrated duke Hargen's army.
And they're most likely further south. Even in the city of Almaic by now. Which is only about ten or eleven miles away to the southwest.
As riders and even others on foot in the forward elements start to move out, Darid Parsen says to the ork warleader "Dorc, you and your battalion head west after captain Weldin's patrol" as he points to the riders going directly west.
"You'll eventually get to another road" adds the cavalry commander, referring to the road that he and his company could of taken this morning, as it was near the farmhouse they stopped at.
"It leads to the north side of the city" continues the member of lord Farque's personal council.
Dorkindle grunts, then does so again, when Darid aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman dryly says to him "Don't attack the damn city by yourselves".
Commander Parsen then says "They'll most likely have lines out from the city, watch and observe things until our armies get there".
"Yeah, yeah cunt" says the big, burly ork in an offhand manner.
The cavalry commander sourly smiles as he knows there's a distinct possibility that the large ork will completely disregard what he just told him to do.
"Should i send Percy along with you to make sure you do what i just said?" quietly says Darid Parsen.
While Teabagger the goblin Cunt winces, Dorc da Orc with a hurt look upon his face says to the councilor in an injured tone "What the fuck did me ever do to you cunt?".
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks continues with "Did me kill your mummy and shit on her?" followed by "Did me fuck your horsey silly?" as he points at the cavalry commander's mount.
"No, me done fucken none of that" says the big, burly ork who is from the very bottom of the world "So don't be a mean cunt, and send that fuckhead knight with me" adds Dorkindle, who then says in a threatening tone "If you do, he just might end up in that fucken river all dead like".
Looking up at the large ork who towers over him, Darid aka Zubutai Timaginson after rolling his eyes, tells the ork warleader "Well, do what i told you to do, then he won't have to come along with you".
The ork general scowls, and does so even more when the cavalry commander tells him "If not, he goes with you" the councilor continues with "And if he does, and he ends up floating in the river dead, I'll definitely tell you know who you did it".
"Who?" asks Dorc da Orc who briefly forgets who, you know who is, then he winces when he quickly realises who commander Parsen is referring to.
"Shitballs" mutters the warleader of the ork race "Exactly" says the member of the personal council of the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, who of course was who he was referring to.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks sourly grunts, then says to the cavalry commander "What me have to fucken do again?".
"I know boss, er general" says Teabagger the goblin Cunt as he speaks up, his general grunts then tells him "Go on then, go get the cunts, we going".
As the small, bright green goblin, who is originally from the southern kingdom of Melaurn, hurries away to get the rest of the battalion.
Dorkindle with a sour looking expression upon his broad, green, feral looking face, glares in the direction of sir Percavelle Lé Dic, who is ignoring him.
Next to the big, burly ork, the cavalry commander Darid Parsen slightly shakes his head, then says "Make sure you and your battalion do what i said".
The member of lord Farque's personal council then points at the the heavily armoured knight from the kingdom of Druvic, and tells the ork weaponsmith "If not, I'll send Percy forward to join you".
With a sideways look of disgust at the cavalry commander, the ork general mutters "You fucken pony humping bag of dicks".
Then Dorc da Orc says "Me will cunt". Then he stomps off to join his battalion, who have formed up, and are ready to head cross country to the west.
With one last look of disgust at the former earl of Lé Dic, as well as the river. The ork warleader and the battalion of goblins he's general of, move off to the west. Bound for a road in that direction that leads to the city of Almaic.
Darid Parsen watches as Dorc da Orc and his goblin battalion head off to the west for a while.
Then the cavalry commander eventually turns to his second in command Kalleb, and the messenger Lisell Maera, and says to the two of them "Right then, we've got things to do" . . . . . .