The Hire 83.

The Duchy Of Phelm. The Kingdom Of Nastell...

Mira Reinholt the mage watches as the construction of the temporary bridges across the river Mareb continues.
The once powerful mage who is a member of the personal council of the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
Nods to Tovis the war engineer who he's been chatting with. Then turns and makes his way back down the road they've been traveling along.
The Vexilian mage in exile reclaims his mount from the Farqian soldier who has been holding it for him.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, briefly glances up at the late afternoon sky. Which is still clear, on what's been another hot summer's day here in the central region of the duchy of Phelm.
"Less than a dozen miles away" Mira Reinholt the mage murmurs to himself, who then looks to his right, where one of the officers informs him that his fellow councilor. The cavalry commander Darid Parsen has sent a messenger back to him.
The swordmaster Reinholt looks out and away from the road, and across country to the west. Where the armies led by the field commanders in the mercenary army from the lands Farque are heading.
The spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil, who was once the most powerful mage of his generation, to be found anywhere in the Southlands.
Spots the messenger riding back this way from the west. He immediately spots that it's the runner Lisell Maera.
The exiled Vexilian mage rides out to meet the attractive young woman from the city-state of Brattonbury, who is now a messenger in the mercenary armies of Farque.
"Got a bit of a problem" says Lisell Maera "Oh?" says the mage Reinholt, who then adds "Like what?".
"Dorc" dryly says the messenger "That's not little" mutters the highly skilled swordmaster, who continues on in a sour tone with "That's a big fucking green problem".
Lisell Maera or Lis as she's more commonly called by those who know her well, sourly smiles then says "He went ahead with captain Weldin's patrol".
The spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil nods his hooded head at the mention of the Farqian cavalry officer.
"They've gone along to that connecting road further to the west" continues Lis, who then adds "So they can approach Almaic directly from the north".
Mira Reinholt nods as he knows this about the plans, then he rolls his eyes when the attractive young woman from the city-state of Brattonbury tells him "Seems they've run into a bit of trouble, as a bridge that crosses one of the tributaries of this river along that road has been knocked down".
Lis continues with "It's fairly shallow by all accounts, and not that wide. So they've all been able to cross, including the goblins who are on foot" she then adds "Well, all of them except for".
"Dorc" sourly says the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster "You got it" says the messenger who is part of the scouts and rangers division in the mercenary army from the lands Farque.
"Apparently he won't cross" says Lis who continues with "Even though the water level is low" she then adds "He wants someone to fucking magic him across" the messenger quickly adds "His words not mine".
Lisell Maera then says "Since there's no spellcasters to spare, and all the water elementals who haven't gone ahead with the spies are busy helping the armies to ford this river. He's stuck on the north side of that tributary".
"Figures" says the once powerful mage, who with a shake of his hooded head, adds in a mutter "I've never known such a demented psycho to hate something like water like he does".
They pass the armies of the robber barons Gergus and Solamard. Who are led by the Farqian field commander Leivyn.
They're behind the armies of the robber barons Almard and Larimer. Which is led by the young field commander in the Farqian mercenary army, Tamric Drubine.
At the moment, that particular army is crossing the Mareb river at a ford. Where the water to the east is being held back by a trio of water elemental coursers.
While further east, where the mage Reinholt has just been. The largest of the armies, which is led by the Farqian general, general Halvane. Are waiting for the temporary bridges being constructed by the Farqian engineering corp, under the command of Tovis the war engineer, to be completed.
The Vexilian swordmaster in exile doesn't expect them to cross the Mareb until sometime later tonight.
And even then, they'll have to cross the river again when it's up against the city of Almaic, which they will approach directly from the east.
As Lisell Maera and Mira Reinholt ride by as they continue westwards, Lis spots the robber barons Gergus and Solamard waiting with some of their men, to ford the river that's being held back by the water elemental coursers from the lands Farque.
The attractive young woman from the city-state of Brattonbury, whose mother was a street prostitute, and whose father was a sailor. Sees the robber baron Gergus look her way, watching her as she passes by.
Lis glances sideways at the mage Reinholt riding beside her. And wonders if the highly skilled swordmaster notices the youngest of the five robber barons watching her.
But the councilor has got his mind on other things. And doesn't notice the robber baron Gergus watching her with intent.
Hell, what am i going to do? Lisell Maera thinks to herself, for she knows she's allowed to bed whoever she likes. Just as long as it doesn't interfere with her job as a messenger in the armies of Farque. Or places her in danger in anyway.
And though she has tried to put it behind her. Lis can't just forget that intimate night she spent with the robber baron Gergus a little while ago. When the two of them were lost just after the armies of the unruled lands of the Colevar Mountains made their major push into the kingdom of Nastell, and it's northern most duchy, the duchy of Phelm.
Mira Reinholt, who is preoccupied with thoughts of his own. Mainly to do with who is keeping an eye on who. In particular, Darid Parsen with Tamric Drubine. And Shur Kee the monk, who has gone back to keep an eye on the war engineer Tovis.
Will keep Lis by his side for the meantime, as he doesn't want any of those three. Not being watched by one of the more experienced members of the group who traveled together for a number of years, throughout the Southlands, and beyond it.
And in the case of the mage Reinholt, completely off world at one point. Which though was by accident. Admittedly caused by himself, when a spell he was casting at the time, completely miscast. Sending him through a void, which sent him to worlds in another galaxy.
Not that he can remember much of that. Apart from being stripped of most of his vast magical powers.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, and is a member of the personal council of lord Farque. Glances at Lis, who he sees is watching those fording the Mareb river.
"They'll be in view of the city later tonight" says Mira Reinholt, Lisell Maera nods her head, then looks at the once powerful mage and asks him "Think they'll give up without a fight?".
"Do you?" asks the mage who is in exile from his homeland, the city-state of Vexil "No" replies the messenger in the armies of Farque.
"Well there's your answer" says the councilor, who continues on with "They probably should though" the highly skilled swordmaster then adds "They've already lost, they just don't know it yet".
Lis nods in agreement, for even she can see that. As the four armies have moved south through the duchy of Phelm without much difficulty. Already winning two major pitched battles. As well as taking the northern city of Savariss in just one night.
And now they're closing in on the provincial capital, the city of Almaic. The capital of the duchy of Phelm. And the seat of power of it's duke, duke Hargen.
"See boss, er general" says Teabagger the goblin Cunt, who then adds for the umpteenth time "It's not so bad" as he stands in the river.
All he gets in answer is a growl from his general, the ork warleader Dorc da Orc. Who is sitting on the northern bank of a tributary of the Mareb river. In the hot sun of the late afternoon. The ork weaponsmith is looking miserable in the heat of another hot summer's day.
Teabagger sighs as he stands in the middle of the river. He turns and looks at the rest of the battalion who are on the south side of the tributary, and shrugs his shoulders.
The goblin battalion, who are lying around, and sitting on the south bank. Just watch their general on the otherside, and wonder if he'll ever cross over to them.
The going consensus of the goblin battalion in the Farqian mercenary army is that he won't.
The river, if it can even be called that. Is only about fifty feet wide. And where Teabagger stands. Just thirty yards to the left of a destroyed bridge. The depth of the water, is only up to the bottom of the calves of the small, bright, green goblin commander.
Not only that, the water is basically still. Only slowly flowing westwards.
Teabagger, looks at one of the other goblins who has just called something out in their own language.
"What was that cunt?" asks Dorc da Orc "Capitan Weldin is moving off to the south general" is the reply of the goblin commander "I don't think he can be bothered waiting anymore" adds Teabagger.
The large ork gets up, and peers to the south, and spots the cavalry patrol in the Farqian mercenary army under the command of captain Weldin, riding south. Though not that quickly, as if they're waiting for the goblin battalion to catch up.
"Fuck" mutters the warleader of the ork race, who then scowls at the tributary, and mutters "Fuck" again.
The big, burly ork who hails from the southern polar region of the world. Sighs, and sits down. As he has no intention whatsoever to walk across the river to the south side. Even though the water would barely get over his ankles.
Just the thought of getting wet. Is reason enough for the ork weaponsmith. Who like all of his race, absolutely detests water, and getting wet. From crossing the ankle deep water to the otherside where the battalion is waiting for him.
The small, bright green goblin who commands the battalion, sighs once more, and trudges back across the riverbed. And rejoins his general on the north side.
Teabagger is careful not to kick up water and get his general wet as he climbs up the riverbank. Though he must admit, he wouldn't mind if someone came along and pushed his general into the water.
So the goblin commander sits down beside the large ork. Though not too close, as the ork warleader in his rain poncho, reeks more than usual. He straight out pongs at the moment.
They've explored all manner of ways of Dorkindle crossing the river. From building a raft. There aren't enough trees nearby to do so.
To using a couple of horses from the cavalry patrol to carry him across the shallow tributary. Captain Weldin flat out refused that suggestion. Not to mention none of the horses are all that eager to get that close to the foul smelling ork weaponsmith.
Even the remains of the bridge, just thirty yards away to the west from where the ork general and the goblin commander are sitting, was considered.
As the big, burly ork from the bottom of the world, could jump from the bits of rubble dotted across the riverbed to get to the south bank.
But a lot of the rubble is beneath the water, and Dorkindle would probably still get wet. Something he strenuously wants to avoid.
"Got no booze, and a nasty fucken river is in me way" mutters the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks "And there's none of the fucken enemy around for me to kills" adds the large ork in his deep, growling voice, who then says "Lame".
The ork general sighs and lies down on his back. Glaring up at the sun that's heading westwards across the late afternoon sky. The big, burly ork who despises the sun just as much as he hates water.
Silently prays to his god, the war god of the orks, Krom. For a miracle of some kind to allow him to cross the river without getting wet. As he's pretty much run out of options. Because he and his battalion of goblins are supposed to be traveling with the patrol led by captain Weldin. As they head directly south towards the city of Almaic, the capital of the duchy of Phelm.
It's only a little while later when that miracle occurs. As Teabagger says "You hear that boss, er general?" the small, bright green goblin continues with "Sounds like horses" as he looks away to the east.
Dorkindle sits up, and looks in the same direction. Sniffing deeply through his nostrils as he does so.
Suddenly a smile splits the broad, green, brutish looking face of the ork weaponsmith, who briefly chuckles and says "Sweet, it fucken killer".
The ork warleader gets up off the ground, as does Teabagger, and the two of them look away to the east. As do the battalion waiting patiently on the south bank of the tributary of the Mareb river.
A short while later, and over the small hill to the east, appears a pair of riders.
"Hey killer, can you!" calls out Dorc da Orc, that's all he gets out. As he's suddenly lifted up off the ground, and he goes floating across the river, a good ten feet above the surface of the water.
Behind him, Teabagger scrambles down the riverbank, and into the water without tripping over, as he hurries across the shallow, not to mention, not very wide tributary of the river Mareb.
Dorkindle chuckles as he floats above the river, looking down at it with delight, murmuring "Fucken cunt water, not gonna get me wets".
Suddenly, just a dozen feet short of the south bank of the tributary. The large ork drops out of the air, and falls into the water with a yelp.
He lands in the shallow water, howling in disgust. And gets up quickly, swearing in a mix of the common and ork languages, as he hurries out of the river, and up the south bank.
"Fucken cunt" growls a thoroughly soaked Dorc da Orc who looks across to the otherside of the tributary, and to the east. And before he can yank a spear from his weapon harness and throw it at Mira Reinholt the mage.
The Vexilian mage in exile along with Lisell Maera, have already turned, and ridden away, and are out of sight on the otherside of the small hill to the east.
Teabagger the goblin cunt stands there grinning as he looks at his general who is standing there dripping wet, looking angrier than usual.
The small, bright green goblin wipes the smile off his face when the large ork looks his way.
"Should we follow after the captain?" asks the goblin commander who gestures away to the south, where on the road that heads to the city of Almaic. The cavalry patrol led by captain Weldin is still close by and within sight.
After growling, Dorc da Orc sighs, then mutters "Fucken might as well". Then the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world after wiping water off his face, and shaking his head and dreadlocked topknot, yells at the battalion of goblins "Move ya fucken little cunts!" followed "We gots shit to fucken do!" . . . . . .