The Hire 123.

The City Of Almaic. The Duchy Of Phelm...

Helbe the elven thief shifts to a rooftop of a building on the street opposite the north wall of the city of Almaic.
"Mira doesn't do things by half does he" dryly says Helbe the elven thief. On his right shoulder, Narladene the ground pixie nods in agreement as they look at the destruction wrought by a mageglobe created Mira Reinholt the mage.
Who is no where near as powerful as he was a dozen years ago. But when he wants to be, the exiled Vexilian mage can unleash a fair bit of power. Usually by way of one of his mageglobes.
The blurred and shielded elven magic user looks down at all the rubble on the street below, then asks the naturally magical creature on his shoulder "Which way did it lead to?".
"The southwest" replies Narladene the ground pixie, the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel nods his hooded head as he thought that was the way the gateway that they sensed went to. He just wanted confirmation from Narladene.
The elven masterthief then winces when the ground pixie who is attached to him says "About forty five miles away".
"Damn" murmurs the grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel, who hopes it wasn't the cleric named Beldane he's searching for who went through the gateway he and Narladene sensed. But he has a nagging feeling that it was.
That feeling proves to be correct. When a few moments later. Those of the enemy going through the rubble on the street, one of them shouts up to the top of the wall "Father Beldane isn't here!".
As the elven master assassin sourly smiles, he looks across to the top of the wall. Where the sorcerer he saw from earlier in the day, calls back down to those on the street "He's safe!" followed by "He got away!".
"That weapon of his got him away" quietly says Narladene, prince Helbenthril Raendril looks at her and lifts a questioning eyebrow, and she tells him "Pretty sure he was unconscious when he went through that gateway" the ground pixie continues with "That weapon he's got created it. No way a cleric, no matter how powerful. Could of created a gateway that quickly. And in the middle of an explosion too".
The highly talented elven spellcaster nods his hooded head in agreement. For a gateway spell, which is a cleric's equivalent of a rift spell. Takes at least a few moments to cast. And even longer to form.
"Wonder why Mira attacked him like that?" murmurs the naturally magical creature who is originally from the Sunreach Mountains. Who met Helbe the elven thief over a dozen years ago in the city of Leeabra, the capital of the kingdom of Druvic.
"Who the hell knows why he does a lot of things" mutters the elven master archer, who does know. That because of what his fellow member of lord Farque's personal council has just done. That it's going to be even more difficult to find the cleric named Beldane, who the elven princeling is searching for.
"Maybe" says Narladene, who continues with "But he's way more circumspect now compared to when he was younger" the tiny winged creature briefly pauses before she adds "Ever since he lost most of his powers".
The highly talented elven magic user slightly nods, and realises that the mage Reinholt must of retaliated against the cleric named Beldane for a reason. And the strike spell the cleric cast through his weapon got the attention of the once powerful mage.
The elven princeling looks across to the top of the city wall. Where the sorcerer who is a friend of cleric Beldane. Has gone back to looking at those attacking the north side of the city that's the capital of the duchy of Phelm.
The elven master assassin figures if there's one person who knows what's just happened. It's the sorcerer across on the top of the wall. Near where the gates are.
The elven masterthief, who just happens to a member of the royal family that rules the elven principality of Laerel, reads his mind.
"Oh hell, Dorc" murmurs Helbe the elven thief with a wince "What?" asks Narladene.
The young elven noble sighs, then says "I better see to him" the member of lord Farque's personal council then adds "And i suppose i better tell Mira and Tam that we're off to find this cleric".
The naturally magical creature nods, then the blurred and shielded elven magic user shifts away. Going up and over the wards that are protecting the north wall of the city of Almaic.
"Boss" says Teabagger the goblin Cunt, who once again shakes the massive left shoulder of his general who is unconscious.
The small, bright green goblin, who commands the battalion of goblins in the mercenary army from the lands Farque, sighs as once again he gets no response from the large ork.
Teabagger looks over at Assfacedick who is crouching down on the otherside of their general, who says "He's still breathing" Assfacedick briefly pauses, before he adds "Just".
"So boys, what's going on here then?" suddenly says a familiar voice right beside Teabagger, who like the others gathered around their unresponsive general, jumps in fright.
"Councilor" says the goblin commander in relief as he looks up, and finds prince Helbenthril Raendril standing next to him.
"The general" says Teabagger with a nod of his head at the ork warleader lying on the ground.
"He'll be fine" says Helbe the elven thief, who briefly thinks about the best way to heal the ork weaponsmith, then tells the goblins "Lift up that ridiculous looking poncho he's wearing" followed by "And open that mouth of his".
A number of them do so, struggling to lift up the poncho the large ork wears.
The young elven noble from the principality of Laerel takes one of the small glass vials in the small slots in the front of the waist belt the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world wears.
It's one of the healing potions that the elven magic user himself made for the ork general.
"Uck" mutters prince Helbenthril Raendril who leans over the open gob of the ork warleader, which smells like a sewer mixed with alcohol.
"What the fuck have you been eating Dorc?" mutters the elven master assassin, on his right shoulder, Narladene who is invisible to everyone apart from the elven princeling. Is pinching her nose closed.
While Teabagger and Assfacedick who have pried open the jaws of their general, have turned their heads to one side, to try avoid the rancid smell coming from the open mouth of the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks.
Helbe the elven thief drops the healing potion into Dorkindle's mouth, glass vial and all.
He tells the two goblins to let go of their general's jaws. And the large ork's mouth closes, and he instinctively swallows.
The elven princeling grins, then slaps the ork warleader across the face as hard as he can. Just for the hell of it. As one doesn't often get the chance to whack Dorc. Which everyone who spends any amount of time around. Definitely wants to do.
"He'll come around in a little while" says the councilor, who has been the envoy for the Farqian mercenary army with their dealings with the five robber barons of the unruled lands in the Colevar Mountains, who are waging a campaign of war against duke Hargen of Phelm, the northern most duchy in the kingdom of Nastell.
Who knows that Dorkindle should rightfully be dead. And that it's only his mind, of all things, that has kept him alive.
Teabagger goes to ask the young elven noble something, but he's already disappeared as he has shifted away with Narladene the ground pixie.
"Pretty sure that was Helbe" says the field commander Tamric Drubine who is looking through his brass, cylindrical eyepiece as he watches the assault upon north wall of the city that's the provincial capital.
The nobleborn teenager from the kingdom of Sarcrin who is on an archers platform with Mira Reinholt the mage and some of his senior staff in one of the makeshift fortifications the enemy have built to the north of Almaic, then adds "There, where Dorc and his battalion of goblins are".
"It was me" says Helbe the elven thief who has suddenly appeared right beside the young field commander, and his fellow spellcaster and council member, the mage Reinholt.
The once powerful mage sourly smiles after jumping in fright at the sudden appearance of the elven princeling, who like him, is a member of the personal council of the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
Tamric Drubine, or Tam as he's more commonly called by those who know him well, who was also startled at the sudden appearance of the elven masterthief.
Goes to say something, but the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel gets in first with "I have to leave".
"Why?" asks Tam, the same time Mira Reinholt the mage asks "To where?".
The elven master assassin faintly winces, then casts a bubble of silence around the three of them, then he explains to them, why he has to leave, and where he's going to.
After he does, both the Vexilian mage in exile and nobleborn teenager who is originally from the kingdom of Sarcrin, stare at the highly talented elven magic user.
"Don't all speak at once" mutters prince Helbenthril Raendril, and eventually the mage, who is also a highly skilled swordmaster says "By the shape of fire" followed in a dry tone of voice with "That's going to go down like a cup of sick when you tell him".
The elven master archer grimaces at the prospect of that, then he quickly says to his fellow councilor "You could tell him".
"Fuck off" says the spellcaster, who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands "That's all on you" adds the mage who is in exile from his homeland, the city-state of Vexil.
"Thanks" sourly says the elven masterthief "Are you absolutely certain it's this cleric?" asks commander Drubine, who knows that he was found in the exact same method, through the elven magic user's powers of foresight.
"Yes" says prince Helbenthril Raendril, who then mutters in the royal elven language "Unfortunately".
"A cleric that you very well nearly killed" says the elven master assassin looking at his fellow spellcaster, the mage Reinholt.
"He nearly very well killed Dorc" says the highly skilled swordmaster, who shrugs his shoulders and adds "So fair's fair".
The young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel rolls his eyes, then he says "I've got to go".
"What about the battle?" asks the young field commander "And that sorcerer?" adds the once powerful mage, who continues with "Yarrim" he then asks "Have you dealt to him yet?".
"You'll have to deal with him" replies the elven master archer, who then tells Tam "And you, this battle".
"Like it or not, finding this cleric is actually more important" adds the grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel.
The mage Reinholt grudgingly nods his hooded head, then he takes out a couple of spell gems from a hidden pocket in his black cloak, and says to his fellow spellcaster "Here, refill these before you piss off after this cleric".
The elven magic user fills the empty spell gems with power, after the Vexilian mage in exile has depleted them during the day.
Then Helbe the elven thief says "I've delayed long enough, I've got to go". He then blurs himself, and disappears from sight. And with Narladene the ground pixie holding onto his right shoulder, the shielded elven spellcaster shifts away. And heads off to the southwest, in search of the cleric named Beldane. Who his powers of foresight has shown him, has to be found.
A holy strike spell, well one cast from a distance at least. Is a spell against the mind. More than it is a physical spell. It would be the other way round, if it was close up, or as touch spell. Usually with a weapon, like a mace.
It was the former, not the latter version of the spell. That struck Dorc da Orc.
And lucky for the cleric Beldane who cast the spell upon the big, burly ork from the very bottom of the world.
He cast it through his magical mace. If he hadn't of. It would of had repercussions on him. None of them good.
For spells cast upon the mind of an ork always end up going wrong for the caster if they cast the mind effect spell directly upon them.
It usually ends up with them vomiting, then passing out after getting a brief glimpse into the mind of an ork.
Thankfully for the cleric Beldane, it was his magical mace that actually struck the mind of the ork warleader from a distance.
And though a holy strike spell would normally kill someone who isn't magically protected from it.
Not so Dorc da Orc, or for that matter, any ork if they had been struck by it.
For a holy strike spell, is the caster using a snippet of their god's power upon their target. Specifically upon the targets faith, or lack of faith.
But ork kind are doubly protected from a spell such as a cleric's holy strike spell. They have their natural immunity to direct spells against their minds.
But more importantly, their devotion to their own god Krom.
For there's no other race on the world of Volunell, to every single member of that race, from newborn to the oldest of the old. Who are as devout to their god or goddess such as orks are to their war god Krom.
It's in every fibre of their being. It's in their very make up of who they are. Their devotion and belief in their god.
True, they're all deranged psychotic killers. Who have the worst habits imaginable. So much so, that Dorc da Orc is a pretty sane one amongst an entire race who are insane. At least he can speak another language. Most orks have trouble speaking their own language let alone a completely different one all together.
But for all that, their belief and faith in their god is unshakable. It has been since the day he became their god. And it will be to the end of time when the world of Volunell no longer exists.
The only thing that comes close, is their devotion to their tribal spirit guides. Which comes in the form of an animal. One of twenty, for the twenty tribes of orkdom. In the case of Dorkindle's tribe, it's the wolf.
And when Dorc da Orc was struck by the holy strike spell and his faith was attacked. He briefly caught a glimpse of tall, armoured man with gray hair, and a short gray beard. In his mid to late forties. Sitting on a stone throne. With a sword across his armoured knees. Looking directly at the warleader of the ork race.
He disappeared. And in the white light. Dorc da Orc then saw a wolf in the distance. Which briefly looked back at him, before running away. The large ork went to follow it. And that's when he fell into unconsciousness. Instead of being killed by the holy strike spell that came down at the clear blue sky, and hit him.
So, it's no surprise that when Dorc da Orc wakes up, and opens his eyes and sees Teabagger and others in the battalion looking down at him, he grunts the name of his god "Krom" . . . . . .