The Hire 147.

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

Dorc da Orc scowls as he looks down at what's infront of him. Then the large ork scowls at Mira Reinholt the mage who is standing beside him.
While behind the two of them, the goblin battalion in the Farqian mercenary army are sitting down. Eating and drinking as they have a rather long night ahead of them.
The scowl upon the broad, green, feral looking face of the ork warleader gets even deeper. As another one is brought along by some of the camp followers who have been making them, and placed on the ground with the others.
Then the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world looks further ahead, and growls as he watches the Mareb river flow by.
Then looking at what's on the ground infront of them again, and scowling at them once more, Dorc da Orc loudly mutters "Looks like they made out of fucken wagons".
"They are" says Mira Reinholt the mage, who refrains from grinning as the large ork loudly sighs, then mutters "Fuck me".
As they look at the quickly built rafts that are lined up along the ground at the edge of the river, just to the north of the city of Almaic.
Then looking for another excuse not to go ahead with the plan devised by the field commanders Drubine and Leivyn, along with Mira Reinholt the mage and Darid Parsen the cavalry commander.
The ork weaponsmith grunts then waves a big, meaty, frying pan size hand away to the south says "Them cunts might see me and all the gob-a-lins".
"They might" concedes the once powerful mage who is originally from the city-state of Vexil, who is now a member of the personal council of the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
"But remember, if they're expecting anyone to attack from the water" continues the mage Reinholt, who follows that with "They'll be expecting it from the otherside of the river, where general Halvane's army is" the exiled Vexilian mage then adds "Not down river like you and your battalion will be doing".
Dorkindle looks away to the south, where in the distance across the river he sees a catapult in general Halvane's army. Launch a load of rocks across the wide river to the city of Almaic, and those along it's eastern side who are defending it.
The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks grunts then says "Fucken Halvey's cunts might hit us".
"They'll stop firing when they see you lot go in" explains the spellcaster from Vexil who is also a highly skilled swordmaster "They've been told what you and your battalion will be up to" continues the member of lord Farque's personal council.
"Crap" mutters Dorc da Orc in his native language, who then scowls as another raft is carried forward, and placed alongside the others which will carry the ork warleader and his goblin battalion down the Mareb river, and hopefully into the east side of the city of Almaic.
The big, burly ork who is from the frozen bottom of the world, as he stands there in a rain poncho. On what's a clear, and warm summer's night here in the north of the kingdom of Nastell.
Sourly smiles as he sees the oars that have been made for the rafts that he and his battalion of goblins will be using.
"Fuck if Dorc is gonna row one of them" mutters Dorkindle in the ork language, who spots a raft larger and sturdier looking than the others. Which he intends to sit in the middle of, as far away from the water as possible. As the goblins on the raft with him, will do the rowing.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, who hopes to hell, and to his god Krom. That the raft doesn't sink or overturn. Sending him into the river.
As he like all orks, absolutely hates getting wet. More so than being in any temperature that's above freezing.
Sourly smiles as he looks down at the Vexilian mage in exile standing next to him, and asks in his deep, growling and rumbling voice "When we fucken going?".
Dorc hopes never, but he sighs when the mage Reinholt tells him "Soon i should say". The spellcaster, who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, gestures back behind them to the west, as he adds "When we get the signal from back there".
The large ork grunts, then with a final scowl at the rafts, and glare at the river itself. He turns, and makes his way to his battalion, which he considers is an army, and his army at that.
The warleader of the ork race sits down next to Teabagger the goblin Cunt, who has just finished a meal that was provided by the auxiliaries and camp followers.
"They still got 'em cunt?" Dorkindle quietly asks the small, bright green goblin who commands the battalion "Yes boss, er general" is the quiet reply of Teabagger the goblin Cunt.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks grunts in satisfaction, then he quietly tells the goblin commander "Make sure one of the cunts is with us". Teabagger nods his head, and quietly tells the large ork "I will general".
At least that's fucken something, Dorc da Orc thinks to himself as he scowls at the nearby rafts, where another one has just been added to the line of them.
The ork general sighs at the prospect of what he and his battalion will be undertaking tonight.
And though the thought of taking an unintended dunking in the Mareb river is absolutely disgusting to the large ork.
The idea of taking the enemy by surprise, and changing the course of the battle for Almaic is rather pleasing to the ork warleader.
Especially as it'll be him and his battalion of goblins in the Farqian mercenary army who will be bringing that about.
Dorkindle points at the largest of the rafts and tells Teabagger "We gonna go on that cunt" the warleader of the ork race then mutters "The fucker better not sink".
While next to him, the goblin commander eyes the raft in question. Wondering how many of them it'll take to row it. As he already knows his general isn't going to lift a hand to help row it.
Mira Reinholt who has been speaking with some of the Farqian soldiers nearby, some of whom are in the engineering corp, who have been overseeing the building of the rafts.
Makes his way back to where Dorc da Orc is sitting with his battalion of goblins. Who were amongst the first to take part in the battle today, well before dawn.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, sees that the goblins are still ready and eager to do more in the battle for Almaic. And like all of their kind, their endurance is getting them through the evening.
Not complaining about the workload they've endured so far. Nor about what they're about to do.
Unlike their general, who is absolutely hating the idea of going down the Mareb river on a raft, that's been made out of a couple of wagon beds.
The Vexilian mage in exile as he stands near the ork general and the goblin commander. Looks westward through the night, after glancing up at the position of the largest moon of Volunell, Ilnari.
"Not too long now" quietly says the mage Reinholt to the large ork and small, bright lurid green goblin.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks grunts, then nudges Teabagger and says to him "Tell the cunts to get ready".
In his own language, the goblin commander gives the order for the battalion to get ready. And they, along with their general, gather their things, then stand up.
Councilor Reinholt, who doesn't have a lot of power to spare. Just what he's got naturally. And in part of one spell gem. As he's used up all the other stored power he's got during the battle so far.
Doesn't bother to cast a spell to see into the night away to the west. For though their army's camp has cook fires going, and torches are lit.
It's also pretty dark in places. Especially to either side of the road that leads to the north gates of Almaic. As well as closer towards the city too.
The spellcaster, who was once more powerful than any other mage of his generation, to be found anywhere in the Southlands. Who when he just turned seventeen was the youngest ever member of the mage council of Vexil, which helps to rule the largest city-state in the Southlands.
A council he was kicked off when he betrayed Vexil during a war. And was sent into exile during the battle of Vexil, which was nearly twenty years ago as the mage Reinholt is in his mid thirties now. A battle that's still the largest battle in the Southlands over the last four and half centuries.
Which was probably hundreds of times larger than the battle here for Almaic. As there was at least four hundred thousand combatants, maybe half a million. Just on the side attacking the city of Vexil during the battle. The battle where Mira Reinholt first met Dorc da Orc and lord Farque.
Looks in the distance to where he's sure the road is, and to the west side of it. The ork warleader turns and looks that way too.
Then the big, burly ork who was sent into exile from the Ork Range in the southern polar region of the world, for killing his mother, the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks.
Which was fair enough, as she was doing her best to kill him at the time, and was doing a pretty good job of it, until Dorkindle was able to overcome her. Asks his longtime traveling companion "What you fucken looking at cunt?".
"For them to get underway" is the quiet reply of the swordmaster Reinholt, who then continues with "Which is also the signal for you lot to get moving".
The large ork grunts in understanding as they look to the west, and wait.
And though Dorc da Orc can see a hell of lot more clearly in the night than Mira Reinholt.
The once powerful mage doesn't really need to. As a little while later. They see and hear a number of spells leave their lines, and head towards the north wall of the city of Almaic. Just to the west of where the road is.
And though the north wall of the city that's the provincial capital, is pretty much all in darkness.
A large section of the wall, to the west of the road. Is lit up as spell after spell slams into it. Lighting up the night sky for a bit.
Councilor Reinholt adds to it as he creates a mageglobe, which is more for show than it is destructive. And sends it away, to climb up into the air and over the wards the enemy have up along the north wall of the city.
Where it will explode and light up the night even more where fireballs, bolts of lightning, energyballs and other spells cast by his fellow practitioners of magic in their armies are hitting the north wall of Almaic, just to the west of the road, and the city gates.
"See ya Dorc" says Mira Reinholt, Dorkindle who is already moving, just grunts in response.
Then the ork weaponsmith looks back and scowls at the Vexilian mage in exile, who tells him in a cherry tone of voice "Don't fall in the river".
"Fuckhead" mutters the ork warleader in disgust, who then says in his native language "Why he gotta fucken say that for?".
Then the large ork stops as the goblins, along with a number of camp followers pick up the rafts, and put them in the water.
Dorc da Orc who was hoping he'd get on the one he picked, and have them carry it to the water.
Grunts as he sees most of the goblins keep to their feet and don't trip over. And those that did, weren't carrying any of the rafts.
They tripped over one another more in excitement at the prospect of what they're about to do. For unlike their general, they're looking forward to getting on the water.
Dorkindle waits until half a dozen of the goblins get on the largest of the rafts. Then he gingerly steps onto to it, relieved that he doesn't get his boots wet as it dips beneath his weight.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world, gets down and crawls on his hands and knees to the center of the raft.
Once he's sitting there, looking totally pissed off at being surrounded by water. Three more of the goblins hop onto the raft, including Teabagger the goblin Cunt.
The goblins onboard, spread out to distribute their weight evenly. Then taking up the oars, and poles. They push off from the riverbank. And start drifting south down the Mareb with the other rafts carrying their battalion.
Dorc da Orc after hissing in disgust at the river, grunts then says to Teabagger "Which cunt got it?".
"Him boss, er general" says the goblin commander pointing at another of the goblins onboard the raft. "Fucken goods" murmurs the large ork.
Who as they head down river, looks at the city of Almaic away to their right in the distance which they're approaching, and showing for the first time a little bit of enthusiasm for what they're doing this night, he grins and quietly says "Fucken get some" . . . . . .