The Hire 148.

The Kingdom Of Nastell. The Duchy Of Phelm. The City Of Almaic...

War machines on both sides of the Mareb river take shots at their opposition during the evening.
And though catapult loads are sporadic, not shooting all the time. The times they do send a shot over, they tend to hit something. Especially on the city side of the Mareb river. Where a lot of damage has been done throughout the battle so far.
Most of the docks have been at least partially damaged. While those with piers that stick out into the wide river. Have basically been destroyed.
With only the ends up against the long boulevard that runs down the east side of Almaic, still intact.
Even then, they're damaged in some way or the other. Especially with what happened earlier in the battle. When around midday, the Mareb briefly stopped running. Before it resumed. Destroying a lot of the docks. And sweeping away many in the army from the unruled lands in the Colevar Mountains, who have invaded the duchy of Phelm, here in northern Nastell. Who at the time were crossing the riverbed.
As a catapult near a damaged tower, sends a lot of rocks and bits of broken masonry. Flying through the night across the Mareb river.
And a few moments later, a war machine amongst the robber baron's forces. Sends pitch covered rocks, that are on fire, briefly lighting up the night sky, as they head towards the long boulevard that's down the east side of the city that's the capital of the duchy of Phelm.
Further up the river this evening, a small flotilla. If one can call a bunch of hastily built rafts a flotilla. Is heading down river. With all of those onboard, none of them human. Clearly able to see what's happening on both sides of the Mareb river.
The further south they go, they row and pole their rafts more towards the city side of the wide river.
Keeping a careful watch on the war machines on both sides of the Mareb. Watching the loads go flying through the night sky, either to the long boulevard that runs along the east side of the city of Almaic. Or to the otherside of the river.
Where some of their forces, infact the largest of their forces. Are positioned during the battle for Almaic.
They're waiting for the war machines in their army opposite the capital of Almaic. To cease firing. For when the war machines over there do halt. They'll swing their rafts into the city, where they hope to get onto those docks that haven't been destroyed. Then onto the long boulevard, which they'll cross and enter the city itself. Though there's a lot to be done by then.
They're in eastern quarter of the city, though towards the southern end of Almaic. They're up on a rooftop, where they've got a fire going in a bucket brazier. Upon which they're cooking meat they obtained from a nearby butcher here in the south of the city.
Where they've spent a lot of the afternoon, and early evening. Searching for the enemy who got across the river earlier in the day when the Mareb stopped flowing for a little while.
They were unable to find any of them. Though they were close a number of times. At least according to their scout they were. Their scout, the mercenary ranger from the elven principality of Alínlae, by the name of Dalin.
The trio of nonhumans in the small squad, and the squad leader himself. Are at the northern end of the rooftop, looking in that direction, towards the north of the city.
"Something's definitely going on up there" says Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy as they see in the distance, part of the north wall of Almaic, continuing to light up.
They can hear the explosions every so often, and once and while they hear the low thud of a magetube up on the north wall of the city that's the provincial capital, firing at the enemy.
"Can you see specifically what's happening?" asks the squad leader Barron, who hails from further south in the duchy of Phelm, about halfway between Almaic and the southern border of the duchy.
"Explosions" dryly says Shawtus McQuade the dwarven warrior, next to him his slightly younger, and slightly shorter cousin Smawfri, grunts in agreement.
While standing next to the two dwarven warriors from the Sunreach Mountains, the spy Tanith nods his hooded head in agreement.
"Well, they're obviously launching another attack up there" says the elven spy who has infiltrated duke Hargen's army "This one magical" adds the Dalinvardél Tanith, who is more commonly called Dalin by those who know him well. And it's also the name he's using whilst undercover here in the army of the duke of Phelm.
The elven spy, who is passing himself off as a mercenary ranger from his homeland of Alínlae. Along with the McQuade cousins. Told the young squad leader at dusk, that the enemy had pulled back from the north wall of Almaic.
For in the distance, they saw the defenders along that wall of the city, had stopped battling the enemy.
"Hopefully those wards up there can hold them out" quietly says young Barron "Hope so" grunts Shawtus McQuade, who continues with "Because they're already taken a battering throughout the day".
He pauses, as there's a particularly loud explosion away to the north, along the wall up there. It's bright too, so much so. That even Barron, with his human eyesight and night vision. Can see part of the north wall, along the top of it. Silhouetted as the night sky lights up there for more than a few moments.
"Hell, that's bright" says Dalinvardél Tanith who shades his eyes for a bit, and wonders if his traveling companion. Mira Reinholt the mage, had anything to do with that explosion along the top of the north wall of Almaic.
As that's something the councilor Reinholt would do. Dalin suspects that he did.
While next to the spy Tanith, Smawfri McQuade who is also shading his eyes, mutters in dwarven "Some asshole magic user is going overboard up there".
Next to him, his slightly older, and slightly taller cousin Shawtus, who briefly turns his head away, as even his dwarven night vision can't compensate for the brightness away to the north that lights up the night sky for a bit, grunts in agreement with his cousin.
"Those along that part of the wall, well their night vision is going to be screwed for the next little while" says Dalinvardél Tanith who once served in one of the more prominent noble houses in his homeland of Alínlae "That's if they're not blinded for a bit" adds the elven spy who has infiltrated duke Hargen's army.
The two dwarven warriors from the Sunreach Mountains, nod in agreement with the spy Tanith, who they think is a skilled mercenary ranger from the elven principality of Alínlae.
They watch and listen to the magical attack in the distance along the north wall of the city wall for a bit longer.
Before they turn away, and they make their way to where the rest of their small squad are around the bucket brazier, cooking their dinner.
"Didn't expect us to hold them out to be honest" quietly says the squad leader Barron "Nor did i" adds Dalinvardél Tanith, who knows the duke's forces have been able to prevail today, because of the failure of general Halvane's army to get across the Mareb river.
"Though, we don't exactly know what's going on over on the west side of city" continues the elven spy in the armies of Farque, who has infiltrated the duke of Phelm's army.
"That's true" admits the young squad leader, while both of the McQuade cousins grunt in agreement with what the spy Tanith just said.
Then the slightly younger of the two dwarven warriors from the Sunreach Mountains, says "Well, we can't do much about it now" Smawfri McQuade continues with "Might as well eat what's been cooked" as he nods to the selection of meats that have been grilling on the bucket brazier.
"First smart thing you've said all day you idiot" mutters Shawtus McQuade in the dwarven language "Go sit on a pike you dickhead" is the muttered reply in the same language from the slightly shorter and slightly younger dwarven warrior from the Sunreach Mountains.
As they and the rest of their small squad, who survived a battle along the northern border of the kingdom. Then the battle for the northern city of Savariss.
Have something to eat for dinner, this warm summer's night here in the north of the kingdom of Nastell.
They start rowing their raft to the right as the catapults in the army of general Halvane have finally ceased.
They try not to splash the water too much with their oars. And are relatively successful in not doing so.
But even then, they still continue further south compared to many of the other rafts, that are heading into the city side of the Mareb river.
For the simple reason their raft is so much larger than the others. And there's more of them onboard it. Making it heavier and more difficult to handle.
Not to mention there's a big fat heavy lump sitting in the middle of the raft. Who weighs almost as much as everyone else onboard combined.
Who refuses to lift a hand to help them row towards the riverbank on the city side of the Mareb.
Who is keeping exactly in the center of the raft, to keep as far away from the water as possible.
Even so that doesn't stop him from encouraging the others onboard. The kind of encouraging that involves a lot of muttered swearing.
"Fucken row ya cunts" mutters Dorc da Orc, who is trying to keep as quiet as possible, as the battalion has an order to be as silent as possible as they row down the Mareb river.
"Fucken gob-a-lins" mutters the large ork in his native language as he looks back behind them, and sees a number of the other rafts going in towards the damaged docks along the city side of the Mareb river.
A few moments later there's shouts from the enemy in the night, as the first of the rafts get to some of the damaged docks. And get onto them, then the long boulevard that runs along the east side of the city of Almaic.
"Row ya fucken cunts" hisses the ork warleader.
"Help us you fat fuck" mutters Youdead in the goblin language as he and the others with oars struggle to get them into the riverbank on the city side of the Mareb.
"Silence" quietly orders Teabagger the goblin Cunt in the same language.
"What was that?" quietly asks the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
"Just telling them to hurry boss, er general" is the quiet reply from the goblin commander in the common language.
"That's what me been fucken tellin' them what to fucken do, but they not listen" mutters the ork weaponsmith, while further behind them, more in the flotilla of rafts are putting into the city side of the river.
And disembarking, with only a few losing their footing and falling into the river. While others confront the enemy. Who are taken by surprise. By an attack from the water, that's come down river, and not across it.
Seeing that they could very well keep drifting by the city if he doesn't do something. Dorc da Orc grunts, then moves. Which isn't the smartest thing he could of done.
As the raft starts to spin as he upsets the weight balance. As he moves to one edge of the hastily built raft.
Some of the goblins scramble to the otherside to counter the shift in weight. And the raft slowly stops spinning out of control.
The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe grabs a discarded oar. Puts it into the water with a grimace upon his broad, green, brutish looking face. Then he starts paddling. Doing his best not to splash water upon himself.
And though they continue southwards down the Mareb river, they are now heading into towards the city. Though far further south than the rest of the battalion. With the nearest raft behind them, is nearly a hundred yards further north.
"Fuck me" mutters Dorkindle in disgust as he accidentally splashes water on himself, then he sourly smiles as shouts of alarm come from the nearest enemy. Then he and the goblins on the raft see archers and crossbowmen shoot towards them. Though they shoot blindly in the night, arrows and bolts do go zipping by them. As they come in towards the riverbank on the city side of the Mareb.
"You cunts jump if we get close" quietly says the ork general as they come in towards a badly damaged dock that's up against the riverbank.
"You two stay fucken close to me" adds the warleader of the ork race nodding at Youdead and Teabagger.
Then as they're just about to the dock, and Dorc da Orc hisses "Fucken jump".
A fireball from the top of a nearby tower appears, and streaks down, more or less towards them and their raft.
Goblins leap across the gap between the raft and the damaged dock. With basically Dorkindle the only one doing the paddling to keep the raft near the riverbank.
"Give it cunt" hisses the large ork at Youdead, who hands it to his general.
Then as the raft starts drifting away from the damaged dock. The ork weaponsmith grabs Youdead. And biffs him across to the damaged dock.
Only the ork general and the goblin commander remain on the raft as it drifts away from the riverbank. While a fireball comes their way.
As it does, Dorc da Orc turns one end of the mage canister he's holding. Then hurls it towards the tower that the fireball came from.
The ork warleader who sees that the fireball is going to hit the water infront of them. Has no idea what the mage canister will do. Just that it'll be destructive because it was made by a mage.
The big, burly ork grabs Teabagger, and is about to jump for it. When the fireball hits the river. Just off to the side of the raft.
Water goes everywhere, swamping the two who remain on the raft. Almost knocking them overboard as the raft spins uncontrollably about. Dorc da Orc roars in anger at getting totally soaked.
Then the mage canister lands on the boulevard, right next to the nearby tower, and explodes. And in typical mage fashion, the metal canister about a foot and half long. Explodes in spectacular fashion. It explodes in a wall of water that goes in all directions. Including back in the direction it came from.
Blinking his eyes to clear water from them, Dorc da Orc looks to where he hears the mage canister explode.
The ork general blinks in surprise, then with a sour look upon his broad, green feral looking face, he grunts "Fuck" in resigned tone of voice.
The large ork keeps a hold of Teabagger, and grabs the edge of the raft and clings onto it tightly as they and the raft they're on is hit by the expanding wall of water. Which sends them and the raft downriver at speed . . . . . .