Aftermath 10.

The Kaldel Plains...

Dorc da Orc stands up, and Mira Reinholt the mage says "Sit down Dorc".
"Dorc need a poo" declares Dorc da Orc in a matter of fact tone.
"Fucking hell" mutters the mage Reinholt, who pushes down on the tiller, sending the jolly boat down to the ground.
"I'm out of here" says Helbe the elven thief who was going to leave anyway to go out and scout, he's just going a little bit earlier than intended.
"Dorc we just took off" says Darid Parsen the cavalry commander as they only got underway again this morning a short time ago.
"Why didn't you go before we took off?" asks the cavalry officer who also happens to be a member of the personal council of the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
"Didn't fucken need to" says the large ork, who then adds "But me need to now".
The big, burly ork who hails from the southern polar region of the world, who is standing behind the mast on the small vessel, continues with "Real fucken bad".
"Don't you dare shit in the boat" says the once powerful mage who then adds "If you do, I'll set you on fire".
"Well, hurry the fuck up then" Dorkindle tells the Vexilian mage in exile, who is pushing down and forward on the tiller, sending the jolly boat towards the ground.
Teabagger the goblin Cunt scuttles out of the way, while Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy hops over the next bench. To get out of the way of the ork warleader, who takes a step to port, and jumps over the side when the small sailing vessel is just a few feet from the ground.
"Not here!" shouts Mira Reinholt, the member of lord Farque's personal council continues with "Away from the boat" followed by "And away from us".
The ork weaponsmith, who was just about to pull down his pants, grunts. Then starts walking away from the jolly boat as the sun continues to rise in the east this morning.
A morning that's dawned slightly cloudy away to the northeast, the direction they've been heading on the jolly boat since leaving the site of the crashed destroyer, yesterday morning.
"Ghastly beast" loudly says sir Percavelle Lé Dic from where he sits in the bow as he watches the large ork stomp away.
Then the former paladin who is a member of the order of the knights of Saint Mar'che looks away. As does everyone else onboard as Dorc da Orc comes to a stop about thirty yards away, where he drops his grubby knee length pants, and proceeds to take a dump.
Which in typical ork fashion, is rather violent and disgusting. Having to do with a lot of spraying of excrement.
"By the tundra gods" murmurs Darid Parsen in the hordes dialect of the southern tundra "At least the wind isn't coming from that direction" adds the cavalry commander in the common language.
A cavalry commander who is infact really a hordes outrider from the southern tundra by the name Zubutai Timaginson who just happens to find himself inhabiting the body of Darid Parsen. Who was previously a foot soldier in the army of young lady Linara Lé Dic in the kingdom of Druvic.
Darid aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman glances in the direction of the large ork, then looks quickly away and shakes his head after seeing the warleader of the ork race squatting there with a screwed up face as he sprays the most foul looking, black and green coloured shit everywhere.
The cavalry commander who doesn't fancy sitting next to Dorc when he comes back to the boat, makes his way back to the tiller.
Where his fellow councillor, the mage Reinholt stands, with a sour looking smile upon his face as he waits for the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world to return.
"How far do you think we traveled yesterday and last evening?" quietly asks commander Parsen in the elven language.
"Sixty miles or so" is the reply from the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, who continues with "Not much in the way of a constant breeze yesterday until the late afternoon".
The mage, who is in exile from his homeland, the city-state of Vexil then nods his hooded head in the direction they're heading, and he says "Bit more wind today, though unfortunately it's coming from the direction we're going".
"Looks a little stormy that way to be honest" says the cavalry commander, who like the mage Reinholt, as well as Helbe the elven thief, are members of the personal council to lord Farque.
While Shur Kee the monk, who is sitting on the bench forward of the mast, is an honorary member of lord Farque's personal council.
"I hope not too stormy" says the spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands.
Until he was stripped of most of his powers after he accidentally went offworld about a dozen years ago. When he went through a rift/void that he cast by mistake.
With a nod of his hooded head, the mage Reinholt says "I remember Sephiryn mentioning that the storms here on the plains can get rather big, and quite bad" he then adds "And appear rather quick too".
The cavalry commander nods to that as he recalls hearing the same from Sephiryn the elemental. A former member of the group who now lives in the lands Farque.
Who traveled across the Kaldel Plains for a number of years when she was a teen. And though she journeyed with a travelling caravan troupe of entertainers and mummers.
It was also where she learnt the sword, and became a blademaster when she was trained by another blademaster who was part of the troupe.
"Don't want that to happen" says Darid aka Zubutai Timaginson as he looks away to the northeast, the direction they're heading. As that's the way Narladene the ground pixie sensed the mage who attacked the tri-masted destroyer went via a rift.
And it's also the direction the cleric Beldane went through a gateway. Taking Tamric Drubine, Lisell Maera and Tovis the war engineer with him.
Then the two councillors look away to their left, when they hear Dorc da Orc loudly grunt as he finishes taking a shit.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks is pulling his pants up, and doing the belt up at the same time.
Then once he's satisfied with them, the big, burly ork who is the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks. Makes his way back to the small boat they've been using since early yesterday morning.
"All done!" declares the large ork with a grin of satisfaction across his broad, green, brutish looking face as he reaches the jolly boat.
"It was a good fucken poo poo too" adds Dorkindle before he climbs up into the vessel, as the others all move to starboard to counter his considerable weight. Until he sits down in the very middle of the bench that's behind the mast.
"Ready?" dryly says Mira Reinholt, without looking back, the ork warleader grunts, then says "Yeah cunt" followed by "Make it fly killer".
The once powerful mage pulls up on the tiller, lifting the jolly boat up into the air on this day near the end of summer, here on the Kaldel Plains. Probably the largest feature, geographically at least. In all the Southlands.
They continue their journey to the northeast. And the next little while the flight on the jolly boat is fairly uneventful. Though the mage Reinholt has to quarter to starboard, heading more to the east than the northeast, as he flies across the wind instead of directly into it.
The only thing not eventful is the constant glaring at one another from Dorc da Orc and sir Percavelle Lé Dic. Who to put it lightly, don't really like one another.
The ork warleader will occasionally say something in the unintelligible language of his race, that he directs at the heavily armoured knight. Which of course the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic doesn't understand.
While the former earl of Lé Dic will reply in common with something so obtuse, and frankly foppish. That Dorkindle, who already finds it difficult to understand the common language in the first place.
Has absolutely no idea what the nobleborn knight is saying. Just that it's probably derogatory towards him. Which of course it is.
And whenever the big, burly ork from the very bottom of the world asks one of the others onboard the small air boat what the former paladin is saying.
None of them will answer him. Not even Teabagger the goblin Cunt. Who admittedly, finds some of the things sir Percavelle calls his general, absolutely hilarious.
After a little bit of silence as the morning continues on, and for little while, the two bitter rivals aren't calling one another names.
Dorc da Orc looks away to starboard, and something catches his eye, and he says "Food" followed by "Lot's of fucken food".
"We've got food" says Mira Reinholt from the stern where he's at the tiller, the once powerful mage who is the most experienced flyer, as he was brought up around airships. As his family own the foremost trading company in the city-state of Vexil. Who have one of the largest, if not the largest private fleet of airships in all the Southlands.
Though admittedly the exiled Vexilian mage didn't do any air sailing really when he still lived in his homeland. And has only done so, after he was sent into exile when he was just seventeen.
Now in his mid thirties, the mage Reinholt is a fairly decent hand at the tiller or wheel of an airship or boat. Something he never thought he'd be.
"We took plenty from the wreck" adds the highly skilled swordmaster, referring to the supplies that they took from the warship they were flying on, until it was knocked out of the night sky by an unknown mage.
"Not that kinda foods" says Dorkindle in disgust, who then waves away to the east, as he adds "Fucken fresh foods" the large ork purses his lips as looks away in the distance to starboard, then he says "Some kind of funny deer".
The swordmaster Reinholt glances at his fellow councillor, Darid Parsen. Who just shrugs his shoulders after quietly saying in elven "Some fresh food would be good" followed by "Who knows how long this is all going to take". Referring how long it will take to find the assailant who brought down the tri-masted destroyer. And to also find the group of Tamric Drubine, Lisell Maera, Tovis the war engineer, and Beldane the cleric.
The mage Reinholt and commander Parsen look at Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy. And the Vexilian mage in exile nods his hooded head in the direction the ork weaponsmith has indicated where the "funny deer" are.
After he stands up and looks to the east, Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy says "Some kind of antelope by the looks of it".
The elf from the principality of Alínlae pauses for a moment, then he adds "Thousands of them".
"Not no fucken anti-loop" mutters the ork warleader who then says "It's a funny deer".
"It kind of does look like a funny deer" murmurs Teabagger the goblin Cunt in his native language after clambering up to stand on a bench to have a look away to the east.
As his farsightedness, just like his general, as well as the elven spy's. Is far superior to the humans onboard the jolly boat.
"And there is lots of them" murmurs the small, bright green goblin who is originally from the kingdom of Melaurn, and is now the commander of the battalion of goblins in the armies of Farque.
"Stop yapping in that fucken gob-a-lin speak" growls Dorc da Orc, who continues with "Me fucken told you not to speak that infront of me, and others" followed by "It's fucken rude".
The goblin commander's jaw drops open in surprise. Then he closes it and just shakes his head. Considering his general talks all the time in his native tongue. Most likely swearing. As that's half of what he says in the common language most of the time.
And for him to tell Teabagger not to speak in his native language. Is hypocritical to say the least.
"Don't worry my fine bright green little fellow" says sir Percavelle Lé Dic from the bow to Teabagger, the nobleborn knight continues with "You speak in that foreign babble of yours as much as you like". The former paladin grins from ear to ear when the ork weaponsmith looks at him and scowls.
Before the large ork and the heavily armoured knight can start arguing again, Mira Reinholt the mage says "We'll get one or two of them, some fresh meat will do us good".
The highly skilled swordmaster turns the jolly boat more to starboard, and heads to the east. And after a while, even the humans onboard can see the giant swath across the plains. That's a herd of antelope, thousands strong.
"Hell, there is a lot of them" says Darid Parsen the cavalry commander as the mage Reinholt flies them eastwards, while keeping an eye on the darkening skies to the northeast. The direction they're heading.
"Take a couple from the edges" says Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy who has stringed his longbow. He has his longbow and his quiver of arrows.
While Darid aka Zubutai the son of Timagin, and Mira Reinholt don't have their bows. As their's were lost on the downed airship. And they weren't able to find them.
As the small flying vessel closes in on the giant herd of antelope, which is running south.
Dorc da Orc after tells the swordmaster Reinholt "Get lower cunt". As he takes a spear from across his back.
But before the big, burly ork can stand up, and upset the balance of the air boat. The spy Tanith has stepped to the starboard side, drawn his longbow back, and sent two arrows off in quick succession. Dropping two of the antelopes at the edge of the massive herd. 
"The fuck" mutters Dorkindle in disappointment, who grunts when the Vexilian mage in exile at the tiller says to him "Keep still Dorc, we're heading down".
After the jolly boat touches down, the ork warleader hops over the side to retrieve the two antelope.
"Not here, we'll dress them later" says the mage Reinholt as the ork weaponsmith was going to take a knife and gut the antelope.
"I don't like the look of that weather" the once powerful mage explains to his fellow councillor, Darid Parsen.
Once Dorkindle is onboard again with the dead antelope. They set off again, flying over the massive herd of antelope. Which must number nearly twenty thousand strong.
"I think they're running away from weather to the northeast" says the cavalry commander as he looks down as they pass over the herd of antelope. The exiled Vexilian swordmaster nods his hooded head in agreement with his fellow councillor as they continue eastwards.
Once they've left the herd of antelope well behind. Helbe the elven thief appears onboard and says "We'll have to put down and find cover somewhere".
The young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel continues with "No way we'll ride out the oncoming storm up here in the air" as he gestures to the north, where the entire sky is a threatening black.
Looking down at the ground, the mage Reinholt says "Where?" followed by "This whole damn place is flat".
"There" says the elven magic user who points away to the north a bit, he continues with "A dry riverbed".
"And after it pisses down for who knows how long, and that river starts running again?" asks Mira Reinholt as he turns the jolly boat north and has the Dalinvardél Tanith and Shur Kee the monk reef the sail.
"We're in a boat, it'll be fine" says the young elven noble who is a member of the royal family that rules the principality of Laerel.
After a slight pause, the once powerful mage says " Fair point". Then as the highly skilled swordmaster from the city-state of Vexil pushes down on the tiller, and they head towards the ground, Dorc da Orc states in a matter of fact tone "Dorc don't wanna get wet".
More than a few eyes from the others are rolled when he says that as the jolly boat heads downwards.
Mira Reinholt puts the air boat down in the dry riverbed, which is significantly lower than the plains around it. He puts it close to a bend in the riverbed where it turns to the east, close to the north bank of the river.
They take down the mast, then use the spare canvas from the locker. To cover the jolly boat from gunwale to gunwale. Using the metal line cleats to tie them to.
They all sit beneath the canvas in the bottom of the small vessel between the benches as first the wind hits, followed by the rain. Which steadily gets heavier and heavier. There they wait for the storm to pass . . . . . .