Aftermath 34.

The Kaldel Plains...

"That's some sexy fucken goats they got" murmurs Dorc da Orc in the common language.
Who in typical fashion, murmured a bit too loudly if the sideways look directed at him by Teabagger the goblin Cunt is anything to go by.
"Filthy fucken goat fucker" the ork warleader mutters to himself in a high pitched voice that resembles the voice of his mother.
In actual fact it sounds nothing like her. As the big, burly ork can't remember what she sounds like. Just that her voice was annoying. And this is his best attempt at it.
"Shut up whore, me not fucken talkin' to you" grumbles the ork weaponsmith as he glares at the large ork skull tied to his belt.
It's his mother's skull, which he took after he killed her, and defiled her dead body. Which was only fair, as she was doing her best to kill him at the time.
The machinations of ork society is brutal to say the least. Killing one another is a daily occurrence.
Even within one's own tribe, and within one's own family.
The big, burly ork who hails from the southern polar region of the world draws some looks from a few of the others, not just the goblin commander Teabagger.
But he's reverted to muttering to himself in his native language. Which none of the others understand. Which is a saving grace for them. As they wouldn't want to understand it if they fully knew how orks speak to one another.
Dorkindle speaking in common, which is rough to begin with. Is only a slight reflection of how he actually communicates in his native language.
Mira Reinholt the mage shakes his hooded head as he looks back at Dorc da Orc who is next to the jolly boat muttering away to himself in the ork language.
The once powerful mage who figures the nearby flock of sheep and goats, the goats probably more than the sheep, has grabbed the attention of the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks.
Turns back to face the plainsmen that Helbe the elven thief, Darid Parsen the cavalry commander and himself are talking with.
"So no one else then?" asks Darid Parsen the cavalry commander.
"No one else" says the plainsman who is part of a caravan of five wagons, and about twenty people. Men, women and children, all plainsmen, who are traveling north with their flock.
Next to the cavalry commander, the elven masterthief, Helbenthril Raendril slightly nods his hooded head.
Knowing that the plainsmen are telling the truth, and that they've given all the information they have, commander Parsen says "Thanks for that" followed by "We'll be on our way".
The cavalry commander, and his fellow members of the personal council to lord Farque, turn and head back to the small airboat where the others are waiting.
As they do, one of the plainsmen asks "What's that green thing there?".
"A goblin" says Mira Reinholt the mage without looking back at the plainsmen.
"No not the goblin fellow" says the plainsman who spoke, who then adds "The big green thing next to it?".
"You don't want to know" is the extremely dry response from the once powerful mage, who glances back at the plainsmen and lifts a hand in farewell.
Those of the caravan watch the group pile back into the small vessel. Though the goblin commander Teabagger falls off the starboard gunwale trying to climb aboard.
And he has to be picked up by Dorc da Orc, who sighs and loudly mutters "Fucken gob-a-lin" as he plops the small, bright green goblin into the airboat before he climbs aboard.
The jolly boat with the mage Reinholt at the tiller lifts off as the children in the caravan wave and shout in excitement as they watch the small vessel take off, and head up into the sky.
With a magnanimous look upon his face, sir Percavelle Lé Dic sitting in the bow, waves farewell to them and the others in the caravan below.
Meanwhile, in the stern of the jolly boat, the mage who is in exile from his homeland, the city-state of Vexil,  asks in the elven language "You certain it was them?".
"It was them" says Helbe the elven thief in the same language.
"Well, at least we're going in the right direction" quietly says the spellcaster originally from Vexil, who is also a highly skilled swordmaster.
"Unfortunately" adds the once powerful mage, both the elven masterthief and the cavalry commander nod in agreement.
"They're definitely going there" says the young elven noble who hails from the island principality of Laerel, who continues with "They definitely know who took down our ship, and they know where they are".
"Hopefully they're keeping out of trouble" quietly says the cavalry commander, who in actual fact is really a hordes barbarian by the name of Zubutai Timaginson, from the southern tundra, who just happens to find himself inhabiting the body of Darid Parsen. Who is formerly a foot soldier in the army of lady Linara Lé Dic, in the kingdom of Druvic.
"Let's hope they are" says the Vexilian mage in exile, who is interrupted by Dorc da Orc who looks back and asks "They have no booze?".
"They had none" says the mage Reinholt in the common language, the warleader of the ork race grunts in a disappointed tone.
He couldn't smell any alcohol in the caravan they just stopped next to. And now the swordmaster from the city-state of Vexil telling him that there wasn't anything. Is doubly disappointing to the large ork, who is the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks.
As Dorkindle mutters to himself about the lack of booze that people have with them nowadays.
The trio of councilors in the stern of the jolly boat. Resume their conversation about where they're going. And more importantly, who is likely already there.
"You really think they're keeping out of trouble?" quietly asks Helbe the elven thief as he looks around in all directions, on what's a clear, and fairly warm day here at the end of summer above the Kaldel Plains.
"I'd hope so" says the spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands.
"And if they are doing something" adds Mira Reinholt, who nods to where Dorc da Orc is sitting in the middle of the small airboat as he continues with "He isn't around them, so Tam won't be influenced by him".
"That's something i guess" says Darid aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman, who after a moments pause, quietly adds "But if they are doing something, i hope none of them get themselves killed".
He quietly continues with "Because if they do" the cavalry commander just looks at his fellow councillors when he says that.
The two spellcasters faintly wince as they know the consequences if one of those in the group consisting of Tamric Drubine, Lisell Maera, Tovis the war engineer, and Beldane the cleric, are either killed or maimed.
"They better stay out of trouble" mutters the mage Reinholt, who out of the three councilors in the stern of the small vessel, is the one with the quick temper at times. Though he's much more considered and even tempered compared to when he was younger, when he still had his vast amount of power.
The young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel, infact he's a member of the royal family that rules that particular elven principality.
Nods his hooded head in agreement with his fellow spellcaster, then he glances sideways at the once powerful mage who gestures to the elven princeling's shoulder, and says "When do you think?".
"Tomorrow" is the reply from the elven magic user, who after a slight pause adds "Or the middle of tonight sometime" prince Helbenthril Raendril pauses again, before murmuring "I hope".
Both Mira Reinholt and Darid Parsen nod, as they now have a fair idea when Narladene the ground pixie, who has gone ahead. Will most likely find the group who are missing.
Who they suspect have found the village the illegal wreckers who took down the Farqian warship they were traveling on, are operating from.
"And I'm guessing we won't until the following day" says the spellcaster from Vexil who is also a highly skilled swordmaster.
"And that's if this constant breeze continues throughout the day, and into tonight" continues the once powerful mage, as he shifts the tiller slightly to his right, so that the sail that's up, can catch the prevailing wind that's quartering to aft on the port side.
"Can either of you do something to help with that?" asks the cavalry commander Darid Parsen gesturing behind them where the wind is coming from.
"I could do a small localized breeze that would get us out any still air we might get caught up in" says the elven master assassin.
"Same, if we were desperate" says the Vexilian mage in exile, who then adds "Even if i still had all my power you wouldn't want anything more, as i tended to do pretty much all or nothing when it came to the weather" he continues with "It was either a storm or nothing".
"I remember" sourly says commander Parsen, who indeed does remember when he was actually still Zubutai Timaginson, and getting caught up in storms that the mage Reinholt had created.
As they were probably the most destructive things that the once powerful mage ever created.
Darid aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman who clearly remembers a lightning storm Mira Reinholt created to help bring about the destruction of the floating city of Nors across on the otherside of the Great Western Ocean.
Then says "Hopefully this breeze lasts for awhile" the cavalry commander continues with "Because the sooner we get to them the better". He leaves it unmentioned that the sooner they find the missing group of four, the less amount of time the four can get themselves into trouble.
The group in the jolly boat continue sailing through the air, heading northeast above the Kaldel Plains.
They fly throughout the middle of the day, not stopping for anything. They even have the midday meal onboard the small vessel which survived the destruction of the Farqian warship they were traveling upon. A warship that was brought down by a group of illegal wreckers who are based in the northeast of the Kaldel Plains.
It's in the middle of afternoon, when Helbe the elven thief, who has gone ahead. And who is down on the ground. Has stopped at a waypoint. Those pile of rocks, pyramid in shape. That has a wooden pole sticking out of it, and has strips of cloth tied to it. That are prayer flags that the plainsmen tie to the pole.
He sees a well used trail heading roughly north, south. The waypoint is adjacent to.
The elven magic user shifts up into the air again. When he's a couple hundred feet above the ground. Levitating in mid air, the young elven noble who is blurred, which makes him invisible, looks to the north.
The grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel, with his natural farsight. Spots a caravan of wagons in the distance, heading north.
They're about four or five miles away, and the elven master archer watches them carefully for a bit. Clearly seeing that they're not plainsmen, but other travelers making their way across the plains.
The young elven noble shifts, and a little while later, he gets to the caravan. Where he sits unnoticed upon the top of one of the box like wagons.
The elven masterthief listens to the conversation of those on the wagon seat, who are just infront, and down below him.
The elven princeling who is also reading minds, nods his hooded head when he finds out the caravan are a traveling troupe of performers.
Which isn't all that odd. As you'll often find their sort crossing the Kaldel Plains during most of the year.
Where they stop at the settlements of the plainsmen, who pay for performances from such troupes.
The highly talented elven spellcaster finds out where they're going. To a town further to the north. The same town he figures that isn't all that far from the villages the illegal wreckers are working from.
As he goes from wagon to wagon, prince Helbenthril Raendril finds out as much as he can from the performers and their families.
Mostly to do with the town they're heading to, which they hope to stay at a while, and do a series of performances over at least a couple of weeks.
It's when he's on the top of the box wagon of the leader of the troupe, a short fellow with a thick beard who hails from the kingdom of Girdane, that the young elven noble finds the most important information.
"Those plainsmen we saw last week say they haven't gone north of town for the last year or so" says the troupe leader to the tall fellow sitting next to him on the wagon bench, who has the reins in his hands.
"They give a reason why?" says the tall man driving the wagon, who from his accent and colouring, is from somewhere along the coast of the Southlands.
"Something to do with those villages north of it" says the troupe leader, who shakes his head as he adds "Seems visitors aren't exactly welcomed up there anymore".
The tall fellow from the coast grunts, then says "We could of gone up there after leaving town, and done a few nights in each village".
"That's what i was hoping" says the Girdanian, who continues with "We haven't been there in over three years, we could of done a week in those two villages".
"Maybe things have changed?" says the tall fellow driving the wagon, he then adds "We'll find out in a few days when we get to town".
"That we will" says the leader of the troupe of traveling performers, who ply their trade up and down the Kaldel Plains throughout most of the year.
Helbe the elven thief has shifted away, and is heading back to the others in the jolly boat.
Which he spots in the sky to the south in the distance, between shifts in mid air.
The young elven noble who is a member of the personal council of the lord and ruler of the lands Farque. Realises that they're a little bit closer to where they're going to than he originally thought.
The elven masterthief as he makes his way back to the airboat the others are on, figures than Narladene will be at the town sometime early this evening. And will reach the first village to the north of it during the night.
Where he hopes she'll locate the missing group of Tamric Drubine, Lisell Maera, Tovis the war engineer, and the newest member of the group, Beldane the cleric.
"Well, i hope she finds them" Helbe the elven thief murmurs to himself in between shifts as he makes his way back to the others on the airboat as they continue the search for the four who are missing, and the search for the illegal wreckers who brought down the Farqian warship they were traveling on . . . . . .