The Lost Ones 75.

Summer. The East Of The Continent & The Southlands.

The Quick Gull continues to fly to the southwest.
To the north and west, for as far as the eye can see, it's grasslands.
Those onboard the small, sleek, single masted vessel that was previously in the Sultanate of Dreese's fleet.
Know that further west beyond the grasslands, is a vast desert.
That takes up a fair bit of the eastern half of the continent, lying both to the north and south of the equator.
The Quick Gull isn't heading there as it goes westwards to the otherside of the continent.
It's going more to the south, towards lands that are both on their charts and maps, and that are not.
As the journey westwards to the Southlands continues.
Mira Reinholt the mage has come up on deck, and sits on the bench infront of the single mast of the Quick Gull.
The once powerful mage has a spellbook open in his lap, and is reading it.
It's one of the few spellbooks remaining in his possession. After most of them were taken off him when he was first captured by the Sultan of Dreese, and his pet spellcasters.
Helbe the elven thief comes up on deck, and spotting his fellow spellcaster and fellow member of lord Farque's personal council.
The young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel makes his way to where the mage Reinholt is sitting.
The highly talented elven magic user sits down next to the spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands.
"That doesn't have, that spell in it, does it?" dryly asks Helbe the elven thief as he points at the spellbook the once powerful mage is reading.
With a wry looking smile upon his face, as he knows exactly what spell the elven masterthief is referring to, Mira Reinholt the mage says "No".
"Thank the forest gods for that" dryly murmurs the elven master assassin, which earns him a sideways look from the Vexilian mage in exile.
"At least you won't be tempered to cast it again" says the young elven noble who is the grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel.
The spellcaster, who was once the most powerful mage of his generation, to be found anywhere in the Southlands, slightly shakes his hooded head, then says "You must admit, i did get better at it".
The highly talented elven magic user blinks in surprise, then ruefully smiles then chuckles as the mage Reinholt tells him "Only went halfway around the world this time, than offworld like the last time" followed by "So that's something".
"I guess so" says the chuckling elven master archer, who continues with "And with what?" followed by "Just a fourteen year gap between the two attempts at it?".
"See" says Mira Reinholt, who like his fellow councillor is speaking in the elven language so that the crew can't listen to their conversation.
"A definite improvement" adds the spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil who also happens to be a highly skilled swordmaster.
The elven princeling from the Southlands shakes his hooded head, then says "We have to get you a spellbook or scroll with a basic rift spell".
Still shaking his hooded head, the elven masterthief who is a member of the royal family that rules the principality of Laerel, continues with "Why you didn't learn it when you were younger, and in that mage college of yours is beyond me".
The elven spellcaster, who isn't all that powerful, especially for an elven royal, who are amongst the most powerful spellcasters in the world, then adds "It would of saved you a lot of trouble if you had".
Mira Reinholt grimaces at that, for what the young elven noble says is true.
The once powerful mage from the city-state of Vexil, where he trained at the famous Vexil Mage College. Neglected a lot of spells that are pretty common for someone with the amount of power that he once had. Or for that matter, practitioners of magic even less powerful than he previously was.
He like the vast majority of mages, was too busy trying to learn how to be as destructive as possible.
And the fact the mage Reinholt was quite busy with other things when he was younger, and at mage college.
Like learning the sword, and attaining the rank of swordmaster. Which few if any spellcasters anywhere in the world are capable of doing.
The once powerful mage was also busy with the killing of rivals, fellow students, and just ordinary people in general throughout the city of Vexil and it's surrounding state.
As Mira Reinholt, since he was child of the age of seven, became a serial killer. Something he finally ended after he was sent into exile from Vexil, when he betrayed his homeland at the age of seventeen during a war, when he was the youngest ever member of the mage council of Vexil.
"Probably should of" says the swordmaster Reinholt, who then adds "Too late now, I'll just have to learn it the hard way".
The grandson of Prince Raendril of Laerel grunts to that, then quietly says "Just as long as it's a rift spell and not a rift/void".
The elven master assassin briefly pauses before adding "Because if not".
The young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel, that lies off the coast of the Southlands, then glances behind them to aft. To where lord Farque is on the slightly raised aft deck, standing with the ship's captain next to the helmsman at the wheel.
The mage Reinholt winces slightly as he too glances to aft. As he's been given an ultimatum by the undead warlord. For if he Mira goes and tries to cast another rift/void, his life is basically forfeit.
As the lord and ruler of the lands Farque has told him he'll kill him if he casts a rift/void again. Accidentally or otherwise.
"I'll avoid doing that" quietly says Mira Reinholt, who must admit that even a miscast rift/void can take one a hell of a lot further than a normal rift could. No matter how powerful the caster is.
"Good" quietly says prince Helbenthril Raendril, who is of the opinion that if his fellow councillor ever actually learns how to create a rift/void without any of the dire side effects. He'll most likely cast it no matter what.
He just hopes the next time the mage Reinholt does, he's not anywhere in the same vicinity. As a rift/void doesn't particularly care what goes through it.
The third member of lord Farque's personal council onboard the Quick Gull comes up on deck and looks around.
And when he spots the two spellcasters sitting on the bench infront of the mast. He makes his way over to them.
Both Mira Reinholt and Helbe the elven thief shuffle along the bench, to allow Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit to climb up, and sit beside them.
As the halfling from the Sultanate of Dreese takes a seat, the mage Reinholt can't help but grin at the sight of the hobbit who is a former air sailor, who served in the Sultanate's fleet.
The once powerful mage who is in exile from his homeland, the city-state of Vexil, which is in the central region of the Southlands, shakes his hooded head as he looks at the hobbit who isn't exactly what he seems to be.
"What?" asks Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit when he notices the look directed at him by the human spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster.
"You are going to cause all sorts of trouble when we finally get back to the Southlands and find the others" says councillor Reinholt who spent the better part of more than four months, under the control of the now dead Sultan of Dreese.
Knowing exactly what the exiled Vexilian mage is referring to, Jarjin Littlefoot sourly smiles, then says in a tone similar to that smile "I was doing my best to forget about that".
With a shake of his head, the halfling who is infact really a hordes outrider from the southern tundra by the name of Zubutai Timaginson, who just happens to find himself inhabiting the body of Jarjin Littlefoot.
Quietly says to his fellow council members "Maybe I'll get lucky and die again" the former air sailor then sourly adds "By the tundra gods, i don't want to be ridiculed by that big green idiot all the time".

"Ahahahaha look at it" laughs Dorc da Orc as he points "It thinks it's people" adds the large ork who is in fits of laughter.
Standing nearby, sir Percavelle Lé Dic just rolls his eyes as he looks over at his bitter rival the ork warleader.
While on the street, a confused looking hobbit walks by, absolutely bewildered as to why the large green, and frankly smelly creature standing on the street corner, is pointing at him, as he laughs in an uncontrolled manner.
"Fucken hobbitch" splutters the ork weaponsmith when he gets his breath back from laughing so much.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world, is still pointing at the halfling which has well and truly gone by the two of them, and headed down to the other end of the street.
Even when it turns a corner, and goes out of sight, the ork who is a general in the armies of Farque, is still laughing at seeing a hobbit.
The warleader of the ork race finds halflings, or hobbits absolutely ridiculous. Mostly due to their height, or that should be lack of height.
And true, he'd kill a halfling for the fun of it, because they're ridiculously small compared to him.
He wouldn't go out of his way to chase one down and kill it, unlike dwarves.
As he, like all ork kind, hates dwarves with a passion. As they're the natural enemy of his race.
It's a hate caused by their god, the war god Krom. Who doesn't particularly like the two dwarven gods. Infact he hates the gods Thaxel and Dovarn. And they hate him likewise.
Hence dwarven kind and orks absolutely hate one another. Who want to kill each other on sight.
Though it's more the orks want to kill dwarven kind. As most dwarves have never seen an ork before, and only think they're creatures of legend.
The fact that most, if not all ork kind are found in the southern polar region of the world, and no where else. Kind of makes them like creatures of legend anyway.
One ork who no longer lives at the frozen bottom of the world, as he was sent into the exile from his homeland, The Ork Range.
Is Dorc da Orc, who grunts and says "A fucken hobbitch" then starts chuckling again after Shur Kee the monk walks outside and asks "What was all that laughing about friend Dorc?".
Even the short, statured monk, normally indifferent to such things, rolls his eyes at that from the warleader of the ork race.
While to one side, sir Percavelle Lé Dic just shakes his head, and looks on in disapproval at his bitter rival, the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks.
"Silly fucken hobbitches" says the large ork with a chuckle, who then looks at the acolyte in the philosophical order of Bru Li, and asks him "You cunts done?".
"Almost" replies the physical adept who is from the kingdom of Wah Lee, which is all the way on the otherside of the continent, a good fifteen thousand miles to the east.
They're still in the lowland town of Falmare, and it's the day after they confronted and killed the core group of mercenaries who had plans to create their own nation up in the Maldin Hills.
Who they had chased from the hill country, to up the coast to the port town of Gilsom, then finally down here in the flatlands, to the town of Falmare.
Word of the violence, first in the east of town, then in the south of town, where they finally killed the five mercenaries who wanted to create their own nation up in the Maldin Hills.
Has started to spread through the large lowland town of Falmare.
And the town guards have been seen on the streets this morning, trying to find out what happened, and who was responsible for it.
The group are at a traders, in the western part of town. Buying supplies for their journey.
For now that Saanea the witch has been found, and they're finished with the distraction of hunting down and killing the mercenaries who attacked towns and villages in the nearby Maldin Hills.
Tamric Drubine the field commander has decided to go back to the original plans once the witch was found.
And that's to head south, and return to the lands Farque. Where hopefully they can find the rest of the group, or at least try and find out where they are.
Shur Kee the monk puts his pack full of supplies on his back, and takes his staff that he left outside, leaning against the front of the shop.
And he looks at the two who have been waiting outside for the others.
Dorc da Orc who went to a nearby bakery as well as a butcher's, to stuff his sacks full of what he needs. Which he'll probably eat all of it in a couple of days anyway.
As well as some barrels of ale and wine he's purchased, which are on the ground next to him.
And away to Shur Kee's right is sir Percavelle Lé Dic or Percy as he's more commonly called by the others in the group, who never actually buys any supplies whenever they go anywhere.
Oh he gets them, he just never buys them himself. As he always has someone else get them for him.
This time it's the acolyte in the order of Bru Li, who picks up the other pack he's brought outside with him, and walks over to the heavily armoured knight, and hands it to him, along with the former paladin's change.
Much as it is, as the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic didn't exactly give Shur Kee that much coin anyway.
"Thank you my fine short fellow" says sir Percavelle Lé Dic, who ignores the mutter "What a cuntbag" from Dorc da Orc that's directed at him.
And asks the short, statured monk "Has young Tam decided if we're to purchase steeds for our journey?" followed by "Horses i do say, wot".
As the ork warleader loudly murmurs "Oooh horsey" in excitement.
The physical adept who is a conduit, and is the living incarnation of the Jade Warrior, Bru Li.
Shakes his head no, and tells the nobleborn knight "We will not".
As Dorkindle grunts in disappointment, and sir Percavelle Lé Dic sighs in a disappointing manner, Shur Kee says "He hopes to try and get us onto a passing airship".
The ork weaponsmith perks up when he hears that, then he grunts as the acolyte in the order of Bru Li adds "If not, we shall be walking".
"Figures" mutters the member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che. Who then looks away to his left, to where his bitter rival stands, scowling at him.
The heavily, armoured knight who is the former earl of Lé Dic, which is his family's fief in the east of the kingdom of Druvic. Just shakes his head as the ork general just stands there scowling at him.
While Shur Kee steps back, and leans against the front of the shop, and keeps an eye on the bitter rivals, as they wait for the others to finish up inside.
Just a short while later, and Tamric Drubine the field commander, Lisell Maera the messenger and Saanea the witch make their way out of the trader's shop.
"Ready?" asks Tamric Drubine the field commander as he looks at the trio who have been waiting outside.
Dorkindle grunts, Percy nods as he puts on his full helm, and Shur Kee says "We are friend Tam".
"Then let's get going" says the nobleborn teenager from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin, who is a field commander in the armies of Farque.
Tamric Drubine or Tam as he's more commonly called by those who know him well, looks at Lisell Maera and nods.
The attractive young woman from the coastal city-state of Brattonbury starts walking, going to the left down the street, and the others follow after her, as they head out of town.
The young field commander in the armies of Farque has decided to go west out to the coast, which is just over the a dozen miles away.
And once there, go down south along the coast road. And hopefully wave down an airship, as many trading vessels from throughout the Southlands, and beyond, fly up and down the coast.
Tamric Drubine hopes to continue south as far as possible by air. If not, they've got a long journey ahead of them to the lands Farque which is faraway to the south.

Author's Note - Here ends "The Lost Ones". The main storyline will continue in "The Journey".

The Lost Ones 74.

Summer. Falmare. Lowlands. Southlands.

Spranen the mercenary grabs the knight's shield as he lies there on the ground after getting hit by the backdoor of the safe house.
As he does, Halnard the mercenary stabs his sword down at the prone knight, aiming for his head.
"Damn it" mutters Halnard the mercenary as his blade slides along the side of the large, heavily armoured knight's full helm.
"The eye slot!" says Brossic the mercenary who points to where Halnard should stab.
While Spranen, who like Halnard, is from the port town of Gilsom, grunts with exertion as he tries to rip the large shield away from the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che.
Who maybe battered, bruised, and slightly disoriented. But he's hanging onto his footman's shield for dear life.
Then as Grunna the sorcerer steps forward to help Spranen get the large shield off the left arm of the heavily armoured knight.
Halnard from Gilsom puts a foot on the prone knight's chest, pushing down on his steel breastplate. And lifts his shortsword up again, and stabs it down again, aiming for the eye slot in the downed knight's full helm.
Halnard suddenly grunts, and staggers backwards a couple of steps.
And as the other three look at him, his shortsword drops from his right hand, and he grabs with his left hand at his stomach.
That Brossic, Spranen, and Grunna all notice that there's a crossbow bolt sticking out of it.
The youngest of the four mercenaries, who is the most cautious of them, groans in pain as he drops to his knees, clutching at his stomach.
Then his head snaps back, as his face shatters apart when another crossbow bolt hits him in the head.
Both Brossic and Spranen dive to one side, away from the hole in the back wall of the safe house.
Though the mercenary from the port town of Gilsom, Spranen. Keeps a hold of the knight's shield, still trying to pull it free from the downed knight's left arm.
"Fuck" mutters Grunna the sorcerer who steps away from the hole in the back wall of the small abode, and the open frame of the backdoor, which lies off to one side after he used it to hit the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che.
The powerful spellcaster from further down the coast of the Southlands, grimaces as he looks at Halnard, who lies there dead on the ground with most of the front of his head missing.
The sorcerer, who along with the others, have plans for creating their own nation up in the Maldin Hills.
Briefly thinks about peeking around through the open back doorway. But decides not to, as he knows whoever it is that's using the crossbow, will shoot whoever shows themselves.
Just inside the safe house, in the front room, Lisell Maera the messenger is kneeling, with her armed crossbow up to her shoulder. Looking through the small abode, through to the back room. Where there's a large hole in the back wall, and a few feet to the side of it, where there's an open doorway, with no door.
The attractive young woman from the coastal city-state of Brattonbury, who has just killed one of the mercenaries. Who she believes is one of the two from the port town of Gilsom.
Sees only the dead body of the mercenary on the ground at the back, and not far from it is sir Percavelle Lé Dic, who she sees is trying to move.
The messenger in the scouts and rangers division of the armies of Farque slightly furrows her brow, and narrows her eyelids.
As she realises someone is pulling on the left arm of the prone, former paladin.
They're trying to get his shield off him, Lisell Maera the messenger thinks to herself.
Then the attractive young woman from the coast of the Southlands, whose mother was a street prostitute, and whose father, a man she never knew or met, was a sailor. Sees the former earl of Lé Dic is being dragged that way.
Lisell Maera or Lis as she's more commonly called by the others in the group, looks carefully, and sees how thick the back wall of the safe house is, especially near the edge of the hole in the wall.
She shoots off the bolt in her crossbow, and grins as she quickly reloads when she hears a yelp from outside, and sees that sir Percavelle Lé Dic is no longer being dragged to one side.
Brossic the lowland mercenary grimaces in pain, then mutters "The same fucking arm". As another crossbow bolt has just hit him in the left arm, though this one has just grazed him, and left a bloody streak, compared to the previous one which actually went into and almost through his arm.
The lowlander is lying flat on the ground, trying not to make himself a target. While next to him, Spranen sits there, still trying to pull the large footman's shield off the left arm of the downed knight.
Meanwhile, Grunna the sorcerer has creeped forward, to be next to the open doorway at the back of the safe house.
Brossic thinks he's crazy for doing so, for whoever it is that's been shooting at them with a crossbow, could very well shoot through the wall right next to the doorway.
Then the three mercenaries, Brossic, Spranen and Grunna. The three who are still alive out of the five of them who have plans of creating their own nation up in the Maldin Hills.
All look at one another as they hear a roar nearby, from out on the street infront of the safe house, that they're behind.
Lisell Maera the messenger looks behind her when she hears the familiar roar.
The attractive young woman from the city-state of Brattonbury mutters "Oh hell" as she sees Dorc da Orc run from the house directly opposite the safe house she's in.
The large ork is followed by Shur Kee the monk, Tamric Drubine the field commander, and Saanea the witch.
Lis drops flat to the floor, as she sees the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world is heading straight this way.
The messenger or runner as they're sometimes referred to grimaces and hopes the ork warleader doesn't run over him.
As she does, the tall, lean, athletic, and attractive young woman from the coast of the Southlands.
Lifts up her crossbow as she lies there on the floor in the front room of the safe house.
Lisell Maera points towards the rather large hole in that back wall of the small abode, and the open doorway, going between the two as she waits for movement.
"Not this time" murmurs Grunna the sorcerer, who stops holding his power within himself, and says to Brossic and Spranen "Get ready".
The powerful sorcerer then casts an energyball, glances around the side of the open doorway, and sends it flying through the safe house.
He yells in pain, and realises he should put of up wards too. As he falls backwards onto the ground, with a crossbow bolt through his right leg.
The spellcaster from further down the coast of the Southlands, grimaces in pain as he rolls to one side, so he's not lying infront of the open doorway.
Then he grins knowing that his energyball is going to hit someone, hopefully whoever it is that's using the crossbow. Or even better, the large green creature, who he figures is running back into the safe house.
That's exactly what Dorc da Orc is doing, as Lisell Maera hears him shout "Get some!" as he runs in through the hole in the front wall he created previously.
The messenger in the armies of Farque grimaces as the large ork runs over her, barely missing her.
She also grimaces as she sees what looks like is an energyball coming straight towards the ork general, and where she's lying on the floor in the front room of the safe house.
Dorc da Orc who is well and truly a complete psychopath. Is also not entirely thick. Well at least not when it comes to combat.
And the warleader of the ork race, who has fought numerous spellcasters in the past.
Knows that what's coming right at him, probably won't kill him, but it will incapacitate him for a short amount of time.
Does what one wouldn't normally associate when it comes to a pig headed ork.
He steps to one side as he runs, and runs into the side wall of the safe house, as the blue coloured energyball narrowly misses him.
The ork weaponsmith smashes through the side wall sending wood and debris flying, and goes outside in a stumbling run.
Meanwhile in the front room of the small abode, Lisell Maera grimaces again as the six foot wide energyball passes just a foot above her.
The attractive young woman from the coastal city-state of Brattonbury, is glad it's not a fireball. For if it was, the liquid fire of that particular spell would of dripped on her as it passed over her.
Then as she lies there in the front room of the safe house, Lis hears a familiar voice outside on the street shout "Bru Li spirit!". The messenger in the scouts and rangers division of the armies of Farque rolls away to one side.
Tamric Drubine the field commander grabs Saanea the witch, and hauls her to one side down the street.
After he sees Dorkindle disappear inside the safe house the mercenaries they're after are behind.
And infront of him and the pretty looking hillwoman. Shur Kee the monk suddenly stops and goes into fighting stance.
And as he drags the spellcaster from the Maldin Hills to one side. The young field commander in the armies of Farque who sees the short, statured monk quickly grab the jade pendant he wears on a silver chain around his neck.
The nobleborn teenager from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin briefly catches sight of what's coming through the safe house, heading this way towards the street.
Then Tamric Drubine or Tam as he's more commonly called by the others in the group, hears the acolyte in the philosophical order of Bru Li shout "Bru Li spirit!".
Out the back, behind the safe house. As he lies there on the ground feeling a little worse for wear.
Sir Percavelle Lé Dic who clearly hears a roaring Dorc da Orc, followed by a crashing sound nearby.
Then hears the distinctive voice of Shur Kee the monk shout "Bru Li spirit!".
"Narille" mutters sir Percavelle Lé Dic as he knows exactly what that means. As he himself, has been on the receiving end of it, about fourteen years ago. It's something he'll never forget. And he's kept well clear of it ever since, whenever it's happened.
The large heavily armoured knight, who clenches his right hand, and is surprised to find he's still holding the sword of knockdown.
Who feels someone trying to take the shield of Saint Mar-che off his left arm, says "That" followed by a brief pause, before adding "Is mine you thieving villain, wot".
Then as he lies there on his back on the ground behind the safe house. The former paladin swings his right arm across his body, and stabs at whoever it is that's trying to wrench his magical shield from him.
The nobleborn knight from the kingdom of Druvic grins behind the faceplate of his full helm as he rolls the other way, as he knows the sword of knockdown has just hit someone.
Spranen the mercenary only sees it at the last moment, as he's too busy trying to pull the knight's shield away, as he wonders what that shouting is about from around the front of the safe house.
He briefly sees the knight's weapon, a strange looking shortsword. It doesn't stab Spranen or cut him. It hits him with the flat of the blade.
Then it feels like the mercenary from the port town of Gilsom, has been kicked in the chest by horse. As he's suddenly lifted off the ground, and goes flying backwards with force, tumbling through the air, narrowly missing Grunna the sorcerer, who sits there grimacing in pain, trying to pull a crossbow bolt out of his leg.
Spranen tumbles head over foot, barely able to scream, he's too disoriented to do so. As he goes flying backwards nearly forty feet, before he slams into the side of the house next to the safe house that belongs to Sharnd the merchant, who lies dead out on the street infront.
The mercenary Spranen hits the side of that house so hard, that he goes through it feet first, shattering his feet and legs. He goes through it up to his waist, when he comes to a sudden and violent stop.
The top half of his body continues it's momentum forward, and his chest and head slam into the side wall of the house, shattering his face and head against it, before the top half of his body falls back.
The mercenary from the port town of Gilsom is wedge into the side of the house, with broken limbs, shattered ribs, back and skull. With half of his body inside the house, and the other half hanging outside.
Spranen tries to groan in pain, but all that comes out of his mouth is blood as he dies stuck in the side of a house.
Holding his bloody left arm with his right hand, Brossic the lowland mercenary sits there in disbelief as he looks at Spranen stuck halfway into the next house along.
Nearby sits Grunna the sorcerer, who briefly forgets the pain in his leg from the crossbow bolt that's in it.
As he too is dumbfounded as to what's just happened to Spranen. Then the spellcaster from further down the coast of the Southlands frowns, as he realises his energyball should of exploded by now, and it hasn't.
And as Brossic the mercenary scoots to one side as he sees the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che attempting to sit up.
Grunna the sorcerer drags himself forward and to one side, to peek through the large hole in the back wall of the safe house.
"The fuck is that thing?" murmurs Grunna in surprise as he sees a strange white ball of something coming through the safe house, heading straight this way.
The sorcerer senses, and he doesn't sense anything magical about it as the ball, about the same size as his energyball, comes flying through the back room of the safe house.
Grunna frowns, then rolls to one side, yelling in pain as he does so, as he didn't lift his injured leg clear of the ground, and the crossbow bolt digs into the ground.
The sorcerer hisses in pain as he tries to roll clear, he rolls to one side as the strange white ball of some kind of energy comes flying through the hole in the back wall of the safe house. He doesn't roll far enough, as the strange white ball hits him.
Brossic the mercenary sits there in disbelief as he sees Grunna the sorcerer enveloped by the strange white ball of energy that comes flying out of the back of the safe house.
The lowlander blinks in surprise, as he sees a stunned Grunna looking around as he's inside the ball of white energy as it continues on it's way.
The sorcerer is pushing out against it to no avail, and his mouth is open as if screaming. But from the outside, Brossic doesn't hear anything from the spellcaster from further down the coast of the Southlands.
The white ball of energy, with Grunna the sorcerer floating around inside of it. Goes across the grassy yard behind the safe house. Until it hits the next house behind it.
There the white ball of energy dissipates, as Grunna's body hits the house, not particularly hard, but hard enough. As he hit as he was contorted inside the ball of white energy, and he hit it head first.
Brossic the lowland mercenary, sees Grunna the sorcerer drop to the ground at the base of that house. The spellcaster isn't moving, as he lies there with his head at an odd angle.
The flatlander then realises that he's the only one still alive. Sharnd lies dead out on the street infront. Halnard lies close by, missing most of his face where he was shot by a crossbow bolt. Spranen is stuck halfway into the side of the next house along, obviously dead.
As is Grunna, who lies against the base of the house across the grassy yard behind the safe house.
Then as the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che sits up, and looks in his direction.
Brossic the lowland mercenary clutching his bleeding arm, gets up off the ground, and turns to run away.
As he does, he catches a whiff of something that smells absolutely horrible.
Then all of sudden something grabs him just before he turns, and he hears a deep, growling voice say "Got ya cunt" . . . . . .

The Lost Ones 73.

Summer. The Southlands. The Lowlands. The Town Of Falmare.

Dorc da Orc goes to roar and swing a punch at the nearest of the four stunned looking mercenaries after he smashes out through the back of the small house they're behind.
When he's hit square in the chest by a spell cast by Grunna the sorcerer, who at least had his wits about him.
The large ork is picked up, and goes flying backwards in the direction he's come from as he's struck by blast spell from the sorcerer who is from further south down the coast of the Southlands.
The ork warleader grunts and sourly smiles as he goes back through the safe house he's just run through.
Dorkindle who is safe from the spell hitting his body, due to the plate of black, natural dragon armour he wears over his chest, and much of his ample stomach.
Winces in anticipation as he goes flying backwards out the front of the small abode he's smashed his way into.
Though as he goes flying back across the street, in the direction of the house that's opposite the safe house.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world can't help but grin at the sensation of flying. Something he's always enjoyed in his life.
As he watched Dorc da Orc come smashing through the front door of the house opposite the safe house. Then run across the street, and run through the front wall of the small abode that the mercenaries they're after, are hiding behind.
Sir Percavelle Lé Dic can't help but sourly smile at the actions of his bitter rival, the ork weaponsmith who is a general in the armies of Farque.
The former paladin who hopes the large ork knocks himself out as he runs head first into the safe house. Has no such luck, as Dorkindle smashes through the front wall of the small abode.
"Damn wooden houses, wot" mutters sir Percavelle Lé Dic, who is frankly disappointed that most of the houses here in the large lowland town of Falmare, are constructed of wood, instead of brick or stone.
As he knows his bitter rival, the ork warleader would have a hell of a lot more trouble if the houses here in Falmare were made from brick or stone.
The nobleborn knight from the kingdom of Druvic, who has stood up, and is about to make his way to the small abode that Dorc da Orc has just run into.
Hears a slight thud from that direction, and a moment or two later. He sees the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world. Come flying backwards out of the hole he created when he ran through the front wall of the safe house.
The member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che stands there in the street. Watching as the ork general goes flying at a height of about five feet, backwards across the street.
Sir Percavelle Lé Dic or Percy as he's more commonly called by the others in the group, who is pretty sure the ork weaponsmith is trying to flap his arms.
Sees Dorkindle turn his head, and look in his direction. The warleader of the ork race who has a grin upon his broad, green, brutish looking face.
Scowls when he spots the heavily armoured knight standing there watching him.
Then the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks smashes into the house that's opposite the safe house.
The large ork misses the open doorway that he smashed through previously. But hits the wall just to the right of it.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world, sends wood flying in all directions, as he smashes into the house he first ran out of.
Standing there in the middle of the street, there's a moment of silence from sir Percavelle Lé Dic.
Then the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic grins, and guffaws. Then he laughs, it's near silent laughter, as he doubles over, and holds his sides after seeing what just happened to Dorc da Orc.
The former earl of Lé Dic, which is his family's fief in the east of the kingdom of Druvic. Wheezes with laughter after he hears a loud groan come from the house that's directly across the street from the safe house.
Then the large, heavily armoured knight lifts the faceplate of his full helm, wipes the tears of laughter from his face, as he remembers what he's actually supposed to be doing.
Then after slapping shut the faceplate of his full helm, the former paladin lifts up the shield of Saint Mar-che that's on his left arm. And he draws the sword of knockdown, that he holds in his right gauntleted hand.
Sir Percavelle or Percy as he's more commonly called by the others in the group makes his way to the safe house that the mercenaries he and the others are after, are hiding behind.
Lisell Maera the messenger, using the appearance of Dorc da Orc bursting through the front door of the house directly opposite the safe house the mercenaries are using.
Crosses the street, from the corner of the house she's been standing around.
The attractive young woman from the coastal city-state of Brattonbury, looks up and down the street she's on. And sees no one on it, apart from sir Percavelle Lé Dic, and the dead body of the local merchant, Sharnd.
The messenger in the scouts and ramgers division of the armies of Farque. Keeping close to the front of homes and buildings, starts making her way down the street.
Towards where sir Percavelle Lé Dic is, and where Dorc da Orc has just run into the front of the safe house that the mercenaries they're after are using.
Lisell Maera or Lis as she's more commonly called by those who know her well. Briefly looks down and checks her crossbow.
When she looks back up, the messenger or runner as they're sometimes referred to.
Blinks in surprise, and pauses as she sees Dorc da Orc go flying backwards across the street. Then smash through the front wall, and into the house that's opposite the safe house the mercenaries are hiding behind.
Lis then sourly smiles as she sees sir Percavelle Lé Dic double over, and shake. It's obvious the large, heavily armoured knight is silently laughing at what he just saw.
After a few moments, the former paladin finally gets control of himself, and raises his magical shield, and draws his magical sword.
Then the nobleborn knight from the kingdom of Druvic, makes his way towards the safe house.
While the attractive young woman from the coast of the Southlands, whose mother was a prostitute on the streets of Brattonbury. And whose father, a man she never knew or met, was a sailor.
Gets moving again after she glances towards the house opposite the safe house, that Dorc da Orc went smashing into.
The messenger in the armies of Farque as she makes her way down this side of the street, also makes her way towards the safe house. Which she sees sir Percavelle Lé Dic enter, as he walks through the large hole in the front wall that was created when Dorc da Orc ran through it.
In a lane at the back of a house, Tamric Drubine the field commander shares a look with Shur Kee the monk, while behind them Saanea the witch quietly asks "What was that this time?".
As they all heard another thump or thud, come from around the front of the house.
"Friend Dorc perhaps?" quietly says Shur Kee the monk with a look at the nobleborn teenager from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin.
"Probably" dryly murmurs Tamric Drubine the field commander, who looks through the open backdoor, that the woman who was inside the house, ran out of screaming of, when Dorc da Orc entered the house through the backdoor.
The young field commander in the armies of Farque enters the house, and a moment later is followed by Shur Kee the monk, and Saanea the witch, who is holding her power within herself at the moment.
The nobleborn teenager who is the son and former heir of a previous knight of castle Drubine, which is located in the forested north of the kingdom of Sarcrin. Hurries forward through the house when he hears a groan.
Tamric Drubine or Tam as he's more commonly called by those who know him well. Hurries into the front room where he finds a groaning Dorc da Orc, lying amongst bits of debris and broken wood.
And as the senior officer in the armies of Farque kneels down beside the ork warleader. And as Shur Kee the monk, then Saanea the witch follow him into the front room of the house.
Tam looks through the large hole in the front of the building, next to the front door that's no longer there.
And he spots across the street, sir Percavelle Lé Dic after peeking inside the small abode across there. He enters the safe house through a hole in the front wall.
A hole, like the one in the front wall of this particular residence. Which no doubt, like the one across the street in the front of the safe house, was created by Dorc da Orc as he ran through the houses.
"Dorc you okay?" quietly asks Tam as the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world groans once more.
"Dorc fine" gasps Dorc da Orc who is definitely winded as he lies there on the floor, covered in bits of debris from the wall he just came flying back through.
"Fucken magicky cunt" mutters the large ork between gasps as he tries to get his breath back.
The ork warleader is battered and bruised, but nothing worse than that. Thanks to the plate of natural dragon armour he wears over his chest and ample stomach.
Shur Kee the monk kneels down next to the ork weaponsmith and asks him "Do you need a healing potion friend Dorc?".
The ork general makes a face of disgust, then mutters in a growl "Fuck that shit".
As he's of the opinion he'd rather get hit again by whatever spell that just got him, than to take a healing potion. Especially one made by Helbe the elven thief. Which is all that any of them have got at the moment.
Saanea the witch stands a little bit back from the others. For the simple reason that the ork weaponsmith stinks. More so now because he's been running around and doing things, on this warm summer's day here in the lowland town of Falmare.
"Get up Dorc" says Tamric Drubine who nods to the otherside of the street, where he sees Lisell Maera come into view near the safe house the mercenaries they're after, are using.
"We've got to help Lis and Percy" adds the nobleborn teenager from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin.
The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks grunts, then wincing, and with the help of both field commander Drubine, and Shur Kee the monk, he's able to sit up.
Meanwhile, across the street, behind the safe house that's owned by Sharnd the merchant, who lies dead out in the middle of the street.
Brossic the lowland mercenary, the mercenaries Spranen and Halnard from the port town of Gilsom, and the sorcerer from further down the coast of the Southlands, Grunna.
All look at one another after what just happened.
Then Brossic the lowland mercenary looks at the powerful spellcaster and asks him "Think you killed it?".
"I damn well hope so" is the reply from Grunna the sorcerer, who hit the large green creature with a fairly powerful blast spell.
After they all look at one another again, Halnard the mercenary steps towards the hole in the back wall of the safe house, and he looks through it.
He backs quickly away, and to the side, and quietly and quickly says to the others "That knight". As he caught sight of the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che who attacked them earlier. Just enter the safe house from the otherside.
Brossic, Spranen and Grunna all move to the side as well, so they can't be seen by the knight who has just entered the small abode.
The lowland mercenary Brossic, quickly looks at Grunna, and the sorcerer faintly winces, then quietly says "I don't know if i can deal to him so easily".
The spellcaster from the down the coast of the Southlands quietly tells the others "Try and get that shield off him" followed by "That's our best chance".
Then looking at the back of the safe house, and noticing that the backdoor is still intact. As the large green creature they still think is a troll, just ran straight through the back wall itself.
Grunna quickly and quietly says to the other three mercenaries "Back away" followed by "Move out of the way" as he gestures at both the hole in the back wall of the safe house, as well as the closed backdoor.
They all move to one side, so that they're next to the rickety set of steps that go up to the roof.
And Grunna, who once again is holding his power within himself. Gets ready to take hold of his magical power and cast a spell, as he looks at both the hole in the back wall of the safe house, as well as the backdoor itself.
Sir Percavelle Lé Dic, against type really. Steps quietly into the small house, going through the large hole in the front wall.
And after he stands in the front room and looks around. The large heavily armoured knight who usually charges into situations.
Moves quietly forward, heading towards the back of the house, trying not to make too much noise as he does so.
That nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic who has the shield of Saint Mar-che up before him, and the sword of knockdown in his right gauntleted hand.
Listens carefully as he makes his way through the small house, which is located in the affluent neighbourhood in the south of the town of Falmare.
The former earl of Lé Dic nods his full helmed head as he's certain he hears a conversation from behind the small abode.
He doesn't know what's said, but he now knows that those he and the others are after, are definitely behind the small house.
Stepping through the hole in the wall created by Dorc da Orc when he ran through here. Sir Percavelle Lé Dic stands in the back room of the safe house.
Where he looks at both the closed backdoor, and the large hole in the back wall that's next to.
And though the former earl of Lé Dic doesn't hear anything at the moment, he looks carefully, and sees through the hole in the back wall, a shadow on the ground outside that slightly moves.
Behind the faceplate of his full helm, the nobleborn knight from the kingdom of Druvic grins.
And with the shield of Saint Mar-che out infront of him, Percy moves forward. And when he gets closer to the back wall of the safe house, he rushes forward towards the hole in the wall.
Sir Percavelle Lé Dic goes to leap out of the back of the safe house through the hole in the wall.
As he does, the backdoor is suddenly ripped off it's hinges and goes outwards. It's swung around in midair, and swings back around to smash right into the heavily armoured knight as he leaps out of the hole in the back wall of the safe house.
"Saint Mar-che!" yelps the former paladin as the door slams into him, and smashes him sideways into the ground.
His breath can be heard exiting his lungs, when he hits the ground, where sir Percavelle Lé Dic groans.
And as he groans, the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic hears someone say "Get it!".
And the next thing he knows, someone is grabbing his shield, and trying to yank it off his left arm, as he lies there on the ground battered and bruised, with his breath knocked out of him . . . . . .

The Lost Ones 72.

Summer. The Town Of Falmare. In The Lowlands.

Sir Percavelle Lé Dic sits up after shoving the door off himself.
The large, heavily armoured knight looks around and scowls when he sees where the door came from.
There's a house away to his right missing it's front door.
"Damn purveyor of the dark arts" loudly mutters sir Percavelle Lé Dic, who then glances towards the small house, a so called safe house, that he was making his way towards.
"Hmmmmm" murmurs the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic, where he was once the earl of Lé Dic, which is his family's fief in the eastern region of that nation.
The nobleborn knight who is a member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che, can't see at the moment any of the mercenaries he and the rest of the group are after. But that doesn't mean they're not there.
The large heavily armoured knight softy chuckles as he looks at the dead merchant named Sharnd lying just a few yards from him here on the street.
Then sir Percavelle Lé Dic or Percy as he's more commonly called by those who know him well, recalls what he's supposed to be doing.
The former paladin looks back behind him on the street, and after a few moments spots Lisell Maera the messenger pop her head around the corner of the street he came out from.
The attractive young woman from the city-state of Brattonbury as she peeks around the corner of a house.
Looks his way to see if he's alright. Then the messenger in the armies of Farque nods.
The nobleborn knight grunts, then attempts to stand up. And though he was knocked around a bit when that door slammed into him. The former earl of Lé Dic feels like he can get to his feet pretty easily.
But he doesn't, as he knows he has to distract the mercenaries he and the others are after.
The large heavily armoured knight who has always taken pride in his acting abilities.
Pretends to struggle as he attempts to get up off the ground, and stand on his two feet.
"That's it Percy old chap" the former paladin murmurs to himself as he gets to a knee, then falls back onto his rear end, in a supreme feat of acting in his opinion.
"They'll never suspect me of my duplicitous ways, wot" murmurs the nobleborn knight with a chuckle.
Rolling her eyes, Lisell Maera dryly murmurs "Don't over do it you madman" as she watches sir Percavelle Lé Dic out in the middle of the street trying to get to his feet.
The messenger in the scouts and rangers division of the armies of Farque, who definitely knows she has shot and killed the merchant Sharnd.
Suspects she has also shot with her crossbow, the lowland mercenary Brossic.
And that she nearly shot another of the mercenaries she and the rest of the group have chased from the Maldin Hills, up to the port town of Gilsom, and eventually down here to the lowlands, and the town of Falmare.
The tall, lean, athletic and attractive young woman from the coastal city-state of Brattonbury watches the small house about halfway down the street around the corner she's standing at.
Lisell Maera or Lis as she's more commonly called by those who know her well, waits for another opportunity to shoot at the four remaining mercenaries she and the rest of the group are after.
They may think that she and sir Percavelle Lé Dic are a danger. They are, but they, along with the killing of the local merchant Sharnd, are more of a distraction than anything else.
Shur Kee the monk holds up a hand for those behind him to stop, then with his eyes closed he quietly says "Do you hear that?".
Tamric Drubine the field commander and Saanea the witch share a look as they carefully listen. Neither one of them can hear whatever it is the short, statured monk has heard.
The acolyte in the philosophical order of Bru Li turns and points to the right, and quietly says "There" followed by "Friend Dorc".
Tamric Drubine, a nobleborn teenager from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin, who is now a field commander in the armies of Farque.
Hurries to the entrance of the lane that Shur Kee has pointed out. It's one of many lanes and narrow streets, here in one of the more affluent neighbourhoods in the south of the town of Falmare.
Tamric Drubine or Tam as more often than not he's called by those who know him well.
Quietly calls out "Dorc" when he spots the large, green figure of the ork warleader at the other end of the lane, looking around with a scowl upon his broad, green, brutish looking face.
The ork weaponsmith grunts, then jogs to where the young field commander is.
"Them cunts are close" says Dorc da Orc when he joins Tam along with Shur Kee the monk and Saanea the witch.
"We know" says the young field commander in the armies of Farque, who is just glad they're in a quiet neighbourhood at the moment, and not one of the more busier parts of Falmare, which are in the north and west of the large lowland town. Which lies about a dozen miles inland from the coast, and just over twenty miles or so west of the Maldin Hills. A long hill range, nearly two hundred miles in length as it runs north to south in this area of the Southlands.
The nobleborn teen who is the son and former heir of a previous knight of castle Drubine, which is located in the forested north of the kingdom of Sarcrin, nods his head and says "We did" in reply to Dorc da Orc asking him "You cunts kill one of 'em cunts?".
As the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of world has caught the scent of someone recently killed nearby.
He was hoping it was his bitter rival sir Percavelle Lé Dic, but unfortunately it's not. As the large ork can smell the nobleborn knight from the kingdom of Druvic close to whoever it is that's died, but is not dead himself.
The warleader of the ork race, who is a general in the armies of Farque, making him Tam's superior. Not that anyone reminds Dorkindle of that. And the fact the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world forgets that he's actually a senior officer to the young field commander.
Grunts when the nobleborn teenager from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin quietly tells him "It's that merchant Sharnd".
Dorc da Orc who couldn't care less, as he wishes that it was him who killed the local merchant, and not one of the others in the group who did it.
Nods his massive head, when Tam tells him "This way" and gestures for Shur Kee the monk to lead the way again.
The short, statured monk who is from the far east coast of the continent, where his homeland, the kingdom of Wah Lee is located.
Moves forward, into another of the narrow lanes in the neighbourhood. The others, Tamric Drubine the field commander, Saanea the witch, and Dorc da Orc follow the physical adept wearing the odd conical shaped hat into the narrow lane.
Grunna the sorcerer helps Brossic the lowland mercenary down the rickety looking steps at the back of the safe house.
Both Halnard the mercenary and Spranen the mercenary help the lowlander when he's closer to the ground. They keep him steady as he gets off the steps.
"Get it out" hisses Brossic the flatland mercenary from between clenched teeth.
"Take his arm, and keep it steady" says Grunna the sorcerer as he hops down off the steps.
Brossic grimaces in pain as Halnard, the largest of the four of them, takes his left arm in a tight grip.
Spranen grabs the lowlander, and covers Brossic's mouth with a gloved hand as Grunna takes a hold of the bolt sticking through the left arm of the flatland mercenary.
Then without a countdown, or even a nod he's about to do something. The sorcerer from down the coast of the Southlands pulls the bolt all the way through Brossic's left arm, and out.
The lowlander who groans in pain, almost staggers and falls down, and would of if the two mercenaries from the port town of Gilsom, Halnard and Spranen weren't holding him.
Then Grunna briefly stops holding his power within himself, and heals the flatlander who leads them in their attempt to create a nation of their own up in the nearby Maldin Hills, which are just over twenty miles to the east of the town of Falmare.
"Fuck" mutters Brossic who winces in pain, then grunts after Spranen and Halnard let go of him.
The lowland mercenary stretches his left arm, and curls the bicep, then nods to the powerful spellcaster from further down the coast of the Southlands, and quietly tells him "Thanks".
The sorcerer Grunna just nods in reply, then as Halnard goes around the side of the safe house, to look out onto the street, to see what's happening.
The spellcaster in the group who have plans in creating their own nation up in the Maldin Hill country, quietly says "We're in a bit of shit here".
"You think?" dryly mutters Spranen the mercenary.
Brossic sourly smiles, as he nods in agreement with the mercenary from the port town of Gilsom.
Then the other mercenary from Gilsom, Halnard quickly makes his way back to the others, and quietly tells them "That knight has got to his feet" followed by "And he's coming this way".
The larger of the two mercenaries from the port town of Gilsom, who happens to the youngest of the five of them, now four considering Sharnd the merchant lies dead out on the street.
Then quietly says "You must of got him good" as he nods at the sorcerer from down the coast of the Southlands.
"He's stumbling and staggering about like a drunk on his way to the next tavern" continues Halnard the mercenary.
"Try and hit him again?" asks Brossic the lowlander as he looks at the powerful spellcaster.
"I'll try" states Grunna the sorcerer, who is finding it a little difficult to hold his power within himself for periods at a time.
As it's something he's not accustomed to, or done that often at all in the past.
Then the practitioner of magic from down the coast of the Southlands quietly says "And keep a look out for whoever's got that crossbow, who is shooting us".
Brossic the flatlander sourly smiles when he hears that, as it's a quick reminder of what's just happened to him.
Then the leader of the group of mercenaries who have plans on nationhood up in the Maldin Hills, nods in the direction that Halnard has just come back from, and quietly says "We'll deal to that knight".
Brossic the mercenary briefly pauses before he quietly continues with "And this time make sure we kill him".
Then as they head around the side of the safe house, which Brossic along with Sharnd the mercenary first used a decade ago.
The lowlander quietly tells the others "And after him, hopefully we can deal to that troll, or whatever the hell it is".
"Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves" sourly mutters Spranen the mercenary as he follows Halnard to the front corner of the safe house.
The same corner where Halnard was nearly shot by a crossbow bolt too. Infact that bolt is still sticking out of the wall at that particular corner of the small abode that is owned by Sharnd the mercenary who now lies dead out on the street, not far from the safe house and the others.
Just as Brossic glances around the mercenary Halnard, and the corner, to see what's going on out on the street.
And he sees the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che staggering from one side of the quiet residential street, to the otherside. Then stumble into the front wall of a house. And stagger backwards and fall on his rump in a clatter of heavy steel plate armour.
He and the rest of the mercenaries who are trying to create a nation of their own up in the Maldin Hills.
Hear a roar from nearby, they all look at one another, as they've heard that roar before, and often. The last of which wasn't all that long ago, up further north in Falmare, up in the eastern part of the large lowland town.
"Fuck it's close" mutters Brossic the sorcerer, who stumbles backwards, as infront of him, Halnard hops back as another crossbow bolt is shot at him, narrowly missing him as it thuds into the front of the safe house.
"Whoever it is" quickly says Halnard the mercenary who continues with "They're at the corner of the next street away to the right".
"I thought so" says the lowlander Brossic, as that's the direction the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che came from.
Then they hear another roar, this one much closer. Followed by what sounds like a thud.
They look directly across the street from the safe house as away to the right the heavily armoured knight is getting to his feet again.
A woman's scream comes from the house directly opposite the safe house that's owned by Sharnd the merchant, who lies dead not that far away.
Brossic frowns, then all of sudden the front door of the house on the opposite side of the street, explodes outwards, sending bits of wood flying everywhere.
As the large green creature they still think is a troll, runs through it, and out onto the street, roaring as it does so.
And though it slightly stumbles and staggers, it doesn't stop, as it's momentum carries it forward, as it continues running, across the street, towards the safe house, and towards them.
Brossic the flatland mercenary who can't actually quite believe what he's seeing, murmurs in surprise "What the fuck is happening?".
While infront of him, Halnard the mercenary is backing away. Behind the two of them, Spranen the mercenary shouts "Move!".
While Grunna the sorcerer, who was just going to move forward, to look around the corner of the house, and cast a spell upon the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che who is out on the street, backs away too.
As he backs away, the mercenary from the port town of Gilsom, Halnard sees the large green creature coming straight this way.
Briefly the mercenary thinks it's coming at the gap they're in, between the safe house, and the next abode along.
But he sees it's not bothering to do that, as it's running, legs lifting, arms pumping. With a scowl come grin upon it's broad, green, feral looking face. As it's running straight at the safe house, admittedly at a bit of angle.
Halnard, and Brossic back quickly away, as Spranen has turned and along with Grunna, are heading around to the back of the safe house.
They don't see it, but they definitely hear it. As first they hear another roar, this one much louder as it's close. Then a thud, as the large, green creature runs into the front of the safe house.
The four of them look at the small abode that belongs to Sharnd the merchant.
And wonder where the troll is going to come out, as they can hear it inside, growling and calling out something in a language they don't understand.
Then they definitely hear it yell something in the common language. What exactly, they're not too sure. But Brossic the mercenary thinks it sounded like "Get some".
Then as they get around to the back of the safe house, part of the back wall goes flying outwards towards them, bits of wood goes flying through the air. As the large, green creature bursts through the back wall of the safe house.
As it stumbles at speed towards them, Grunna the sorcerer, stops holding his power within himself, and quickly casts a spell, which hits the large, green creature, directly in the chest, as it roars in anger as it comes towards the four of them . . . . . .

The Lost Ones 71.

Summer. In The Southlands. The Town Of Falmare.

"You see it?" quietly says Brossic the lowland mercenary who crouches down and points as he adds "There, on that street".
Looking to where the lowlander is pointing, Grunna the sorcerer mutters "Hell" as he too spots it.
The spellcaster from further down the coast of the Southlands, crouches down as the two of them stand upon the roof of the safe house.
In a low walk, Brossic moves away to the back of the flat roof, and quietly tells the mercenaries Spranen and Halnard down on the ground what they've spotted.
While Grunna continues to look to a street further to the north, here in the southern part of Falmare. To where there's a rather large green creature walking quickly in this direction.
The sorcerer sees the troll, for that is what he still thinks it is. Suddenly stop, and lift it's head, and from what Grunna think he sees, it starts to sniff.
The spellcaster from further down the coast, drops down flat onto the roof, when the large green creature looks straight in this direction.
"What the fuck" mutters the powerfull sorcerer in surprise.
Who then looks quickly behind him, and gestures for Brossic to keep as low as possible, as the lowlander makes his way back to this side of the roof.
"That damn troll or whatever it is" quietly says Grunna the sorcerer when Brossic crawls up beside him.
"It can smell us" adds the spellcaster from the coast, who follows that with "That's how it can find us".
"By the gods, what the hell" murmurs Brossic the mercenary in surprise, who then pops his head up to try and spot the creature, but is unable to find it, as it must of gone into one of the many lanes between the buildings, here in one of residential neighbourhoods in the south of Falmare.
Grunna quietly grunts when the flatland mercenary quietly tells him "I can't see it at the moment".
The spellcaster pops his head up as well, and he too can't see the large green creature that's somewhere to the north of them.
"That knight?" asks the powerfull sorcerer, who continues with "You see him?".
After a few moments, Brossic who leads the five of them, who have plans to create their own nation up in the Maldin Hills, shakes his head, and quietly says "I can't see him".
"Same" murmurs the spellcaster from the further down the coast of the Southlands.
He softly grunts when Brossic mutters "And where the hell has Sharnd got to?" as they've still seen no sign of the merchant who lives nearby.
Suddenly, the two of them, the lowland mercenary, and the sorcerer from the coast, hear someone trying to get their attention.
It's Halnard the mercenary, who is down on the ground with Spranen. Both Brossic and Grunna frown as they try to hear what the mercenary from the port town of Gilsom is trying to quietly tell them.
Then the lowland mercenary and the powerful spellcaster from down the coast quickly look away to their right when they realise what Halnard is saying.
In that direction, that the street the safe house is on, they see a familiar figure.
It's Sharnd the merchant. The local townsman, who is the fifth member of the core group who have plans of creating their own nation up in the Maldin Hills, which lie just over twenty miles to the east of the town of Falmare.
Stands there in the middle of the street, with his hands behind his back, and with what looks like to be a wad of cloth stuffed in his mouth, and another cloth wrapped around part of his face.
The local merchant is looking towards the safe house that he owns, which he and Brossic the mercenary used to work from a decade ago, when they first met.
The local businessman, who is the one to fund their plans for carving out their own nation up in the nearby hill country.
Has a look of absolute terror on his face and in his eyes, as he looks to where his fellow lowlander, Brossic the mercenary, and Grunna the sorcerer are lying on the roof of the safe house.
The local merchant, whose house is just a few streets away here in the affluent neighbourhood in the south of town.
Looks around in fear, as a few people on the street, stare at him, and wonder what's going on.
Then the bound and gagged merchant grimaces, and he takes a step forward, in the direction of the safe house.
He winces, then looks up to the flat roof of the safe house, where he can see Brossic and Grunna watching him.
Sharnd the merchant grimaces again, then takes another step forward, wincing as he does so. It's a wince of anticipation by the looks of it, as he doesn't seem to wounded or injured in anyway.
"What the fucking hell is going on?" hisses Brossic the mercenary, next to him on the roof of the safe house, Grunna the sorcerer is wondering the exact same thing.
As they watch the bound and gagged Sharnd walk slowly down the street, heading in this direction. The local businessman from here in the town of Falmare is taking deliberate step after deliberate step as he heads towards the safe house that he owns.
Both Brossic and Grunna look quickly around, trying to see who else is about. But apart from the few locals down on the street, who are perplexed as the sight of the local merchant. They don't see anyone else nearby.
Then just as Brossic the lowland mercenary quietly says "There's got to be".
Sharnd the merchant's face explodes outwards, and he drops to the ground dead with a crossbow bolt through the back of his head.
There's a moment of stunned silence, then a local woman on the street screams in fright and runs. So do the two other locals on the street, as the dead merchant lies there on the ground, just thirty feet or so from the safe house that he owns.
"Fuck" gasps Brossic the mercenary is surprise.
While next to him on the roof, Grunna the sorcerer lies there in shock as they look at the dead body of Sharnd the merchant lying in the middle of the street.
Down on the ground, glancing around a corner of the safe house. Halnard the mercenary is just as shocked as the two up on the roof. As he can see Sharnd lying dead on the street, not all that from the safe house.
Behind his fellow mercenary from the port town of Gilsom. Spranen the mercenary looks around Halnard to see what he's looking at.
Spranen the mercenary, who has only just been healed after being knocked out unconscious a little earlier.
Stands there in disbelief, as he sees the dead body of Sharnd the merchant lying nearby in the middle of the street, with a crossbow bolt sticking out of the back of his head.
Quickly reloading her crossbow, Lisell Maera the messenger steps back from the corner of the house she's been looking around, and looks back to the mouth of the alleyway and nods.
"Well he's dead" quietly says Tamric Drubine the field commander to the others.
Then the nobleborn teenager from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin looks at sir Percavelle Lé Dic, and quietly tells him "Go and join Lis, Percy" followed by "And get ready".
"Righto, wot" says sir Percavelle Lé Dic, who hurries out of the alleyway, makes his way along the front of the house, and joins Lisell Maera at the corner she's standing just back from.
"Yes it was" quietly says field commander Drubine in response to Saanea the witch quietly asking him "Was that necessary?".
As the spellcaster wasn't exactly pleased with that part of the plan that Tamric Drubine quickly came up with.
"Remember he helped kill a lot of innocent people up in the Maldin Hills" quietly says the young field commander in the armies of Farque who gestures for the pretty looking hillwoman, along with Shur Kee the monk to head back down through the alleyway.
As the three of them do, Tamric Drubine or Tam as he's more commonly called by those who know him well, quietly adds "So he deserved that".
The spellcaster from the Maldin Hills can see the logic of that argument. But she still doesn't like that they just killed a man who they had taken prisoner. A man who was bound and gagged. Who was told by Tam, exactly what they were going to do to him.
The local merchant Sharnd, knew he was going to die by crossbow. When he was shoved out onto the street around the corner, and told to walk down the street, to the abode that was his old safe house.
The nobleborn teenager who is the son and former heir of a previous knight of castle Drubine, a castle located in the forested north of the kingdom of Sarcrin.
As they hurry back through the alleyway to the lane beyond. Hopes they run into Dorc da Orc, who should be in the neighbourhood now. As Lisell Maera the messenger mentioned that the large ork wasn't all that far behind her.
The young field commander, who is a senior officer in the armies of Farque. Figures the ork warleader will just head to where he can smell those they're after. Who know doubt, are in shock at seeing one of their number, shot down not all that far from them.
"Fuck" mutters Grunna the sorcerer, who then adds  in a mutter "Fuck, fuck, fuck" as he looks to where Sharnd the merchant lies dead out on the street, not all that far from the safe house. Upon the roof of which, the spellcaster from down the coast of the Southlands, lies next to Brossic the mercenary.
Who looks similarly stunned and shocked as Grunna does, as they look at the dead body of Sharnd that lies out on the street, not all that far from them.
The Brossic pops his head up, and looks in the direction they spotted the large green creature coming from.
Not seeing it, then not seeing anything or anyone away to the right down the street, in the direction the crossbow bolt came from that took down Sharnd.
He gets up, and hurries to one side of the flat roof. Where he looks down and quietly says "You two want to stay and fight?" quickly followed by "Or piss off?".
He looks back at Grunna, who has followed him to this side of the roof, and quietly asks the sorcerer "Well?".
Before either of the mercenaries from the port town of Gilsom, Spranen and Halnard can respond to the question from Brossic the lowlander.
The sorcerer Grunna, quietly says to the flatland mercenary "I think that decision has just been taken from us" as he nods away to the right, in the same direction that the now dead Sharnd was coming from.
The mercenary from the lowlands, winces as he sees the large, heavily armoured knight in the order of Saint Mar-che, who attacked them a little earlier, to the north of here, in the eastern part of the town of Falmare. Has walked out onto the street from somewhere. And has stopped, and even with his full helm on. It's obvious he's looking straight at the safe house. To the roof that Brossic the lowland mercenary, and Grunna the sorcerer are still on.
"Kill him" says Brossic the mercenary to the spellcaster from further south along the coast.
"That" says Grunna the sorcerer, who slightly pauses before he adds "Will prove difficult" as he eyes the shield the heavily armoured knight has, he continues with "Infact, damn near impossible".
The sorcerer who is holding his power within himself, doesn't particularly want to cast against the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che.
For the simple reason the spell will come straight back at him, like it did previously. Something he doesn't want to endure again anytime soon.
"Well?" says the flatland mercenary Brossic.
"Shut up, will you" mutters the powerful spellcaster, who then adds "I'm thinking of something".
Down on the ground, Halnard the mercenary looks up to the roof and says "There's someone else" followed by "He doesn't have a crossbow" referring to the knight who is calmly walking down the street towards the safe house.
"Fuck" mutters Brossic the lowlander when he realises that the mercenary from the port town of Gilsom is right. Besides from experience, Brossic knows that basically most knights don't use crossbows anyway. As they see the weapon as beneath them.
Then just as the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che gets to near where Sharnd the merchant lies dead on the ground.
A front door of a house on the large heavily armoured knight's right, comes flying off it's hinges, shooting out across the street, and slams into the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che, knocking him down to the ground.
"Got him" says Grunna the sorcerer in satisfaction, who realised he had to attack the large, heavily armoured knight indirectly, and not straight at him with any kind of spell.
"Yes" says Brossic who clinches a fist in satisfaction. Who goes to get up, so he can head back and get down off the roof, when he suddenly falls backwards, howling in pain.
The sorcerer Grunna grabs the lowlander who falls back against him. And sees that Brossic has a crossbow bolt through his left arm.
The spellcaster drops down flat upon the roof, bringing the wounded, and cursing Brossic down next to him.
"Hmmmmm" murmurs Lisell Maera the messenger, who then quietly says to herself "Just winged him i think".
The attractive young woman from the coastal city-state of Brattonbury, who has stepped back and reloaded her quick loading crossbow.
Then glances around the corner of the house she's infront of, to out on the street, where she sees sir Percavelle Lé Dic still on the ground.
Though the former paladin, shoves off the door that knocked him down, and is now attempting to stand up.
The messenger in the armies of Farque murmurs to herself "You'll have to hit him harder than that".
As she knows that out of the group here in the lowland town of Falmare, only Dorc da Orc can take more of a beating than the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic.
Lisell Maera or Lis as she's more commonly called by the others in the group. Looks to the roof of the safe house down the street.
She can't see the two on the roof at the moment, so she looks to the front corners of the small abode.
As she caught a glimpse earlier, of one of the other mercenaries looking around one of them, and out onto the street.
The attractive young woman from the coast of the Southlands lifts up the crossbow and takes aim along it.
A crossbow that was designed by Dorc da Orc a number of years ago, and given to Shur Kee the monk, who gifted it to Lis when she was younger, after she first joined the group over seven years ago.
Spranen the mercenary and Halnard, who like him, is from the port town of Gilsom. Share a look when they hear Grunna up on the roof say "Brossic's been hit".
"Is he alive?" asks Halnard the mercenary.
"He's alive" is the reply from the powerful sorcerer up on the roof of the safe house.
At the same time, both Halnard and Spranen hear Brossic loudly mutter "Of course I'm alive you fuckers" followed by a groan of pain from the lowlander who leads the group who have plans of creating their own nation up in the nearby Maldin Hills.
A small group that's just gone from five to four now with Sharnd the merchant lying dead out on the street.
The two mercenaries from the port town of Gilsom then hear Brossic say from between clenched teeth "I've got a damn bolt through my arm".
Halnard and Spranen share another look, then the younger of the two mercenaries from Gilsom, Halnard who is the most cautious of the group who have designs on having their own nation up in the Maldin Hills.
Moves forward slowly, and peeks around the corner of the house, to look down the street.
Halnard who briefly catches sight of the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che out on the street, attempting to stand up.
Snaps his head back, and mutters "Fuck me". As a crossbow bolt slams into the corner of the house, and goes part way through it, with the bolt head just inches away from Halnard's face.
He moves further back, then turns to Spranen, and tells him "Around the back" followed by "It'll be safer".
Then as the two of them turn, to hurry back along this side of the safe house, Halnard says to Brossic and Grunna "Get down off the roof". "You're sitting targets up there" adds Spranen the mercenary as he and Halnard make their way around to the back of the safe house.
"You think we don't fucking know that already?" mutters Brossic the lowland mercenary, who grimaces in pain as he tries to crawl back along the flat roof.
Next to him, Grunna the sorcerer who has just quickly popped his head up, and caught sight of the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che who he knocked down, is trying to stand up.
Quietly says to the lowlander "I'll have to pull that out before i can heal you".
"Figured that" mutters Brossic who winces in pain every time he moves his left arm. Which is often as the two of them crawl back along the flat roof of the safe house.
The lowlander who leads the group who are attempting to set up a nation of their own up in the Maldin Hills, shakes his head, then says in disgust "Well, today isn't exactly going well is it?".
Next to him, Grunna the sorcerer grunts in agreement as they crawl to the back edge of the roof of the safe house, on this warm summer's day here in the lowland town of Falmare . . . . . .

The Lost Ones 70.

Summer. The East Of The Continent.

"What's all out here?" asks Helbe the elven thief as he points at one of the charts on the table, as well as a map that was purchased in the last border town they stopped at.
"Savannah?" adds the young elven noble from the island principality as he tries to decipher the writing on the map that's in the local language.
"Yeah savannah" replies lord Farque, who continues with "Grasslands".
The highly talented elven magic user nods, as does Jarjin Littlefoot the halfling who has climbed up onto the table, and is sitting on it as they study the maps and charts.
"There's a couple of kingdoms there, but they're all to the north, above the equator" explains the undead warlord who is standing, leaning back against the open windows here in the captain's cabin of the Quick Gull.
"Mira probably knows the names of them" adds the heavily armoured deathlord.
The elven masterthief and the hobbit who is a former air sailor, share a quick look at one another.
Then the young elven noble who is a member of the royal family that rules the principality of Laerel, which is off the coast of the Southlands. Moves one of the charts to one side, to reveal more of the recently purchased map.
Then he says "And all this further west?" followed by "More unruled lands i guess?" as be points at a large blank part of the map that takes up nearly a third of it.
Nodding his full helmed head, the lord and ruler of the lands Farque says "It's a desert that goes on for fucking ages".
The undead being who is also known by the name of Draugadrottin to the people of his lands, then sourly adds "I had to drag and carry Dorc's fat ass across that when the ship we were on crashed out there".
Both Helbe and Jarjin, who are members of lord Farque's personal council nod. As they've heard about how the undead warlord and Dorc da Orc came out here to the eastern side of the continent a number of years ago, when they were chasing Mira Reinholt the mage across half of the world for nearly five years after he tried to kill them, basically when they first met.
Eventually catching him in the far eastern coastal kingdom of Saedau. Which is part of the Five Kingdoms.
"We're definitely not flying across that" says the lord and ruler of the lands Farque as he points a gauntleted forefinger at the blank part of the map.
"We'll head southwest, and go across the lands and kingdoms south of there" adds the lord of the death realm, who has the elven name of Des'tier, which means, The Destroyer.
The halfling, a former air sailor in the Sultan of Dreese's fleet looks to the south of the desert on the map.
And even there the lands and nations aren't particularly detailed.
The hobbit, who in actual fact is really a human, a hordes outrider from the southern tundra by the name of Zubutai Timaginson, who just happens to find himself inhabiting the body of the former air sailor from the Sultanate of Dreese.
Goes through the pile of charts next to him, and pulls out one he quickly looked at earlier. And he places it next to the recently purchased map.
"A little better, but not much" says Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit as the chart shows a few of the nations south of the desert in detail compared to the newly bought map.
Though much of the rest of it is a little ambiguous to say the least.
"Looks like there's a few towns and cities we can stop at on the way" says the grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel as he points at the chart Jarjin aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman has just placed next to the map.
"At least that's something" adds the elven master assassin as he looks out the open windows of the cabin, and sees the land they're flying over at the moment.
They're in the very west of the Sultanate of Dreese. And the land is dry, almost arid looking. The greens of the tropical coast are far behind them.
And as the airship heads southwest, the land in turning more to grasslands than anything else. With little in the much of tree cover.
And when you do see trees, they're predominantly in stands. Obviously planted by the inhabitants here in the very west of the Sultanate.
At the moment, they're basically following a dirt road that goes out of the Sultanate.
The captain and crew of the Quick Gull, have never come out this far west in their homeland. And none of them have left the Sultanate by this way.
Some of them have gone north into the kingdom of Yandiv, and some of the other nations of the Five Kingdoms that lie north of the equator.
And the captain and some of his crew have gone directly south of Dreese in the past. Visiting the two nations directly south of the Sultanate.
But none of them have come out this far west, or gone further southwest. Which is the direction the small, sleek looking airship is heading in at the moment.
"I can't read this on this chart" says Jarjin aka Zubutai Timaginson who continues on with "It's not in the dialect spoken in the Sultanate".
The undead warlord steps forward, and looks at what the former air sailor is pointing at.
Draugadrottin grunts, then says "A warning to be cautious in those two places, and to stay the fuck away from that one".
"Well that sounds great" dryly says the halfling from the mainland of Dreese as he looks at two of the kingdoms that are in pretty good detail on the chart. And a third nation that's basically an outline, with little in the way of detail in it.
"No wonder that place isn't well charted" dryly adds the former air sailor who served in the fleet of the Sultanate of Dreese. Until he died in battle, and  was brought back to life by lord Farque, though with Zubutai the barbarian hordesman inhabiting the body of the hobbit.
"I wouldn't worry too much" says Helbe the elven thief with a shrug of his shoulders.
The cloaked and hooded elven master assassin then adds "I guarantee we've been to far worse places".
"Oh?" says Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit, who then asks "Like where?".
"The entire Southlands" says prince Helbenthril Raendril in the driest tone imaginable, which causes the former air sailor in the Sultanate's fleet to guffaw, and softly chuckle.
"Yeah, well that's true" says the halfling in mirth, who then looks down at the chart that has the warnings about some of the nations to the south of the vast desert that's further to the west, and he quietly murmurs "Still".
Jarjin aka Zubutai the son of Timagin falls silent as there's a knock on the cabin door.
"Enter" calls out lord Farque in the common language, as the three of them have been conversing in elven.
One of the crew, who the lord of the death realm sensed coming down from the deck, enters and says "My lord, the captain wishes a word with you".
Des'tier slightly nods his full helmed head, then says "We'll be up shortly".
"Yes my lord" says the crew member, who then adds "I'll just inform him".
After the air sailor departs, and closes the cabin door. Jarjin Littlefoot quietly says in the elven language "So" followed by "Think he's worried about where we're going?" referring to the ship's captain, as he points at the chart with the warnings on it.
A little while later, and the large, heavily armoured deathlord, the elven masterthief and the halfling who is a former air sailor, make their way up onto the deck of the Quick Gull.
And as Helbe the elven thief wanders forward along the deck to where Mira Reinholt the mage is up on the bow.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque, and the halfling from the mainland of Dreese, head aft to the slightly raised deck there.
As he follows behind the large figure of the lord of the death realm, who towers over everyone else onboard.
Jarjin aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman glances to the west, and sees that the sun is going down in the sky, and that it will soon be twilight here in the very west of the Sultanate of Dreese.
Helbe the elven thief glances to aft, and sees that lord Farque is in conversation with the ship's captain near the wheel of the Quick Gull, which until very recently was the fastest vessel in the Sultanate's fleet.
The highly talented elven magic user then looks at the spellcaster standing beside him here in the bow, and quietly asks him in the elven language "Did you ever travel in the lands away to the southwest?".
Mira Reinholt the mage shakes his hooded head no, then says "I didn't" followed by "I came across the northern part of the desert when i came out west when i was younger".
The once powerful mage continues with "And when we went back to the Southlands, we skirted most of those places, until we got to the southern coast" he then adds "We sailed back to quite near to the Southlands".
The mage Reinholt, who like Helbe the elven thief and Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit, is a member of the personal council to the lord and ruler of the lands Farque then says "Took us weeks across the southern ocean, it was summertime, so the conditions weren't bad".
The spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands, then dryly adds "Though weeks onboard a ship at sea with Dorc was a bit of a fucking nightmare" followed by "All the big idiot did was complain about everything".
The elven princeling chuckles, and can well imagine a long trip at sea in the company of Dorc da Orc would be taxing to say the least. Considering the large ork, like all of his kind, absolutely hates water.
The Vexilian 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 when he went offworld through a rift/void spell he accidentally cast over a dozen years ago.
Shakes his hooded head, and quietly says "I wonder what that big, green idiot is doing at the moment?".
"Probably trying to eat something he shouldn't" says the highly talented elven magic user, who after a brief pause adds "Or trying to kill it" he briefly pauses again, before saying "Or trying to fuck it".
As the mage Reinholt sniggers, the elven master archer adds "Knowing him, probably all three". Which finally causes the once powerful mage to burst out laughing.
While on the right shoulder of Helbe the elven thief, Narladene the ground pixie, who is invisible to all apart from the young elven noble she's attached to, and lord Farque back on the aft deck. Is rolling around, silently laughing at that from the elven princeling.
"Probably" says Mira Reinholt who wipes away tears of laughter from his face, as away in the west, the sun is dropping down towards the horizon.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, who at the age of seventeen, was the youngest ever member of the mage council of Vexil.
The same age he was sent into exile from his homeland Vexil, due to his treasonous actions during the Battle of Vexil.
The same battle he first met lord Farque and Dorc da Orc, where just after a few days of knowing them, he tried to kill the two of them.
Quietly says to his fellow councillor "At least he's not here to annoy us" the mage Reinholt who rather likes the ork warleader, though only in small doses, as the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world is far too annoying even at the best of times.
"Knowing that fat lump, if he was here, he'd probably try and fly this ship" says the Vexilian mage in exile, who then dryly adds "And end up crashing it".
The young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel nods his hooded head in agreement.
And on the right shoulder of the elven master assassin, the ground pixie Narladene nods in agreement too.
The two spellcasters, one elven who though not especially powerful, is extremely talented. And the other human, who isn't powerfull at all, when once he was more powerful than any other mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands.
Remain on the bow deck, quietly chatting to one another in the elven language as the sun sets in the west.
When finally dusk takes over, the mage Reinholt heads below deck behind Jarjin Littlefoot, Beldane the cleric and Tovis the war engineer, as well as Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy. As they go to the galley, to see what the ship's cook, who also happens to be ship's carpenter, is serving for dinner.
From what they've eaten so far in this journey, the crew member making the meals, is definitely a better carpenter than he is a cook.
Meanwhile, Helbe the elven thief has remained up on deck.
The young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel caught sight of lord Farque looking his way. Who slightly nodded his full helmed head to the elven magic user before the others went below deck, to see what was being served for dinner in the galley.
The elven masterthief, who also happens to be an elven princeling. Has made his way aft, and joins the lord of the death realm at the starboard rail.
To the right of the helmsman at the wheel, and the officer who is the watch captain. As the night crew of the small vessel are on duty now.
Knowing that the heavily armoured deathlord wants to speak to him about something.
Prince Helbenthril Raendril asks the undead warlord "What is it?".
"Did your sister ever speak to you about her travels out to this side of the continent, and her journey back home?" asks lord Farque who speaks in the royal elven language.
"Malindrin?" says Helbe the elven thief who definitely wasn't expected that.
"Unless you've got some other sister you don't know about, then yes Malindrin" dryly says the heavily armoured deathlord in the language spoken by elven royalty and nobles.
The young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel has the decency to blush. While on his right shoulder, Narladene the ground pixie sourly smiles, as she doesn't understand the other elven language, and doesn't know what was said.
The elven master archer, who remembers that lord Farque and Dorc da Orc met his older sister Malindrin here in the far east of the continent, when they were chasing after the mage Reinholt.
Who fought alongside the two of them, in one of the wars in the Five Kingdoms nearly twenty years ago. And that Dorkindle fell in love with his older sister Malindrin.
Ruefully shakes his hooded head then says in the language of the elven royalty "Not much".
The son of princess Elendreal of Laerel, and Lord Althilgah the Warder of Quinthain, continues with "Just that she came out this way through a northern passage, obviously north of the equator" followed by "And she returned to the Southlands like you lot. Down south along the coast, though she went back by land, while you three went by sea".
Behind the faceplate of his full helm, the deathlord of Farque sourly smiles at the memory of that journey by sea. As it was quite possibly the most annoying journey he's ever taken. For the simple fact Dorc da Orc didn't stop complaining throughout it, as he absolutely hated being surrounded by water for weeks on end.
As they stand at the starboard rail, the undead warlord slightly nods, when the elven masterthief asks him "Want to know about those nations to the south of that desert?".
"The captain and his crew hardly know anything about them either" says the lord and ruler of the lands Farque as a crew member lights a few of the ship's lamps, or running lights, as dusk turns to twilight and it becomes early evening.
Then after a brief pause, Draugadrottin looks at the elven princeling and asks him "Why the fuck was your sister out here anyway?" followed by "She never really did explain that to us".
Helbe the elven thief refrains from wincing, and he falls silent as he's reluctant to answer.
The elven magic user looks out and away from the airship as one of the moon rises in the east in the early evening sky.
The grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel glances at the tall, heavily armoured figure standing beside him, and finds the lord of the death realm looking at him.
"Well?" quietly says lord Farque, it doesn't exactly sound like a question, but more of an order from the undead warlord.
The elven masterthief clears his throat, then he quietly says "She was traveling out here because" councillor Raendril pauses for a moment or two, then he adds "She was looking for the fifth principality".
Behind the visor of his full helm, lord Farque raises an eyebrow in surprise, as he wasn't expecting that answer.
"I see" says the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, who then asks "She have any luck?".
Shaking his hooded head no, the elven princeling says "She didn't" he then looks at the large, heavily armoured deathlord and asks him "You have any idea where it is?".
"No idea" replies Des'tier who knows that elven kind have been searching for the fifth principality of their's for thousands of years.
There's five principalities of elfdom, three of which are in the Southlands, while a fourth is also in the western half of the continent, though it's to the east and north of the Southlands.
Where the fifth elven principality is, no one really knows. It's not on the other main continent of the world of Volunell, where the former empire of Norstran is located.
It's also not on many of the islands scattered across the oceans around the two main continents. Though to this day, new islands and land masses are being discovered.
It's often thought, by those interested in the subject. Which isn't really that many, even amongst elfdom. That the fifth principality is a myth more than anything else. And if it did really exist, it not longer exists nowadays.
"Is it actually real?" quietly murmurs Helbe the elven thief, who sees lord Farque turn his head slightly, as if he's glancing over his shoulder.
The young elven noble knows he isn't actually doing that, but he's actually communicating with the massive sword strapped to his back.
"It's real" says Des'tier, prince Helbenthril Raendril then asks "Know where?" as he looks at the hilt of the undead warlord's family sword sticking up over his right shoulder.
"No" says the heavily armoured deathlord, who briefly pauses as he speaks with his sword, then he adds "Just somewhere on this continent".
"At least that's something" murmurs the elven magic user, who then slightly frowns, and quietly says "I've always thought it strange that most of elf kind are from or near the Southlands, and that the fifth principality is also on this continent too".
"Nothing strange about it" says lord Farque, who then adds in a dry tone of voice "The Southlands are where the gods appeared on our world, that's why basically every race of people you can think of lives there, compared to elsewhere in the world".
The young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel blinks in surprise as he had never thought of that, then he nods his hooded head when the undead warlord adds "It's also why there's fuck more magic there than anywhere else".
"Hell, that makes sense when you think about it" murmurs Helbe the elven thief as their journey westwards all the way back to the otherside of the continent to the Southlands, upon the airship the Quick Gull continues this night . . . . . .