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".