The General & The Knight 14.

Winter. Northwest Farque.

Hamblin puts his right foot into the cupped hands of Garmon, who gives him a boost up the face of the wall.
On top of the wall, Markell grabs Hamblin to steady him.
Then the two of them reach down as Garmon, the tallest and largest of the recruits in their group, backs up, then makes a running leap forward against the face of the wall.
They grab him, and with more than a little bit of exertion, they haul the larger recruit up.
Garmon grabs onto the top of the wall, and pulls himself up next to them.
Pleased that he didn't have to grab the rope draped down the face of the wall.
The trio at the top of the wall glance at one another as they look back along the course to see who's following them.
Then grabbing the top of the wall, they hang down the otherside, then at full length, they drop the ten feet to the ground.
And they join the others who are holding the other end of the rope that goes over the wall.
With Garmon the strongest at the very end, and Hamblin just infront of him.
The ten teenage recruits wait as the fog still hasn't lifted this morning. As it covers the entire grounds just on the west side of the town of Gildin Dale, though it is starting to thin out.
There's still patches of snow across the ground, still not completely melted from the heavy fall a few days ago.
"Get ready" quietly says Hamblin the recruit in the elven language to his fellow recruits.
As they can all hear the heavy breathing and grunting coming from someone approaching the wall from the otherside.
A few moments later they hear a growl, followed by a loud mutter in a language none of them can understand.
Then they hear the voice of general Dorc da Orc say in the common language "Fucken pull it cunts". As they feel the other end of the thick rope go taunt.
"Heave!" calls out Garmon, who then starts counting one, two, three. On three, the ten recruits pull back on the rope as hard as possible.
They repeat it, every time Garmon counts to three. The large teenage boy mixes it up in the count too. Sometimes calling out in common, elven and even dwarvish.
As they pull back on the rope, the teenage recruits slowly walk backwards.
As they help the seven hundred and fifty pound ork warleader gain the top of the wall.
They do it fairly quickly, for soon they see a large green hand grab the top of the sixteen foot tall wall.
And after much scrambling, not to mention swearing in a mix of both the common and the ork language.
The large ork climbs over the top of the wall, letting go of the rope as he does so, which the recruits have let go of too.
The ork weaponsmith just rolls off the top of the wall and drops, hitting the ground with an oomph.
The sixteen foot drop didn't even wind him, though he is breathing heavily as he sits there for a few moments trying to regain his composure.
Meanwhile the recruits have already moved on, heading to the next set of obstacles.
Which they've all been fearing. Not for them. As they've all done them numerous times before.
But because it looks like the ork general will have to do them this morning.
When he usually skips this section of the second course when he does it.
It's a near hundred and fifty yard long section of the course that's predominantly all water.
And at the start of it this morning, on the ground just before the water, is a coracle.
A small, rounded lightweight boat used for fishing, that can hold two people at most.
Or one ork as is the case this morning on the second course on the grounds, just to the west of Gildin Dale.
The recruits all stand by it, then look back, and see the warleader of the ork race, has got to his feet.
And is making his way towards them. Though there's a deep scowl upon the broad, green, brutish looking face of the ork general.
Who then looks away to one side. As do the ten teenagers of this particular group of recruits.
On the path that runs alongside the second course, here on the grounds.
Is the undead wardog Axe, who has been keeping pace with the recruits and the big, burly ork who is originally from the southern polar region of the world.
Earlier, just before they set off on the second course. They were told by field commander Drubine to complete the course together with general Dorc.
And all of the course too. As the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks always skips the water section when he does the second course with one of the groups of recruits.
But it looks like he won't be able to this morning.
As a coracle, which are used for fishing on the nearby river. Has been provided for the warleader of the ork race.
And that the undead wardog Axe has come along to make sure the general in the armies of Farque, completes all of the obstacles on the second course this morning.
With a sideways glance in the direction of the undead wardog Axe who is on the path, Dorc da Orc mutters "Fucken shitballs".
As he approaches the ten recruits who are waiting for him at the water's edge.
"Hmmmmm what's that fucken there?" murmurs the large ork as he comes to a stop near the group of teenagers.
"Is that a fucken boat or something?" asks the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks.
"Yes warleader Dorc" replies the recruit Hamblin.
The big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world, who always likes it when the recruits, or anyone else for that matter, addresses him either as warleader or general.
Frowns as he looks down at the coracle, that seems a little small and flimsy to his eye.
Then the large ork notices something else, and he says "Got no fucken oars" followed by "How me gonna fucken get along with that?". As he gestures at the stretch of water that goes for about a hundred and fifty yards.
"Me not using me hands to paddle that fucker along" mutters Dorc da Orc, or Dorkindle which is his given name.
Having discussed briefly what they'll do, when the ork general was getting his breath back at the base of the last wall they all went over.
Hamblin, who hails from the farming village of Polsten, says "We'll help you along warleader".
Looking a little skeptical as he looks down at the ten human teenagers, who he towers over.
The son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks grunts, then says in a dubious tone of voice "If you fucken say so".
"Trust us warleader" says the recruit who is the son of farmers.
Dorkindle sourly smiles, as he has heard that plenty of times in the past.
Where he's trusted someone, and ended up regretting it.
Then with another look at the wardog Axe, who he finds staring at him.
The ork general mutters in his native tongue "By Krom me better not fall in that nasty fucken water".
The warleader of the ork race then grunts, and in common says "Okay cunts, let's do this".
The recruits put the coracle into the water, which Dorkindle is glad to see actually floats.
Some of them make their way into the cold water too. Where they steady the small, rounded fishing boat.
While the rest, including Hamblin, Garmon and Markell. The three tallest of the teenage boys in this group. Help general Dorc into the coracle.
The large ork who thinks he might actually step right through the small boat.
Grunts in surprise when he steps into it. And finds that the rounded bottom of it is actually pretty solid, and can actually hold his weight.
With the help of the recruits at the edge of the water, who are holding him steady.
The ork weaponsmith slowly squats down, and sits down in the coracle. And though it does spin around a couple of times. Those recruits already in the freezing water. Steady it fairly quickly, and get it facing the right way.
The rest of the recruits get in the water too, and then they set off.
Hamblin, who usually leads the way when they do the courses on the grounds.
Or when they run one of the forest trails around the town of Gildin Dale. Sends half of the group forward to the first of the water obstacles.
As he soon finds they don't need all of them to keep the coracle with the ork general in it, moving through the water.
And though the small, rounded fishing boat is rather low in the water because of the large ork sitting in it.
Momentum keeps in moving, as they swim beside it, and next to it. Pushing, and pulling it forward along the water section, of this, the second course.
The one hundred and fifty yard section of water on this particular course.
Has been dug out over a couple of centuries ago. And lined with stones along a lot of it.
The water is fed by a channel that connects it to the nearby river, that runs to the east, then south around the town.
The third course on the grounds, which is predominantly water, is also fed by the same channel, that was dug out when the courses were first created.
The water section on the second course has a number of obstacles on it.
Most of which are on small islands, some actually just rock and dirt mounds.
That someone doing the course, has to swim to get to, where they can actually get over, or in one instance, actually through the obstacles.
As the first of the recruits make it to the first island in the water section, which is widest there, at about twenty yards across.
Hamblin looks across at Garmon who is in the water, on the otherside of the coracle, helping to push it along, who says in the elven language "I'm not looking forward to the last one" followed by "He'll get wet there for sure".
The teenage recruit from the farming village of Polsten, which is about forty miles to the southeast of Gildin Dale. Slightly winces, then nods his head in agreement with Garmon.
"Nothing warleader" says Hamblin in response to the ork general asking "What he fucken say?" as he looks down at Garmon with a scowl upon his broad, green, feral looking face.
"He was just mentioning how long this will take" says the recruit who in all likelihood, will be a scout, then a ranger in one of the armies of their lord.
"It should go by fairly quickly" adds the son in a farming family in the village of Polsten.
"Fucken goods" mutters Dorc da Orc who is keeping his hands in tight to his body, as he doesn't want to get wet in anyway.
As he sits in the coracle that the recruits in the water, are pushing to the small island with first of the obstacles in the water section of the second course on the grounds.
That lie just on the west side of the town of Gildin Dale.
The coracle and it's lone occupant come through the fog, and bump up against the small island that has on it, the first of the water section's obstacles.
It's posts, spread apart, that resemble a ramp that goes to a peak, then down the other side.
There's a log that connects the posts that you have to climb over to get to the top, which is over forty foot above the island in the middle of what's essential a man-made stream.
The first of the recruits are already climbing it as Dorc da Orc gingerly crawls out of the coracle. Hoping not to tip it, and himself over at the water's edge.
The recruits remaining with the ork warleader, clearly hear the audible sigh from him when he gets back on dry land.
"General we'll have to carry the coracle over" states Garmon who points to the otherside of the small island, which is only about thirty yards long.
Infact it's the largest of the small stops in the water section of the second course.
Dorkindle grunts at that, and picks up the small, lightweight boat himself, and gives it a shake to get the drops of water off it.
The ork weaponsmith has the recruits tie it across his back, using some of the straps of his weapon harness.
Then they make their way onto the obstacle, followed by the big, burly ork who is from the southern polar region of the world.
The ork general in the armies of Farque finds this obstacle fairly easy. As his seven and half foot height gives him a major advantage. With only keeping his balance going from one log to another that he has to contend with.
The warleader of the ork race actually helps out a few of the recruits on this obstacle.
Picking them up, and lifting them up to the next log, and so on. And once they reach the top, he does the same thing when they go down the otherside.
Once they've all got over the obstacle, and find themselves on the otherside of the small man-made island in the water section of the course.
They put the coracle back into the water. And as some of the recruits get into the water, and keep the small, lightweight fishing boat steady. The others help the large ork back into.
And again, they set off to the next obstacle in the water section of this particular course on the grounds just to the west of town.
And so they continue, going through the man-made stream that snakes it's way across the grounds.
All the while, on the nearby path. The undead wardog Axe keeps pace with the ten Farqian army recruits, and the ork general who is doing the course with them this morning.
They complete the first four of the obstacles in the water section of the second course.
And as they approach the fifth and final one. With the recruits in the cold water. And the ork warleader in the coracle.
Dorc da Orc frowns then loudly mutters "What the fuck is that shit?". As he spots the last of the obstacles in the water section.
The man-made stream narrows there. And the obstacle isn't an island, or a mound of any kind.
It's a tunnel, that resembles a city sewer. The bottom of which is submerged, so that there's a least a couple of inches of water at the bottom of the tunnel that you have to crawl through, a tunnel that's about forty feet in length.
Hamblin and Garmon share a look, as this is the obstacle they were most worried about concerning the ork general.
And as the first of the recruits pulls themselves into the tunnel. And starts sliding, as much as crawling through it.
Dorc da Orc loudly mutters "Like fuck me is doing that cunty looking thing".
"We're supposed to go through it warleader" says Hamblin, who then adds "But there's another way" he follows that with "Though it's a little risky as it's quite slippery".
With a frown upon his broad, green, brutish looking face. The son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks.
Watches as Dammis climbs onto the shoulders of Garmon, and grabs onto the top of the tunnel, and hauls himself up.
"Only Dammis and Lamis of us have done it this way, and not often" says the recruit from the farming village of Polsten, who follows that with "The rest of us who have tried, have failed".
"Hmmmmm" murmurs a thoughtful Dorkindle as he watches the small teenage boy climb onto the top of the tunnel, which is nothing more than a large pipe.
Dammis who is soaked through after being in and out of the water for the last little while.
Goes for speed, and takes off running across the top of the partially sunk tunnel, which is very slippery across the top.
The small, sure footed teenager, who is the most agile of the recruits in this group.
Gets almost to the end of the forty foot long tunnel, when he slips. Feeling himself going, Dammis leaps and dives off the top of the pipe like tunnel.
And he dives into the water on the otherside, where it's the deepest along the section with the water obstacles.
Faced with the prospect of definitely getting wet if he's to go through the tunnel.
Or a high probability of still getting wet, if he's to make his way across the top of it.
The ork weaponsmith picks the later, and points up, and says "Fucken that way for general Dorc".
The warleader of the ork race gets up onto the top of the tunnel fairly easily. With his height giving him an advantage again. While most of the recruits hold the coracle steady for him as he stands to grab onto the top of the tunnel, to haul himself up onto it.
And as the ork weaponsmith makes a face in disgust as he lies there on top of the tunnel, which is indeed slippery and wet. The recruits head through the tunnel beneath him.
Growling and muttering to himself, the large ork slides himself forward along the top of the tunnel. Making sure he doesn't slide off to either side into the water.
But as he has the advantage of not being wet to begin with. Dorkindle slides forward pretty easily across the top of slippery stonework, much to his relief.
As he doesn't want to come this far, just before the end of the water section, to actually end up in the water himself.
The big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world, with a lot of dumb luck, actually gets to the end of the tunnel.
And he looks down and grins as he sees the recruits have pulled the coracle through the tunnel with them, and it's now down just below him.
As a handful of the recruits hold the coracle, Dorc da Orc scoots around, so that he can let himself get down backwards, so that he can hold onto the tunnel for as long as possible.
As the warleader of the ork race lowers himself, he loudly mutters "Steady ya cunt".
More to himself, than to either the coracle, or the recruits in the water holding it steady.
The ork weaponsmith glances down, and sees that the coracle is just below his boots, and all he has to do let himself down into as gently as possible.
This is where the large ork's luck finally fails him. Because he doesn't do that, he hops down instead as he's excited to make it this far without getting drenched.
The recruits watching shout in alarm. But it's too late. And the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world hops down into the coracle.
And the lightweight, rounded fishing boat, which so far has been able to hold the large ork.
This time doesn't. As he goes crashing through the base of the coracle, and into the water with a large splash and a yelp of "Cunt!".
A shout that's cut short as the ork general goes under the surface of the water.
Dorkindle comes back up through the surface, flinging water and bits of the broken coracle.
The ork warleader spits out a mournful of water, then mutters in disgust "Shittyfuck" as he's now totally soaked.
Then Dorc da Orc, swims with the group of ten teenage recruits across to the end of the water section of the second course.
Here on the grounds to the west of the town of Gildin Dale, on what's a foggy winter's morning in this area of northwestern Farque . . . . . .