The General & The Knight 17.

Winter. Northwestern Farque.

As he catches up to Hamblin who as usual leads the way, the recruit Lamis says to him "We'll have to stop and find a place to camp for the night".
"I know" says Hamblin the teenage recruit as he looks around for a suitable place for their group to camp.
They've spent the day on the east trail from the town of Gildin Dale. And it's nearing dusk, which comes on early as it's the middle of winter at the moment.
"There's that small clearing a couple hundred yards away, where we've camped before" says Hamblin, who is from the farming village of Polsten, which lies about forty five miles to the southeast of Gildin Dale.
"We'll camp there" adds the teenage recruit, who in all likelihood will end up as a scout, then a ranger in one of their lord's armies.
"Lead the rest there" says Hamblin to Lamis as first Maselle comes into view along the trail through the trees, then Dammis.
Lamis, nods his head, and makes his way forward along the trail.
While Hamblin stays put, and waves the others forward, as one by one, they get to where he is on the forest trail.
The son of farmers from Polsten waits for Jinsa, who is last in line. Who like him, is a more than capable hand with the bow.
Jinsa, who is more than able to keep pace with him at the front of the group.
Is the rear guard today. Though she's actually not the last of them on the eastern forest trail today.
That would be today's instructor, the ork general Dorc da Orc. Who is huffing and puffing as he comes into view through the trees.
Jinsa as she passes Hamblin, wryly smiles and dryly says to him in elven "He's been swearing and shouting for the last couple of miles, he's not in a good mood".
The teenager from the farming village of Polsten nods his head, and quietly says in the elven language "Catch up to the others where they're making camp".
He then adds "I'll lead him there" as he gestures back to where the large ork is on the trail, heading this way.
Jinsa nods, then moves off at a run. Not that you'd think she and the rest of the teenage recruits have covered nearly twenty five miles today, since they left the town of Gildin Dale before dawn.
Hamblin, who is this group of recruits scout, and unofficially their leader. Winces as he watches the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world approach.
The ork warleader has a number of barrels strapped to his back, that he's brought with him from town.
Ale and wine barrels by the look of it. Which no doubt he'll drink when they get to the spot where the night's camp is being set up.
Hamblin clinches his cloak tight as it's starting to get cold as the sun is going down in the west.
Then the teenage recruit who knows why the ork general has gone out with the groups on the east trail the last couple of days.
Everyone in Gildin Dale does. The reason why, Hamblin sees on the wide belt that the ork weaponsmith wears.
Says to him in the common language as he approaches "General, will it snow tonight?".
As he, like all the other recruits based in the small forest town of Gildin Dale this winter, has learnt the large ork has an incredible sense of the weather.
The warleader of the ork race, who only returned to town yesterday evening with the previous group of recruits who went out on the day long trail to the east of Gildin Dale.
Well, he didn't actually go into town until the dead of night. As he's avoiding sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
And more importantly field commander Tamric Drubine, who will probably make him return the sword of knockdown to his bitter rival, the former earl of Lé Dic.
Grunts as he breathes heavily, then looks around as he starts to sniff deeply and rapidly.
"Yeah cunt" says Dorc da Orc "Just a little fucken bit" adds the large ork, who follows that with "Smells like fucken fog again in the morning".
Hamblin nods, as that isn't too unexpected, as it's foggy most mornings in the wintertime in this area of northwestern Farque.
Hamblin walks beside the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world, as they continue along the trail.
As he does, the young teen from the farming village of Polsten, refrains from screwing up his nose, as the large ork is rather fragrant to say the least.
As they walk, the teenage Farqian asks the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks "There aren't any of those Aellothos around is there general?".
"Huh?" asks the ork warleader who is thinking about getting stuck into the booze he's brought along when they get to camp.
"The dwarf harpies" explains Hamblin, who continues on with "Those creatures that attacked our group earlier in the winter".
"Nah, none of them flappy fuckers around" says Dorc da Orc whose given name, is Dorkindle.
"Those fucken cunts tasted yuck" loudly mutters the large ork.
The teenager from the farming village of Polsten slightly winces when he hears that from general Dorc.
As he clearly remembers the ork weaponsmith munching on the wings of one of the Aellothos that attacked them earlier in the winter when they did the day long east trail.
And the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world spat it out in disgust.
Though Hamblin recalls that didn't stop the large ork from gnawing on the face and head of another of the dead Aellothos. Which he also spat out in disgust.
The teenage recruit figures learned behaviour isn't exactly a thing amongst orks.
As he's seen numerous examples of the ork general repeatedly doing things he doesn't like.
Usually to do with food. As he tries things out to see if he likes them or not.
The ork, who is the son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks.
Always looks disappointed when a meal is served in town that has both vegetables and meat mixed up together.
That doesn't stop him from eating it. Even though he tries to pick out all the vegetables that have been cooked along with the meat.
Hamblin has also learnt the warleader of the ork race has an extremely sweet tooth.
As the large ork was caught eating the nameday cake of one of the town's children a few weeks ago.
Which of course, had to be made again, and kept an eye on. Just incase the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world tried to steal that one too.
They get to the clearing where the group's camp for tonight is being set up.
Here the ork general comes in handy. As he pushes down, and together a number of trees. So that they form tent like structures, that shelter the recruits for the night.
Where three or four of the teenagers can sleep, as he makes three such structures for the recruits.
While the ork weaponsmith will sleep out in the open. That's if he even bothers to sleep.
As the recruits, not just this group of ten. But all of them based in the town of Gildin Dale this winter.
Have learnt that the general can go days and nights without sleeping.
Which he intends to do tonight. As he has some serious drinking to do instead.
As the recruits lite a cook fire, and start making their dinner. Which will be an oat gruel, that will have a mix of vegetables and ham in it.
The warleader of the ork race shrugs off the half dozen barrels he's carried on his back today.
And sits at the base of a tree across the clearing from the cook fire, and broaches one of the barrels, an ale barrel in this instance, and starts drinking as the sun sets in the west. And evening falls upon the forest to the east of the town of Gildin Dale.
It's dark by the time the meal is cooked, and the recruits eat their dinner.
Meanwhile their instructor, the ork general Dorc da Orc. Has taken something out of one of his sacks he has tied to his weapon harness.
Even without the fire, and if it was completely dark, the teenage recruits would easily recognise what the large ork has pulled out of one of his sacks.
It's a chunk of bear. The hindquarters by the looks of it. And it absolutely stinks. Infact it reeks worse than the ork warleader himself.
A bear that earlier in the week, Dorkindle dragged from it's den where it was hibernating, and bashed to death.
The bear thick with grease on it's coat, which males tend to extrude as they hibernate in the wintertime.
Has been a constant go to snack for the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world over the last four or five days.
The weaponsmith has saved the fatty hindquarters for last.
And the ten teenage recruits on the otherside of the clearing, quickly finish their meals.
As the ork warleader's snack, is enough to put anyone off from eating anything, as it stinks so much.
The large ork has a wide grin upon his broad, green brutish looking face as he goes from eating the rear end of a brown bear, to drinking from the barrel of ale he's broached, and back again.
Chuckling as he does so, and belching in between bites and drinks.
The ork, who happens to be the senior most army officer in residence of Gildin Dale this winter.
Which no one bothers to remind him about. As they'd sooner not have him give orders.
Has just torn a chunk of bear from the hindquarters he's holding, and chewed it, followed by a hearty swig of the ale from the barrel next to him.
When he turns his head, and sniffs as he looks back to the west, in the direction they've come from today.
Hamblin who hasn't looked much at the burning fire, looks across the clearing to where general Dorc is sitting at the base of a tree.
And sees the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, sniffing as he looks back to the nearby trail, and to the west.
Then he hears the ork warleader mutter something, most likely a swear word of some kind, in the language of the orks.
"General" quietly calls out Hamblin the recruit.
"What is it?" adds the son of farmers from the village of Polsten,
Dorkindle grunts, then says in reply "That fucken doggy".
The big, burly ork the frozen bottom of the world goes back to eating and drinking. Definitely paying more attention to his drinking.
For a little while later, the massive form of the undead wardog Axe comes into view through the trees.
Making his way to the clearing where the teenage recruits and the ork general have set up camp for the night.
The Farqian wardog flops down between the fire and the otherside of the clearing where Dorc da Orc is sitting at the base of a tree.
As he drinks, the warleader of the ork race keeps an eye on Axe. Who lies there, staring at the large ork, who was sent into exile from his homelande, The Ork Range for killing his mother, the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe.
Which was only fair, considering his mother was hell bent on doing her best to kill him at the time.
As the fire dies down a bit, and the recruits one by one, go into the shelters they're spending the night in, and hop into their bedrolls.
With only Hamblin up, as well as Garmon and Marshay, the two who have the first watch of the night.
The teenage recruit from the farming village of Polsten watches Dorc da Orc, who is watching the undead wardog Axe closely.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, who has returned the rank smelling hindquarters of the bear to one of his sacks, well what's left of it.
Is just sitting their, occasionally drinking from the open barrel of ale next to him.
Not taking his eyes off the massive canine lying in the middle of the clearing watching him.
When Hamblin starts to nod off, he wishes Garmon and Marshay a goodnight.
And does the same for Dorc da Orc and Axe too. Getting a wag of the undead wardog's tail in reply. And a grunt from the ork general.
Hamblin seeks out his bedroll in the shelter he's sleeping in tonight, and as he lies next to Maselle, he's soon asleep.
Hamblin is woken by Markell. As he along with Maselle have the last watch before dawn.
Yawning, the teenage recruit from the farming village of Polsten wakes up Maselle.
Then grabbing his cloak, he crawls out of the shelter, dons his thick fur lined cloak, as he looks around and finds that it's lightly snowed during the middle of the night.
Tossing a chunk of deadwood onto the embers of the fire. Hamblin sees that general Dorc and Axe the undead wardog. Are in the exact same positions they were in when he went to sleep.
As Maselle joins him on watch. The teenager who is the son of farmers.
Sees that the warleader of the ork race who is drinking from another barrel, this one a wine barrel.
Is still closely watching the undead wardog in the middle of the clearing.
While Axe, who is still lying on the same side as he was when Hamblin sought out his bedroll, and went to sleep.
Is still staring at the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
Hamblin just shakes his head before he walks off, taking a circular route around the camp site.
Steadily getting further and further away, going over a hundred yards out.
Before circling back, crossing the path of Maselle who has circled out in the other direction in the dark.
As the two of them take the last watch before dawn.
The teenager from the farming village of Polsten knows there isn't anything to worry about in the area.
Well, at least not in the immediate vicinity. For the simple reason both general Dorc and Axe the undead wardog aren't out and about, dealing to any threat.
Then again, something that those two might not think is a threat. Could very well be a threat to the young Farqian army recruits.
Fortunately for Hamblin and the rest of the group, the last of the night passes without incident.
And in the cold, and foggy predawn. Where there's patches of snow on the forest floor, due the light fall in the middle of the night.
The ten recruits have something to eat before they break camp.
They warm up loaves of bread they brought with them from Gildin Dale.
Placing the loaves near the edge of their low burning fire.
That the recruits whilst on watch, kept going throughout the night.
They also cook themselves an oat porridge, flavoured with honey. That Garmon has brought along in a small pottle.
When that's brought out. It's the first time the ork general takes his eyes of Axe, probably for the first time since last night.
And though the large ork licks his lips as he watches the honey go into the pot of oat porridge.
He's soon back to drinking from his open wine barrel, and watching Axe, who continues to lie there in the middle of the clearing, staring at the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world.
After their breakfast, the teenage recruits break camp, pack up their gear. And head to the nearby trail, that will take them back to town, which they'll reach sometime late in the afternoon.
Hamblin has Maselle lead the way as dawn breaks. And he decides to take the end of the line, or the rearguard.
For the simple reason he wants to keep an eye on general Dorc.
He knows something's up, because the ork weaponsmith didn't drink everything he brought with him from Gildin Dale.
The warleader of the ork race still has two of the barrels he's yet to open. And he had some of the recruits tie them to his back for him, before he set off, at the back of the line as usual.
As the young teens set a decent pace first thing this morning, which like most mornings in this area of northwestern Farque, is foggy.
Hamblin is behind the ork general at the moment, about a dozen paces behind the large ork.
Who is obviously preoccupied about something. Probably Axe, is Hamblin's best guess.
As the undead wardog wandered off when they broke camp at dawn.
The teenage recruit from the farming village of Polsten is sure the massive canine is keeping pace with them, away to the right off the trail.
He's certain of it, as Dorc da Orc keeps glancing in that direction every so often. Muttering to himself in the incomprehensible language of the orks as he does so.
Hamblin is pretty sure something is going to happen, exactly what, he isn't too sure.
Though when it does happen a little bit later, as the early morning fog starts to burn away on this cold winter's morning. It happens right infront of him, and he gets a good look at it.
One moment they're at a slow jog on the forest trail, and the next moment Axe comes into view to their right.
Dorc da Orc picks up the pace, then suddenly in a blur, the undead wardog is on the trail directly behind the ork warleader.
Hamblin sees the massive canine swipe his right front paw, taking the feet out from under general Dorc, who hits the ground, yelping "Cunt!".
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks with a growl, rolls onto his back, then goes completely still as Axe clamps his jaws onto his throat as he stands over the large ork.
"Nice doggy" murmurs Dorkindle, as Hamblin comes to a stop just a few yards from the general and the undead wardog.
The warleader of the ork race lets out a shallow breath as Axe removes his jaws from his throat.
Then general Dorc hisses in displeasure as the massive canine plucks the sword of knockdown from his belt.
The large ork as he sees the magical weapon he stole from sir Percavellé Lé Dic a few days ago between the jaws of Axe.
Blinks in surprise, as does young Hamblin, as the undead wardog flips the sword of knockdown in the air, and catches it in his mouth.
And for all intensive purposes, looks like he swallows it. Before he steps over the prone ork general, and continues on his way along the trail.
"The fuck?" says a shocked Dorc da Orc as he sits up and looks around, wondering what just happened.
Hamblin the teenage army recruit is wondering the same thing to, before he suggests to the general that they get a hurry on, and catch up to the others, as they head back to the town of Gildin Dale . . . . . .