Winter. The Lands Farque. The Southlands.
Saanea the witch looks out the front window, and sees a couple of the town's children run by, laughing and giggling about something.
The spellcaster from the Maldin Hills, which lies over fifteen hundred miles away to the north of this strange land she finds herself living in now.
Glances at her familiar, who is in cat form lying infront of the fireplace. Soaking in the heat from the fire.
The dark haired, not to mention pretty looking witch goes back to chopping the vegetables for tonight's stew.
A short time later, she looks across the front room again, and sees a laughing sir Percavellé Lé Dic hurrying by.
The heavily armoured knight looks at the house, and spots the witch inside. The nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic waves to her. Then after looking back in the direction he's come from, the former paladin laughs again, before he continues on his way.
Saanea chops up the last of the vegetables, and puts them in the pot as she thinks about what time she should start cooking the stew.
A few moments later, and she sees a rather angry looking Dorc da Orc go stomping by the front of the house.
"Oh dear" murmurs Saanea the witch as she sees that the large ork looks to be thoroughly drenched.
As if he's fallen into the river that runs behind the small town, here in the northwest of the lands Farque.
The spellcaster who is the newest member of the group rolls her eyes, as she figures something's happened.
As the ork general would never willingly let himself get wet. For the simple reason Dorkindle absolutely detests water.
The pretty looking hillwoman, from further north in the Southlands shakes her head as she wonders what the ork warleader has been up to.
Tamric Drubine the field commander makes his way through the small town, which is about fifty miles in from the coast, and less than twenty miles from the northern border of the lands Farque.
The senior officer in the armies of Farque spots sir Percavellé Lé Dic hurry into the house that the nobleborn knight shares with Shur Kee the monk.
Which is just down from the house that field commander Drubine shares with Saanea the witch.
As the nobleborn teenager originally from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin, and the witch from the Maldin Hills.
Are somewhat of a couple, after only knowing one another for a little while. As they only met in the summertime. Less than half a year ago.
Seeing that sir Percavellé or Percy as he's more commonly called, laughing as the large, heavily armoured knight entered the abode that the former earl of Lé Dic shares with Shur Kee the monk.
Tamric Drubine the field commander murmurs to himself "What mischief has he been up to?".
A little while later, and the son of the former Knight of castle Drubine in northern Sarcrin.
Watches a rather angry looking Dorc da Orc come stomping down the street that cuts through this part of town.
And though there was snow last night, the day is dry, with neither rain or snowfall.
Which belies the fact that the large ork looks to be thoroughly soaked. Which he's none too pleased about.
Seeing that the general in the armies of Farque is heading to the house that sir Percavellé Lé Dic lives in.
Tamric Drubine or Tam as he's more commonly called by those who know him well, calls out "Dorc!" followed by "I need to talk to you about something".
As it looks like the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world has his mind set on going after the former earl of Lé Dic, and killing him.
The ork weaponsmith stops in the middle of the street, and looks at the nobleborn teenager originally from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin, who walks up to him.
"Did you fall into the river or something?" asks field commander Drubine.
The large ork, who quickly comes to the conclusion that what Tam just said, is far better than admitting what really happened, grunts and nods his head yes.
"Yeah cunt" says Dorc da Orc, who continues with "Me trip, and er fall in that silly fucken river".
The warleader of the ork race has no intention of telling anyone he was bested by a bunch of children.
The son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks sourly smiles as he spots a couple of the town children, giggling as they look his way. Before they head inside their home, after waving out to the young field commander, and calling out hello to him.
The nobleborn teen who is a senior officer in the armies of Farque, is a popular, and welcomed addition to the small town, here in the remote northwest of the lands Farque.
Dorc da Orc, or Dorkindle as his given name is, asks Tam "What you want cunt?".
Field commander Drubine, who was posted to this town just a month or so after they arrived in northern Farque.
Who brought along with him, some of the more problematic members of the group. To be exact the general and the knight. Dorc da Orc and sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
Says to the large ork, who essentially helped raised him "On first day, which is the day after tomorrow". As he knows the ork warleader is absolutely hopeless at remembering what day of the week it is.
"I'll be training some of the new recruits" says the son and former heir of a previous Knight of castle Drubine, which is located in the forested north of the kingdom of Sarcrin.
"I'll need a hand to train them with" adds the young field commander, who at this moment in time, he hasn't been assigned to one of the armies again.
"You want Dorc to chop some cunts hand off for you?" asks Dorkindle with a thoughtful frown upon his broad, green, brutish looking face.
After rolling his eyes, Tamric Drubine who knows the large ork can be a bit too literal at times, says "No".
Which illicits a rather disappointed sounding grunt from the ork weaponsmith. Who hasn't killed anyone since they've returned to the lands Farque, much to his disappointment.
"I'll need your help in training them" says the teenage noble, who is essentially a swordmaster, but does not have the rank yet, as it has to be given to him by another swordmaster.
Specifically one who has helped to train him over the years he's learnt and study swordsmanship.
"Why you not fucken say so?" mutters Dorc da Orc, who stands there, with his grubby knee length pants, absolutely drenched.
While water continues to drip from his brightly coloured, dreadlock topknot, much to his disgust.
Ignoring that from the warleader of the ork race, the young field commander says "The knight will help us out too".
"Which fucken knight?" quickly asks the ork general in the armies of Farque.
Who likes one of the knights in town, as he's one of lord Farque's special soldiers, as he likes to think of them.
The big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world doesn't know about the undead in the Farqian society.
He just knows they're similar to the lord of the lands. They smell cold, and they fight like nothing Dorkindle has ever seen before.
The large ork also likes them because quite a few of them speak his native language. Which is a rarity to say the least. After all the ork language is basically incomprehensible, that even orks themselves find difficult to speak at times.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks absolutely loathes the other knight in town at this time. That would be his bitter rival, sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
The general in the armies of Farque, who actually outranks the young field commander. Just that no one bothers to tell him that.
Sourly grunts, and mutters "Fuck me" after Tam tells him "Not sir Morcin, he's too busy teaching the town's children, along with his other duties" he follows that with "I meant Percy".
"Does Dorc fucken have to?" asks a plaintive sounding ork warleader.
"Not if you don't want to" says the nobleborn teenager who hails from the kingdom of Sarcrin.
Dorkindle grins, which quickly disappears, and he scowls as field commander Drubine tells him "Unless you want Percy training them, and learning what he has to tell them".
"They get all fucked in the head with that cunthead showing them what to fucken do" mutters the ork warleader, who then says "General Dorc will fucken train them up".
"Good" says Tam, who after telling Dorkindle to keep out of trouble, which he knows is a complete waste of time, as Dorc and trouble, is like flies sticking to shit. Something that will always happen.
The young field commander in the armies of Farque heads to the house he shares with Saanea the witch, here this winter in a small town, located in the northwest of the lands Farque.
Saanea looks up and smiles as Tam comes in through the front door. The young field commander takes off his boots, before crossing the front room.
Though he stops and pats the familiar lying infront of the fireplace. Which hardly even moves, and just loudly purrs as the nobleborn teenager originally from the kingdom of Sarcrin scratches behind it's ears.
Saanea hugs, and briefly kisses Tam when he enters the back room, come kitchen.
The house isn't particularly large, only having four rooms, the others being a bedroom, and another, which the young field commander and the spellcaster are using for storage.
"What were you doing?" asks the dark haired, pretty looking hillwoman, who is five years older than the eighteen year old senior officer in the armies of Farque.
"Just setting up everything for training on first day" replies Tamric Drubine, who still can't believe he's in a relationship with the witch, who is the latest member of the group.
Tam steps back and watches Saanea set up the cooking fire, as she does, he tells her "The region's recruits are due in tomorrow, so everything is on the go now".
The young field commander was posted here to help with the training of new soldiers, in this region of the lands Farque.
And though the town is fairly small, what it has, both built and naturally, makes it ideal for training new recruits. All of whom will be in their early teens.
Tam will be in charge of their training, though he's already had a lot of input from the undead knight sir Morcin, who is the sentinel in this area of the lands Farque.
Those undead who patrol an area near the border region in the largest nation in the Southlands.
The lands Farque is by far the largest nation in the Southlands, it's also one of the least populated. With it's population density way lower than many other nations across the Southlands.
Field commander Drubine who has had to return to his army duties, as there's still no word as to where lord Farque and the rest of the group are.
Finds himself about to embark on the winter training for the new recruits in this region in the ruled lands named after the undead warlord's family.
As he watches his lover Saanea set up the cooking fire, Tam says "I saw Dorc outside" followed by "Who was absolutely soaked".
The son and former heir of a previous Knight of castle Drubine, in the forested north of the kingdom of Sarcrin, then adds "He said he fell into the river".
"I think there's a bit more to it than that" says Saanea the witch, who explains to the young field commander what she saw a short time ago.
First with the giggling children going by, then a laughing sir Percavellé Lé Dic. And eventually a rather angry looking Dorc da Orc who stomped by infront of the house.
"I figured as such" dryly says the nobleborn teenager who has known Dorkindle for more than half of his life.
Ever since the large ork, and two others in the group found him in the kingdom of Sarcrin, when he was just eight years old.
Who knows whenever the large ork lies. As the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world is absolutely useless at lying.
"I'm getting him and Percy to help me with the training on first day" says field commander Drubine.
Slightly wincing at the prospect of that, Saanea the witch asks "Is that a good idea?".
"Probably not" says Tam with a chuckle "But it will allow me to keep an eye on both of them" continues the senior officer in the armies of Farque, who follows that with "If they get up to mischief, I'll actually see it" he then adds "At least that's something".
"If you say so" murmurs the spellcaster from the Maldin Hills, who is of the opinion that the general and the knight should be split up, and set to opposite ends of the nation.
As the two of them together, are a whole lot of trouble that's just waiting to happen . . . . . .
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