The General & The Knight.

Winter. The Southlands.

Looking at the class, who range from the age of four to twelve, sir Morcin says "I think we shall go about this another way" followed by "A more practical example".
The knight, well former knight, as he's actually an avenger, says to the children "Put on your cloaks, and we shall go outside".
The nobleman, whose homeland no longer exists refrains from grinning as he hears a few groans from some of the children at the prospect of going outside.
But none of them complain as they don their winter cloaks, and leave the classroom with it's lit fireplace, and follow the avenger outside.
They go out to the back portico of the learning center, where in the snow covered garden yard, a large figure lies. Obviously asleep, as the loud snoring attests to.
"Poo it stinks" says little Dorsey, the youngest child in the class, who stands there in her fur hooded cloak with a mitten covered hand up to her face.
Some of the other children can't help but chuckle, and others nod in agreement with the little girl.
Sir Morcin refrains from grinning, and though his senses were changed many a long year ago, even he can smell the odour coming from the figure lying fast asleep down in the yard.
The former knight clears his throat to get the children's attention, the class as they stand upon the portico, turn to look at him.
"Now we have the general here" says the chief tutor of the town's learning center.
"Now imagine if he was an enemy, doesn't matter if he was a lone enemy, or an enemy army" says the avenger, who is pretty unassuming individual, not particularly tall, or large, especially out of his armour, as he is now. Who for all intensive purposes, looks like he's in his mid twenties.
"And you had no weapons at your disposal" says sir Morcin who continues in a slightly dry tone with "Even if you did, you'd probably likely only annoy him if you had and you used them against him".
The avenger then tells the children "So if you are unable to defeat an enemy as such, what else can you do to them?".
"Contain them" says Garbon, the eight year old, who is the older brother of little Dorsey.
"Correct" says the chief tutor, who points to the sleeping figure lying on the snow covered ground, and he adds "How best would you contain the general?" he briefly pauses before adding "Remember, you only have what's around you".
"He doesn't like the sun" says Findal, the son of the town's blacksmith, who quickly continues with "It's the heat, father says it addles their brains, it's why they're so retarded".
The avenger wishes he was in his armour, and wearing his full helm, so that be could grin.
It takes a lot of effort on his part to keep a straight face and not to burst out laughing.
Especially when he hears little Dorsey quietly say to her older brother "What's retarded mean?" and Garbon reply with "Him" as he points at the sleeping figure down in the garden yard.
"Well it's wintertime, and the sun is struggling to break through the clouds today, so the heat from the sun won't do" says the former knight.
"A fire then" says the blacksmith's son Findal, who continues with "We could set something on fire around him".
Before the other children can agree with that, sir Morcin puts an end to that line of thought, as the only thing to burn is the learning center itself, and the nearby garden shed.
"A bit extreme" says the chief tutor who continues with "Remember often the easiest thing is the best thing to contain one's enemy".
The children, just ten of them, as the town isn't particularly large, infact it would probably be called a large village in another nation.
Are all silent for a few moments, as they try to figure out the problem before them.
Then it's little Dorsey who speaks up, and gives the most simple, and effective solution to the problem, when she says "A bath".
Standing next to his little sister, her brother Garbon nods his head in agreement and says "The commander is always yelling at him to go in the river to have a bath, but he never does".
"We can't carry him down to the river" says Findal, who follows that with "He's too fat" he then adds in a mutter that only the chief tutor can hear "And i don't wanna touch him, he pongs worse than a midden heap".
"Remember, you only have to contain him" says sir Morcin, who refrains from looking over at the garden shed, as the solution to the problem is over there.
It's Dessill, the oldest child in the class, who after looking around, finds the answer and says "The buckets over there".
The twelve year old girl, who will soon be assigned to her first posting, as she has been picked to join one of the armies of their nation, then says "We can use them, to get water from the well out front".
"Very good" says the former knight, who follows that with "After you've done that, it will be time for the noon meal" he then adds "Since it's sixth day, there's no classes this afternoon, so you're free to go home".
The children hurry to complete the solution for the last problem of the day, as the prospect of food, and the rest of the day at home spurs them to complete the task as quickly as possible.
With a snort in the middle of a snore, Dorc da Orc wakes himself up. The large ork yawns before he opens his eyes, and when he does open his eyes, and goes to sit up, he completely freezes.
"The fuck" mutters Dorc da Orc as he eyes the bucket of water basically right up against the side of his head.
The ork warleader slightly turns his head the other way, and winces as there's another bucket of water almost touching his head.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world growls, then slowly lifts his head up, and then quickly puts it back down again, and scowls after briefly seeing what's around him.
There's buckets of water sitting on the ground, down the length of his body, on both sides. There's even one between his outstretched legs, right below his groin.
The large ork growls when he hears giggling and laughter, followed by the sound of children hurrying away.
"Fucken humanlings" mutters the ork weaponsmith, who then sighs and says "Fuck" as he lies there, wondering how he's going to get out of this predicament.
The warleader of the ork race growls, then goes to lift his head again. But he stays put when he bumps one of the buckets, the one beside his right hip, and water splashes onto his side.
The son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks hisses in anger, then mutters in his native language "Me gonna kill them lil' fucks".
"Are you?" says a voice from nearby in the same language.
Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name, winces then after he sniffs, and catches the scent of someone nearby who is colder than the day is cold, he says "Hey cunt" followed by "Can you move this shit?".
The big, burly ork who is from the frozen bottom of the world slightly moves his left arm to indicate the buckets of water that's been placed around him.
He growls as he bumps another one, and water sloshes over the rim of the bucket, and his left arm gets wet.
"And why should i?" says the voice from nearby, that the ork general figures is on the back portico of the learning center, that he fell asleep behind last night.
'Cause me don't wanna get fucken wet ya cunt! Dorkindle thinks to himself, who doesn't say that outloud, but instead says "Me need a fucken hand is all".
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks hears the person move, as they must of been sitting on one of the benches on the back portico.
The large ork hears them make their way down the steps, and into the garden yard, here behind the learning center in the small town.
"Hey knight cunt" says the ork general as he sees sir Morcin looking down at him.
The avenger nods, and in the common language, the nobleman from a nation that no longer exists, says "You seem to be in a bit of a predicament there general" followed by "No matter what you do, you're going to get yourself wet there".
"Krom" mutters the ork warleader who continues muttering with "Why them lil' shits do that to Dorc?".
"It was an exercise, a problem for them" says the chief tutor of the town's learning center, who continues with "And they executed it quite well".
The ork weaponsmith goes to say something, but he shuts his mouth when the former knight quietly says to him "Tell me general, how could you let a small group of children, the youngest of whom is four, completely incapacitate you?".
"Don't fucken know" mutters a surly sounding ork warleader, who then quickly adds in his defense "Dorc was sleeping" followed "So it not fucken fair".
The avenger who also taught the children's parents, grandparents, great grandparents, and so on, for nearly four and half centuries in this town and the surrounding area, nods his head as he looks at the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world, who is keeping as still as possible, so as not to bump any of the buckets of water again.
"Fair has nothing to do with it" says the unassuming looking sir Morcin, who continues with "One day some of those children will serve in our armies when they're older, and you might end up being one of their generals".
The chief tutor of the town's learning center, briefly pauses, before he adds "They need to know what they can do with very little, to if not defeat, then at least incapacitate someone much more powerful and deadlier than they ever will be".
The nobleborn former knight who died, and was raised undead four and half centuries ago, says to the warleader of the ork race "Remember this day general, the day you were defeated by ten children, the youngest of whom was four".
Dorkindle scowls, and sir Morcin tells him "Although this was lesson for them, hopefully it was one for you too".
The avenger then turns, and as he walks away, back to the learning center, he says "Move just one of the buckets, you'll get wet, but you won't get completely soaked if you try to squirm out between all of those buckets".
"Fuck me" mutters the large ork after he hears the former knight go up the steps, cross the portico, and enter the small town's learning center through the backdoor.
The ork general sighs, and after eyeing the buckets to either side of his head, and decides he definitely doesn't want to move one of them.
Getting his head wet is the absolute worst in his opinion.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world decides to move the bucket next to his right hip away from him.
After all, he's already bumped that one, and got wet down his side. So with a muttered oath to his god Krom.
The ork weaponsmith shoves that bucket away. And though he does get a bit more wet along that side.
He's in with a bit of luck. As water predominantly sloshes the other way, away from him.
Then keeping fairly still, which is rather difficult for someone as large as him.
Dorkindle sits straight up, and breathes a sigh of relief, he doesn't bump any of the other water filled buckets that were placed around him as he slept.
The son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks. Scowls as he looks at the buckets.
Which he'd like nothing better to do than smash. Just that he'd get totally soaked if he did so.
It's why he's only scowling at them, and not whacking and kicking at them.
The ork weaponsmith who fair glares at the bucket between his leg, a little too close to his crotch for his liking.
Realises he has to carefully lift a leg up, and swing it up and over, out of the way.
So he can at least crawl up and over the buckets on one side of him.
The large ork who is hoping that the children, or humanlings as he calls them, from this small town, never end up in an army that he's a general in.
Has a couple of leg lifts, practice attempts to make sure he can swing his left leg, up and over the bucket just down from his crotch.
Satisfied that he can, Dorc da Orc grunts, lifts his left up as he sits there between the buckets.
He swings that leg over, turning to his right, where he reaches out with his left hand, plants it on the ground, that's dusted with snow which fell during the night.
The weaponsmith, who is still the largest ork in the wolf tribe, and to his knowledge. The only ork outside of his homeland, The Ork Range. Which is in the southern polar region of the world.
Grins in satisfaction as he pushes himself up and over the buckets to one side of him.
The big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world. Who as usual doesn't smell so pleasant.
Is in the middle of getting himself clear of the buckets on one side of him.
When he loses his grin as he suddenly hears laughter, familiar laughter coming from behind him somewhere.
The ork warleader scowls in anger and disgust at being caught in this predicament. Especially by his most bitter rival. Who stands next to the garden shed laughing at him.
Turning his head, and looking under his right arm, so he can see his bitter rival, Dorkindle says "Fuck off ya cunt".
"I think not" says sir Percavellé Lé Dic, who continues on with "This is too good of an opportunity to see some fine merriment, wot".
The heavily armoured knight, who is leaning against the garden shed, here behind the small town's learning center, says to the large ork "Don't tell me the young children have bettered you, have they?".
The former paladin, who is both a landed and an ordered knight, bursts out laughing again, when he hears the muttered swear words directed at him from the large ork in response to that question.
The member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che, might not understand what Dorkindle just said in his own language.
But he can guess that his barb about the town's children hit home.
The nobleborn knight from the kingdom of Druvic, continues to chuckle as he hopes the ork weaponsmith totally fails in his attempt to get free of the buckets of water that are around him.
As he's on one knee, with his leg out to one side, Dorc da Orc realises he might of made a mistake to look under his right arm, at his enemy sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
The large ork who has also lifted up his left arm, and doesn't have that support him, as he has it extended out to the side, trying to keep him balanced as he's on just one knee at the moment.
The ork warleader goes to put that hand down, as he does he pushes himself up.
Unfortunately for Dorc, his left hand came down amongst the spilt water form the bucket he shoved away.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks yelps, lifts up his left hand and shakes it, trying to get it dry.
"Uh oh" murmurs Dorc da Orc who realises he just made another mistake. As he looses his balance, and topples over to one side.
The large ork grimaces in disgust, just before he crashes down upon the buckets all along one side.
Much to the delight of his bitter rival, sir Percavellé Lé Dic, who bursts out laughing again as the son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks roars in anger as he ends up totally drenched.
Inside the learning center, as the children finish off their noon time meal before they head home.
Sir Morcin the undead avenger looks out through one of the glass windows along the back wall.
And shakes his head at the sight outside, in the garden yard behind the small town's learning center.
Where the general, Dorc da Orc is howling in anger that he's thoroughly soaked. As his bitter rival. The knight, sir Percavellé Lé Dic watches on, laughing in utter delight at what's just happened . . . . . .