Winter. Northwestern Farque.
The first group of recruits set out early in the morning, leaving well before dawn.
It's a slightly foggy morning, and occasionally snow continues to fall. As it has been for the last few days, as the region endures a late winter snowfall.
The young teenage recruit Hamblin, who happens to have a couple of maps.
Leads the way out of the town as the recruits of the first group head west to the coast, and the town of Halmard. Which is on the border with the unruled lands to the north.
Just behind Hamblin, who like the rest of the recruits is carrying his heavy pack.
Walks a yawning sir Percavellé Lé Dic. One of the two instructors accompanying the group of teenage recruits to the coast.
The other instructor going with the first group, is still in town. Still not ready to leave Gildin Dale.
As he isn't entirely happy with his preparations to depart the small forest town. Where the teenage army recruits of northwestern Farque have lived and trained this winter.
Dorc da Orc finally grunts in satisfaction after he downs one of the small barrels of wine.
Making room within the cargo netting he's got. It's one of the nettings the krean frigate that departed a couple of days ago, left behind.
The large ork ties the four corners of the cargo netting up, to create a bundle that holds at least a dozen barrels of ale and wine.
The ork warleader lifts it up, shoulders it. And bumps the door close to the woodshed behind the house that Tamric Drubine the field commander shares with Saanea the witch.
The ork weaponsmith makes his way around the house, then heads to the west edge of town.
Where he finds aforementioned field commander, and the spellcaster who is his lover.
"You better catch up to the group" says Tamric Drubine the field commander to the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
"And stay out of trouble Dorc" adds the senior officer in the armies of Farque, who knows that will be fairly impossible for the ork warleader. But the young field commander can hope.
"Yeah cunt" says Dorc da Orc, who grunts in farewell to the couple, before he heads to the nearby forest trail that goes west out of Gildin Dale.
The large ork has smelled that the group of teenage recruits, and his bitter rival sir Percavellé Lé Dic have gone that way.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, who is doing all he can so the rope netting holding his booze.
Doesn't drag on the ground behind him. As the last thing he wants is to break any of the barrels he's bringing along with him.
Nods to Tamric Drubine and Saanea the witch who wave farewell to him.
As the warleader of the ork makes his way into the trees to the west of town, just south of the grounds on that side of Gildin Dale.
Field commander Drubine shares a look with Shur Kee the monk who is standing nearby.
The short, statured monk just shrugs his shoulders as to what he thinks.
He, just like the senior officer in the armies of Farque can only hope that the large ork stays out of trouble as he heads west with the first group of recruits. And Dorc da Orc's long time rival, sir Percavellé Lé Dic. As they head west to the coast. Where the recruits will end their training for the winter.
On the forest trail to the west of Gildin Dale. The early morning fog quickly dissipates after the sun comes up in the east.
Though the light snow continues to fall. As it has done, on and off, for the last few days here in this area of northwestern Farque.
Hamblin who is leading the way along the forest trail. Which they will follow until it hits the road that goes out west.
Who is walking, holding the front straps of his heavy pack that he's carrying on his back.
Hears the call from further back in the line of march. That general Dorc is now following them.
The teenage recruit who is from the farming village of Polsten. Which lies about forty five miles to the southeast of the town of Gildin Dale.
Refrains from looking back at sir Percavellé Lé Dic who is following right behind him.
And informing him that the ork warleader is indeed following them.
As the call from Garmon was in the elven language.
Hamblin doesn't want to get the former paladin too upset. As he's in a good mood, thinking that the ork general wasn't going to come along with them this morning.
The heavily armoured knight who is originally from the kingdom of Druvic is in such good mood.
That he's humming to himself, and not talking, loudly like he usually does.
Which is another reason young Hamblin doesn't want to inform him that Dorc da Orc actually is coming along with them.
As they make their way along the trail, heading west through the forest.
As their journey to the coast, gets underway as the snow continues to lightly fall over this area of the northwest of the lands Farque.
The recruits are walking, as they don't need to run like they usually do the forest trails when they train.
And at the back of the line of march, just behind Marshay. Walks the Garmon the recruit, the largest and at fourteen, who turns fifteen in the spring, is the oldest of the teenagers in the first group.
He looks back to where general Dorc is about twenty or so yards behind him on the forest trail.
The teenage boy slows down a bit, so the large ork can catch up to him and the rest of the recruits.
"Should take about four days general" is what Garmon the recruit says in reply to Dorc da Orc asking him "How long this gonna fucken take?".
"Hope me fucken booze last that long" is what Garmon hears the large ork mutter.
The general then mutters something in the incomprehensible language of the ork race.
Then deciding it might be best to keep the ork warleader chatting.
As the entire group have been told by both field commander Tamric Drubine and sir Morcin the undead avenger.
To try and keep both the ork weaponsmith, and sir Percavellé Lé Dic out of trouble on the journey west to the coast.
Garmon asks the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world "The snow doesn't bother you general?" followed by "Like the rain does?".
As he, and the rest of the recruits. Not just the first group, but all the teenagers based in the town of Gildin Dale this winter.
Have seen how the ork general reacts to getting wet. Something he absolutely detests with a passion.
"Snow goods" says Dorc da Orc, who has the given name of Dorkindle "Rain fucken bads" adds the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks.
The ork warleader who is rather enjoying the snowfall as they walk along the forest trail.
Heading westwards towards the coast, and the town of Halmard near the border with the unruled lands to the north.
Adjusts the netting he's carrying across his right shoulder, and down his back.
Making the dozen or so barrels of ale and wine, of various sizes. A bit more comfortable to carry.
And to make sure none of them escape the netting, and fall to the ground, where they might break apart.
That's the last thing the warleader of the ork race wants to happen. As he's already working out how he's going to make all his grog last four days.
And losing a barrel of either wine or ale. Is something he definitely doesn't want to contemplate.
At the front of the line of march, a further eighty or so yards infront of those who are at the very end.
Hamblin the recruit who is being closely followed by sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
Looks back at the heavily armoured knight who is a member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che.
"I say young chap" says sir Percavellé Lé Dic, who continues on with "How long doth this journey you think shall last?" he belatedly adds "Wot".
"About four days I'd say sir" is the reply from Hamblin the teenage recruit.
Who is the unofficial leader of the first group of recruits, who have been living and training in the forest town of Gildin Dale this winter.
"Depending on this weather" adds the teenage recruit, who in all likelihood when he joins one of their lord's armies.
Will definitely be a runner, or messenger straight away. Then a scout, and eventually a ranger.
As it's pretty inevitable that he's going to be in the scouts and rangers division of one of the armies of Farque.
"Yes indeed, 'tis true it shall be a factor" says sir Percavellé Lé Dic referring to the weather they're enduring as they head west through the forest.
"But not too worry young fellow" adds the nobleman originally from the kingdom of Druvic, who continues with "It shall not bother us during our quest to the west, wot".
The former paladin goes to say something else, then he sourly smiles, then scowls as he hears a familiar voice from further back call out "Is that knight prick yapping his cunt mouth up there?".
In a curve in the trail, where Dorc da Orc can see through the trees to the left, to the front of the line of march, where he can see his bitter rival, the former earl of Lé Dic.
Continues yelling out with "Tell him to fuck up!" followed by "No one wants to hear whatever shit he talkin' 'bout up there!".
"How drool" sourly says sir Percavellé Lé Dic, or Percy as he's more commonly called by those who know him well.
The nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic, who was rather hoping his bitter rival wasn't coming along with them this morning.
Shakes his head, and loudly mutters "Damn filthy green demon" he then says to Hamblin and any of the other recruits close enough to hear him "I say there youngsters, if thou ever find thyself serving under that so called general, I'd ignore any order he giveth".
The former paladin continues on with "Hopefully thee will never find thyself in such a situation" followed by "Hopefully that giant green buffoon has gone and got himself killed by then".
The nobleborn knight, whose traveling pack is much smaller and lighter than those being carried by the teenage recruits, then loudly says "By Narille if he isn't, i shall vanquish the smelly beast myself, as is my destiny".
"What the fuck that cunthead knight say?" mutters Dorc da Orc with a frown upon his face.
The large ork can no longer see those at the front of the line of march. But he definitely heard his bitter rival sir Percavellé Lé Dic. Who said something about him.
The big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world grunts.
Then making sure to hold the netting containing all his booze up off the ground.
The large ork follows behind the teenage recruit Garmon and the rest of the first group as they head west along the forest trail.
As they journey out to the coast of the lands Farque, and the town of Halmard.
They walk throughout the morning, and stop briefly around midday for something to eat. And in the case of general Dorc, drink.
The group of teenage recruits, and their two instructors get underway again.
And by mid afternoon, the trail joins the west road that goes out to the coast.
They're only on the forest road for two and half miles or so. Before making their way off it, as that goes more to the southwest now. And they're heading to the northwest.
And with no trail as such, they now rely on their training to get them through the forest.
And the extraordinary sense of smell Dorc da Orc has. Not to mention his enhanced hearing.
The warleader of the ork race soon finds a game trail that goes in the direction they're heading.
And they follow that throughout the rest of the afternoon. And as it nears dusk, the young teenage recruit Hamblin calls a halt for the day.
They make camp in a small clearing, more of an area of open ground with some trees spread out further in it, compared to the surrounding forest.
Sir Percavellé Lé Dic, though he doesn't say it. Is grateful that the recruits get a couple of fires going quickly, and cook something warm to eat.
As the late winter's day, with the snow falling on and off throughout the day, has been a rather cold one.
Nearby under a tree, Dorc da Orc is contemplating what barrel to open up. Which he intends to make last for as long as possible.
Which is rather difficult for him. Considering he's an ork. And they like to drink. A lot.
As he does, the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks pulls out of one of his sacks, the rump and leg of some kind of animal.
And gnaws on it, as he makes a decision as to which barrel of alcohol to open up, and drink tonight.
Hamblin, who along with Maselle has decided who will be standing guard, and when throughout the night.
Is looking at the maps he has, near one of the fires, which gives off plenty of light to see by.
The teenage recruit from the farming village of Polsten, who is sitting with Maselle and Garmon.
Folds up one of the maps, and puts it away. Then points at the other one, and quietly says "We're here".
Looking at the map, the other two teenagers nod in agreement with him.
"Pretty good progress considering the conditions" adds Hamblin who is speaking in elven.
The teenage recruit who is from a farming family, continues with "Though it's going to be slower now there's no proper trail as we make our way through the rest of the forest".
They know that no one in their group is from this area of northwest Farque. It's why they've been sent to the town of Halmard near the border.
"We should be able to make up ground once we're out of the forest" says Garmon the teenage recruit, who continues with "Even if it continues to snow as it has been of late".
Hamblin nods in agreement, then he looks over to where sir Percavellé Lé Dic has just mentioned something about the offensive odour of a certain ork general.
Then Dorc da Orc, who has finally decided which barrel to open up. It's a wine one, not the largest, nor the smallest.
Comments on how a certain knight cunt should shut the fuck up. And if he doesn't. The large ork will be happy to do it for him. With a hammer to his mouth.
Hamblin shares a look with both Garmon and Maselle. And slightly sighs, as he. Along with the rest of the group.
Hope the ork warleader and the nobleborn knight who are bitter rivals. Don't bicker too long into the night . . . . . .
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