The General & The Knight 31.

Winter. The Nation Of Farque.

Unfortunately not. As the two bitter rivals. Dorc da Orc and sir Percavellé Lé Dic argue and bicker late into the night.
They only stop when a rather grumpy sounding Marshay tells the two of them to shut up.
As she and Farnid are on guard after midnight. And that she would like at least a little bit of sleep by then.
The large ork and the nobleborn knight really only fall silent as sir Percavellé Lé Dic feels a little tired himself. And he wants some sleep. Which he gets.
Unlike the ork warleader who is awake all night. Not bothering to go to sleep, as he isn't tired.
Besides he slept all last night, back in the town of Gildin Dale. Which he figures is enough to last him at least a few days.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world. Like all orks, has an extremely strong constitution.
Who has enormous endurance when he wants to. As he can go at least a week without sleep if he wants to.
During the night as he sips from a barrel of wine. The ork weaponsmith does nothing but glare at where the former paladin is sleeping.
Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name, is thinking of the many ways in which he could kill sir Percavellé Lé Dic, or Percy as he's more commonly called by those who know him well.
There's a lot of ways. And it keeps him occupied until the morning. As he goes over in his mind, the numerous ways in which he can kill off the former earl of Lé Dic.
The teenage recruits of the first group, along with Percy have a warm breakfast before they break camp.
While Dorkindle drinks one of the small barrels of ale. Before they pack up camp. And head out, as they continue westwards towards the coast of the lands Farque.
And the town of Halmard, which is near the border with the unruled lands to the north of their nation.
As per usual, the teenage recruit Hamblin leads the way. And he has sir Percavellé Lé Dic right behind him.
While Dorc da Orc, just like yesterday. Walks at the rear of the line of march. As far from his bitter rival, the former paladin as much as possible.
Arguing late into the night is bad enough. But if the two of them continually bicker with one another throughout the day.
That would make the journey out west for the teenage recruits, a nightmare for sure.
And none of them want that. As they have at least a few more days worth of travel left before they get to the coast.
The morning though at first is slightly foggy, turns clear and sunny fairly quickly.
Snow is everywhere across the ground, and in the branches of the trees.
And the teenage recruits of the first group, along with two of their instructors.
Have to weave their way through the trees. As they're following game trails when they come across them.
If not, they're walking beneath the larger trees as they head west.
Throughout the morning, they realise that they're slowly heading uphill.
And from the two maps given to Hamblin by field commander Tamric Drubine back in the town of Gildin Dale just before they left early yesterday morning.
The teenage recruit who is the unofficial leader of the first group. Who is certain to end up in the scouts and rangers division in one of their lord's armies. And who is also tipped to be an officer one day.
Knows that much of the forest here in this part of the northwest region of the lands Farque.
Is essentially in one massive basin. Dozens and dozens of miles across. And even more from north to south.
It's the main reason why this part of northwestern Farque gets a lot of fog during the winter time.
The cold air settles down across much of the forest during the wintertime. With the fog acting as a layer, trapping that cold air.
It's why the forest area that surrounds the town of Gildin Dale and beyond.
Is far more colder than it is out towards the coast during the winter.
And down in the massive basin, it's the opposite during the summer.
As it's hot and humid in Gildin Dale and the surrounding forest.
While out to the west, beyond the forest, and on the coast. The sea breeze keeps things more tolerable during the hottest weeks of summer.
As they start gradually heading uphill, the forest starts to thin out quite markedly. With the trees spread out quite a bit, and with less undergrowth.
They also see a lot more snow on the ground from the on and off snowfall over the last handful of days here in this area of northwestern Farque.
Dorc da Orc, who once again is following the teenage recruit Garmon.
Who this morning, is walking with Jinsa. As there's a lot more room now that the forest is thinning out. So that the recruits can walk side by side if they want to.
Is sniffing as he walks. As he's want to do.
The ork warleader, whose netting of wine and ale barrels is smaller. Making it easier for him to carry.
Grunts as he looks away from his bitter rival sir Percavellé Lé Dic up at the front of the line of march.
And looks away to the right through the trees. As he's caught a scent in that direction.
"Fucken sweet" Dorc da Orc murmurs to himself in the ork language, who then starts trotting off in that direction through the trees.
Up infront, Hamblin the teenage recruit looks back, when Garmon at the rear calls out in the elven language with "The general has taken off to the north!".
Hamblin, who is from the farming village of Polsten, which lies about forty five miles to the southeast of the forest town of Gildin Dale.
Looks in the direction that the ork weaponsmith has taken off in. And he spots the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world. Jogging away through the trees to the north.
"Gar, Jin follow him!" calls out Hamblin in the elven language. For he knows the large ork can well and truly look after himself in any dangerous situation.
It's still best to try and keep him out of any potential trouble.
All the recruits of the first group, including Garmon and Jinsa know this.
And the two of them hurry away to the north through the trees, following after the general in the armies of Farque.
Hamblin ignores the muttered comment of "Hope the big smelly beast falls down a ravine and breaks his neck" from sir Percavellé Lé Dic behind him.
Instead the teenage recruit from the farming village of Polsten puts up his right arm, and gives the signal to the others that he's slowing them down for a moment.
At least until Garmon, Jinsa as well as general Dorc return to the rest of them.
The two teenage recruits Garmon and Jinsa run to their right, when they spot the large ork heading further that way.
Here, north of where the others are. The trees are a little thicker, and closer together, with less snow upon the ground.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world disappears from view behind some thick bush.
Then the next moment, Garmon and Jinsa, come to a quick stop. And share a look, as they hear a growl come from somewhere on the otherside of the bush just up ahead.
All winter, they've heard the ork general growl. And this growl, was definitely not him.
Besides, they can hear the warleader of the ork race chuckling to himself, as well a saying something in his native language. Which of course, they can't understand.
"Sounds like a bear" Jinsa the recruit murmurs to Garmon.
Who nods, and takes what Jinsa said as fact. After all she's from a forest village further to the east, up near the border. Nearly a hundred miles from Gildin Dale.
And the first group's best archer has spent her whole life in forest like this. And learnt from her father, who is a master archer in their lord's armies.
And she knows the sound of a growling bear when she hears one.
The two of them quickly step back, as they hear more growling, as well as chuckling.
As Dorc da Orc suddenly appears. Backing up through the bushes just up ahead, dragging a bear by a hind leg.
The bear, a brown one. Which by the looks of it, would normally be larger. But since it's recently come out of hibernation. It's a lot slimmer than it normally would be.
Nevertheless, as it's dragged across the ground on it's back. It attempts to swipe at it's attacker.
But to no avail, as the large ork, has got a firm grip on it's left rear paw. Which he's broken, if the angle of it sticking out to one side is anything to go by.
Not even bothering to kill the bear that's only recently come out of hibernation.
Dorkindle says to the two teenage recruits "Out the way cunts" followed by "Don't want the furry fuck to bites you".
Garmon and Jinsa quickly get out of the way as the ork weaponsmith is heading back their way.
Easily dragging the brown bear, which still with even the loss of weight over the winter. Must weigh more than the large ork himself. And is close to a thousand pounds in weight.
"Bear fucks can't do shit when they on their backs" says the ork general to the two recruits who are off to one side, keep pace with him.
The son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks. Who has been hunting and killing bears since he was an orkling.
In particular, the giant ice bears found in the southern polar region of the world.
Bears that easily weigh in excess of two thousand pounds. And stand over twelve feet tall.
Grunts then says "Nah, not fucken yet" in reply to Garmon asking him "Aren't you going to kill it general?".
As he like the rest of the group, and for that matter. All the teenage army recruits who have been living and training in the town of Gildin Dale this winter.
Has seen the large ork kill and eat all manner of animals and creatures found in the forest.
"By great Narille and Saint Mar-che himself, what doth that filthy beast have here?" loudly mutters sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
Hamblin the teenage recruit turns, and looks to where the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic is looking.
And the teenager from the farming village of Polsten blinks in surprise, then murmurs in elven "Fucking hell".
When he spots general Dorc, and sees what the large ork has with him.
"Er?" murmurs the former earl of Lé Dic, who sees what it is his bitter rival is dragging along the ground.
The bear, which is snapping and biting at air. While it's front paws are also swinging at nothing.
Growls and roars as it's dragged by the rear left foot, on it's back. Desperately rying to scramble away.
But unable to, as Dorkindle has a tight grip upon it's rear left foot, which he snapped when he grabbed a hold of the bear.
When it was coming out backwards from it's den, totally bewildered that something rather smelly was just outside the front of it's winter den.
Dorc da Orc stops, swats away the right front paw of the brown bear that just swung at him.
Then the warleader of the ork race punches the bear right in the face. Hitting it in the jaw, breaking it.
If you ever wanted to see a stunned and bewildered looking bear. Then this is the prime example of such a bear.
As it lies there on it's back, not understanding what's happening to it this morning.
It's so bewildered, not to mention totally disoriented. That it doesn't realise that it's lower jaw is completely broken.
The chuckling ork weaponsmith punches the brown bear just above the snout again.
Right between it's dazed eyes. The ursine creature doesn't even know it. But it's now knocked out.
"Fucken get some" says Dorc da Orc in satisfaction.
Who looks around and notices the entire group of recruits, who number ten. Along with his bitter rival, sir Percavellé Lé Dic. Have all stopped, and are watching him.
With the former paladin looking on in disapproval.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks grins, then says just one word to them all, as he nods down at the unconscious brown bear "Lunch".
The group get underway again, with the teenager Hamblin leading the way through the forest, as they continue westwards to the coast.
Dorc da Orc is at the rear of the line of march. Walking behind the two recruits Garmon and Jinsa.
The brown bear, which is still alive, and is unconscious. Is over the left shoulder of the large ork.
Who is grunting a lot with the effort to keep the near thousand pound bear steady on his left shoulder.
While also keeping the netting full of wine and ale barrels up off the ground as he holds them over his right shoulder.
And though the ork warleader can occasionally be heard muttering to himself in the incomprehensible language of his race.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world can also be heard chuckling away to himself.
Pleased with himself that he's got plenty enough to both eat and drink for at least the next couple of days.
When the group of teenage army recruits and their two instructors stop around midday for a quick meal.
Dorkindle starts in on the brown bear he's caught.
The ork general in the armies of the Farque doesn't bother killing the bear. For where would the fun be in that.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks starts eating it alive.
The unconscious bear wakes up dazed and disoriented with the large ork chewing on it's hindquarters.
A confused sounding roar comes from the broken jaw of the bear.
Which is knocked out again, when the ork warleader, who is chuckling away to himself, punches it hard in the maw again.
Before he resumes eating the brown bear. Not bothered about it's greasy fur, as he chomps away on it.
The recruits of the first group, along with sir Percavellé Lé Dic eat a bit of distance away from Dorkindle when they stop for the midday meal.
None of them want to see the large ork eat the bear as it's still alive.
Infact the bear, which is missing a fair chunk of it's left hindquarters. Is still alive, and unconscious.
When the teenage recruits and their two instructors set off again as they continue westwards through the forest towards the coast.
The brown bear only dies late in the day, much to the disappointment of Dorc da Orc.
As it succumbs to blood loss and shock. From the large chunk missing from it's hindquarters.
When that happens, the son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks doesn't bother carrying it over his left shoulder anymore.
He just drags it along the ground behind him, as he keeps a hold of it by a paw.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world doesn't care at how dirty and messed up it gets.
He's going to eat it no matter what. When he and the ten teenagers of the first group of recruits. Along with his bitter rival, sir Percavellé Lé Dic. Stop for the night, as they continue their journey to the west coast of the lands Farque, and their eventual destination, the town of Halmard . . . . . .