The General & The Knight 37.

Winter. North Of The Border.

Dorc da Orc looks down at his sodden boots, and soaked knee high pants in disgust.
Then the large ork who is walking at the rear of the line of march. Glares at those walking infront of him.
"Fuckheads" loudly mutters Dorc da Orc as he looks at those infront of him, who allowed him to get wet.
Forgetting that he was the one that fell asleep on the beach, below the high tide line.
Which woke him up just after dawn this morning. Much to his disgust and anger.
The ork warleader then loudly mutters "Could of fucken wakes Dorc up, 'stead of letting me gets wet".
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world then scowls in anger.
As up ahead at the front of the line of march, his bitter rival sir Percavellé Lé Dic looks back and calls out "Stop your whining beast, i can hear you all the way from up here!" followed by "Wot".
The ork weaponsmith considers throwing an axe or hammer at the heavily armoured knight.
But decides against it, as most of the teenage recruits in the group are between him and the nobleborn knight.
Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name. Figures he'd get into trouble if he accidentally killed one or two of the young army recruits.
The ork general in the armies of Farque then grimaces, and scowls down at his boots.
As he feels water slosh around in the right one. The large ork then sighs and hopes his boots and pants dry out fairly quickly.
It won't take all that long. As the day has dawned sunny and clear. And undoubtedly mild to say the least.
The morning already feels like the middle of a warm spring day. Much to the disgust of Dorkindle. As it's still actually winter.
The big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world wishes he hadn't come out to the coast. And instead stayed behind in the forest town of Gildin Dale.
At least there was fucken snows there, the large ork sourly thinks to himself.
Then the general in the armies of Farque looks away to his left and scowls in disgust.
For as far as the eye can see in that direction. And he can see an awful long way with his naturally enhanced eyesight. Is the Great Western Ocean.
The warleader of the ork race takes his eyes off the ocean. And looks ahead, as well as inland instead.
Which to the relief of weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, there's no water in that direction. Infact, there's not a lot of anything in that direction.
The coastline here to the north of the border. Looks much like a lot of northwest Farque along it's coast.
The difference being there's no cultivated land, or a road. Which ends in the town of Halmard.
Here north of the border, just like to the south of it. There's little in the way of trees.
And though in northwestern Farque along the coast you'll see trees that have been cultivated. In the form of orchards, and woodlots.
Here in the unruled lands along the coast to the north of the border. You'll never see anything like that. You'll likely see a lone tree here and there. All a clump of them once and a while.
Trees that are usually all bent in one way or the other. Due to the winds that come off The Great Western Ocean at times.
While just like the coastline to the south of the border. There's coves, and bays, with sandy secluded beaches.
That is the norm all the way south along the coast of the lands Farque, to well beyond The Winter Palace.
While northwards, beyond the border into the unruled lands.
The similar looking coastline goes for even further. Though you won't see any fishing villages, or small towns dotted along the coast for quite some time.
As the first settlement on the coast north of the border, is almost forty miles from the town of Halmard.
And that settlement up the coast, is the destination of the group of ten teenage army recruits. Along with two of the instructors they've had this winter, the general and the knight.
After asking sir Percavellé Lé Dic to go out infront with Dammis to scout things out.
Hamblin the teenage recruit who is changing who is scouting out infront every couple of miles.
Looks back, and calls out to general Dorc to come forward and join him at the front of the line of march.
The large ork shrugs his broad, heavy shoulders after thinking about it for a moment or two.
Then he jogs forward to the front of the line. Occasionally scowling as his feet squelch within his big, black boots.
Dorkindle, who at least his grubby knee high pants are drying out, grunts then says "Hey cunt" to Hamblin the recruit, before adding "What you fucken want?".
"General is there anyone in the immediate vicinity?" asks Hamblin the teenage recruit, who is the unofficial leader of the first group of recruits.
"Va-cin fucken what?" asks the ork warleader who has heard that word a number of times over the years he's been here in the Southlands, but he has absolutely no idea what it means.
"In the area" says Hamblin the recruit who then adds "General".
"Why you not fucken say that" mutters Dorkindle in the ork language, who has always held the opinion that the common language has far too many words for the same thing.
Which is the complete opposite of the ork language. Which has hardly any words for everything. Where one word, could have dozens, if not hundreds of meanings.
Such as Cakl which translates to Cunt. Which can mean anything from friend to hate. And everything in between.
The ork language, where you'll find expletives in abundance. Is a colourful language to say the least.
And Dorc da Orc misses speaking it on a regular basis. It's one of the reasons he likes staying in the lands Farque.
It's the only place where he's found other people that know his native language.
Though none of the recruits, know it. And nor does sir Percavellé Lé Dic. Which isn't a surprise, considering the former paladin has a disdain of everything to do with the ork warleader.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks looks around as he sniffs, then after a little while, he says to Hamblin "Nah, no fucken peoples around".
The thirteen year old recruit, who will definitely end up in the scouts and rangers division of one of the armies of Farque nods his head, then says "Maybe tomorrow evening some time".
In reply to Dorc da Orc asking him "How longs until we gets to this fucken place?".
The ork general loudly mutters "Shoulda bring more fucken booze with me".
As he drank an awful lot of what he brought with him during the night.
Now he's only carrying a small number of barrels of wine and ale. All in a couple of the sacks he has tied to his weapon harness.
Dorkindle who knows he has to keep an eye on the teenage recruits as they patrol out here, north of the border, in the unruled lands.
Doesn't know much more than that. Apart from they're to go to a village or town further up the coast, Almost forty miles from the border. Then head inland, and go back south to that border, and return to Halmard
"We gonna kill all the fucks at this shithole we goin' to?" asks the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks. Whose skull he has tied to his belt.
"Er?" says Hamblin the teenage recruit with a sideways look at the large ork. Who got wet to at least the waist early this morning. When they found him lying on a beach. And let the tide come up, and drench the ork general. Who only woke when he felt the waves hitting him in the groin.
"No general" adds the teenager from the farming village of Polsten, which lies about forty five miles to the southeast of the forest town of Gildin Dale.
"We're to observe the folk of that town. And see what they get up to. Making sure none of them know about us being there" continues Hamblin, who is the unofficial leader of the first of four groups of teenage recruits. Who have spent most of the winter living and training in the town of Gildin Dale.
Before making their way out to the coast of the lands Farque.
"Well, that fucken sucks donkey dick" says Dorc da Orc in a disappointed tone of voice, as he figures just killing everyone in this coastal settlement they're heading to. Would be good practice for the teenage army recruits. All of whom are from northwestern Farque.
The teenage recruit Hamblin isn't surprised at that sentiment from the large ork walking beside him.
As the ork general on more than one occasion throughout the winter. Has suggested that the best type of training is to actually kill people.
Who exactly? He's not all that fussy about. Just as long as he can get to kill his bitter rival, sir Percavellé Lé Dic at the same time.
They walk through midmorning, not stopping as they head cross country as they head up the coast of the unruled lands that are to the north of the nation of Farque.
And when midday comes around. They only briefly stop at a beach to have something to eat and drink for the midday meal, before they get moving again.
In the early afternoon, the recruit Jinsa is out infront a few hundred yards, scouting for the group.
When she comes jogging back to the rest of the group, and the ork warleader and the foreign knight. Who have been two of their instructors this winter.
"I think there's an airship flying inland of us" quickly says Jinsa the teenage recruit in the elven language, followed by "North of us, and heading north by the looks of it".
"One of ours?" quietly asks Hamblin in the same language as he undoes his pack, to get out the eyepiece that was given to him by commander Kolmic before they left Halmard.
"Not sure" replies Jinsa who is the best archer in the group, she continues with "Too far to tell, i barely spotted it".
"General" says Hamblin in the common language "Do you see an airship away to the north?" adds the teenage recruit from the farming village of Polsten as he points away to the northeast.
Dorc da Orc, who is looking back at where sir Percavellé Lé Dic is walking at the rear, and is glaring at the nobleborn knight.
Grunts, and looks at the young army recruit, who he sees pointing away inland, and to the north.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world looks away in that direction.
And with the coast here north of the border, just like in northwestern Farque. Is essentially flat, with the exception of some of the headlands that stick out into The Great Western Ocean.
The general in the armies of Farque gets a good, clear view inland and to the north.
As Hamblin calls a stop, the ork weaponsmith nods his head, then says "Yeah cunt" followed by "There's a fucken ship that way".
The ork warleader continues with "Got two fucken sail poles" referring to masts.
"A frigate?" asks Jinsa, who then adds "A warship?".
"Hmmmmm" murmurs Dorkindle as next to him, young Hamblin puts the brass, cylindrical eyepiece up to his face, and looks through it.
"Nah, got no fucken boom booms sticking out of it" adds the ork, who still to this day, is the largest member of the wolf tribe.
Hamblin nods in agreement, as he now gets a good look at the vessel in the sky away to the northeast, about  seven or eight miles away, heading slowly north.
"It's definitely not one of ours" says the teenage army recruit from the farming village of Polsten.
"Tis perhaps a trading ship from some distance land?" asks sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
Dorc da Orc scowls at the nobleborn knight who has walked up, and is now standing close by.
"Maybe" says Hamblin, who after a few moments of silence adds "The rigging is a little strange for a trader".
Next to the young teen who is the unofficial leader of the first group of recruits.
The warleader of the ork race says "Well, whoever the fuck they is, they got fucken soldiers or mercs on it".
As the large ork can clearly see that there's a number of armed and armoured men onboard the twin masted airship.
Hamblin who even looking through the eyepiece, is unable to see those onboard as clearly as general Dorc.
Takes the ork weaponsmith's word for it, that there's either soldiers or mercenaries onboard the vessel in the distance.
"Whoever they are, they're flying quite slowly" says Hamblin as he sees that the airship, which is only a couple hundred feet above the ground. Looks like it's weaving from side to side as it heads northwards.
"What are they up to?" quietly says the tall, lean, brown haired recruit who is from a farming family in the village of Polsten.
Hamblin describes what he's seeing, and as the rest of the teenage recruits, along with sir Percavellé Lé Dic wonder what the airship is up to.
Dorkindle grunts when he spots something, and he says "Them cunts are fucken looking for somethin' on the grounds".
The big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world can see some of the crew onboard. As well as some of those who are armed and armoured. Either soldiers or mercenaries. Are looking overboard, and down at the ground.
"Me thinks they may be up to no good, wot" says the former earl of Lé Dic after the ork warleader explains what he's seeing.
"I think you maybe right sir" quietly says Hamblin who nods in agreement with the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic.
The teenager who is the unofficial leader of the first group, looks at the other nine recruits, then the two instructors. The ork general and the foreign knight.
It's Maselle who asks what her and the rest of the recruits are thinking.
"What should we do?" asks Maselle, who like Hamblin, will end up in one of the scouts and rangers division in the armies of Farque.
The young teen from the farming village of Polsten, is silent for a few moments, then says "Continue out patrol".
The member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che nods, then says "That is the orders, so that's the thing to do, wot".
Dorc da Orc, who would normally disagree with the former paladin just for the hell of it, because he hates him.
Grunts in agreement with the heavily armoured knight, then says "Yeah what the cuntface knight say". When Hamblin looks at him for his opinion.
The young teen who is the unofficial leader of the first of the four groups of young army recruits from across the northwest of the lands Farque.
Who have spent most of the winter living and training in the forest town of Gildin Dale this winter, before coming out to the coast.
Waves Jinsa ahead to continue scouting, then says to the others "Come on lets keep moving".
After a brief pause, Hamblin adds "We'll keep an eye on that airship and see what it gets up to". As they resume their patrol, and continue northwards along the coast, here in the unruled lands to the north of the border . . . . . .