Winter. North Of The Border.
"Nah, the general has somethin' to eats already" says Dorc da Orc in reply to one of the teenage army recruits asking him if he wants something to eat.
The large ork walks away laughing to himself as he pats his rather ample belly.
While his bitter rival sir Percavellé Lé Dic sourly smiles. As he sees one of the sacks the ork warleader carries. Which was empty yesterday. Now has something in it.
And though it's early in the morning. Still well before dawn. The former paladin is sure that the sack is stained dark from whatever's inside of it.
The nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic is pretty sure it's stained with blood.
They break camp, and leave the clot of trees they've spent the night in.
They head southeast for a bit, before heading directly south. They want to get back to the border as soon as possible.
Hamblin, the unofficial leader of the group of recruits from northwest Farque. Who have been sent on patrol, north of the border.
Dryly tells Maselle that they don't have to worry about the raiders in the nearby warcamp finding the body of the man, Hamblin and Golmard abducted from there.
As the ork general, Dorc da Orc. Has taken care of that problem.
As they head southwards at a quick walk. As they do, and as the first glimmer of dawn appears on the horizon to the east.
Hamblin briefly stops and takes out the brass, cylindrical eyepiece from his pack.
And looks through it to the west. After he adjusts the rings at the end of it, so he can see in the lowlight conditions of predawn.
The teenager from the farming village of Polsten, which lies about forty five miles to the southeast of the forest town of Gildin Dale.
Watches the warcamp in the distance for a while. And sees that the fire he started early yesterday evening in the makeshift village.
Has burnt away a number of the tents, and one of the buildings near the clearing in the middle of the warcamp.
The thirteen year old who is the unofficial leader of the first group of recruits.
Who have lived and trained in the forest town of Gildin Dale for most of the winter.
Before they came out to the coast, and the bordertown of Halmard to finish off their training at the end of winter.
Wonders if the raiders will send out patrols this morning. He would if he's was one of them.
But from what he saw yesterday evening, with how lax they are at guarding their warcamp.
And how discipline is non existent amongst the raiders who hail from right across the unruled lands, and from further afield.
He rather doubts they'll send out patrols. Even if they find one of the senior men who remained behind in camp as the others went off with the airship.
Is now missing, and his tent was the source of the fire that spread through the middle of the makeshift village.
"Useless" Hamblin the teenage recruit murmurs to himself as he watches the warcamp about two miles away to the west.
Then as dawn takes effect, on what feels like it's going to be another mild day for the end of winter, after what was a cold night compared to previous nights here in the unruled lands, about twenty miles inland from the coast.
Hamblin returns the eyepiece to his pack, and catches up to the rest of the group. Who have continued on southwards, barely slowing down for him.
The teenage recruit from a family of farmers in the village of Polsten catches up to the rear of the group when the sun comes up over the horizon to the east.
The unofficial leader of the first of the four groups of teenage army recruits from across northwestern Farque.
Who have lived and trained in the forest town of Gildin Dale for most of the winter. Before coming out to the coast, to complete their training.
Finds himself walking alongside Dorc da Orc. Who is the rearguard, about thirty yards behind the next in the group, the recruit Golmard.
Who looks back, and nods when he sees that Hamblin has caught up to the group.
The thirteen year old, who will definitely join the scouts and rangers division in one of his lord's armies when he completes his training.
Either once winter is over, or after he's completed any specialised training he might be sent off to do.
Wryly smiles as he sees the blood stained sack tied to the ork general's weapon harness.
Within which is definitely the remains of the raider that Hamblin and Golmard abducted last night.
Well, at least what's left of his remains. Considering the large ork has probably eaten a fair bit of him already.
The big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world grunts when next to him, Hamblin the teenage recruit quietly asks him "Think they'll head south across the border into our lord's lands general?".
"Probs" is the reply from Dorc da Orc as he and Hamblin walk at the rear of the group, who are heading south to the border.
The teenage army recruit nods in agreement. And though the man they captured wasn't privy to all the plans of those in command of the raiders are up to.
He was senior enough to know an awful lot of what they're up to here in the unruled lands just to the north of the border of the lands Farque.
Added with the other information they got from him. As well as the maps and missives Hamblin took from the man's tent.
They can work out that in all likelihood, the raiders will come south, and attempt to cross the border.
And attack the villages and towns in northwestern Farque. Well, at least attempt to try and attack those settlements.
The teenager who is the unofficial leader of the first group of recruits.
Worked out that there's more of the raiders than in that warcamp.
They're using an actual village further to the northeast from that warcamp.
Where there's a couple hundred more of them living, and raiding from.
Hamblin suspects there's close to six hundred of them in total. Minus the chopped up one, currently stuffed into one of general Dorc's carry sacks.
"They fucken useless cunts" says the ork warleader giving his opinion of the raiders.
"You went into their shitty camp as see how fucked they is" adds the large ork who is a general in the armies of Farque.
Hamblin nods in agreement with the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
"Them fuckcunts gots to work all togethers if they even want a chance of hitting a place in Farque's lands" continues the ork weaponsmith.
"They not co er, um co" says Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name.
"Er co, hmmmmm" says the ork general, who pauses before he adds in a mutter "What's that fucken word?".
There's a brief pause, before the warleader of the ork race continues with "Coordinate you dumbfuck!".
Hamblin looks sideways at the large ork, as that last sentence from him. Came out of him like it was spoken by another person entirely different. A voice, that was definitely higher in pitch.
The teenage Farqian army recruit sees the ork general scowling at the large skull tied to his belt.
Which he's muttering at in the totally incomprehensible language of the ork race.
One of Hamblin's eyebrows shoots up as the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks says to him "Yeah they not know hows to coordinate fucken shit".
The large ork pronounces the word coordinate as co-ordee-mate. But Hamblin gets the gist of it, and understands what the ork warleader is saying.
"I agree general" says the teenager who is the unofficial leader of the first group of recruits.
As they along with two of their instructors this winter. Dorc da Orc and sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
Head south to the border, as it's another mild morning. Spring like, here in the unruled lands. When it's still actually one of the last days of winter.
The terrain they traverse across this morning. Is pretty mild, just like the weather today.
The ground is fairly flat, except in the distance. Where nearer the border with the lands Farque.
There's rises dotted here and there, as well as actually woods. In what can generously described as hill country.
To the south of that is the nation of Farque. And though Hamblin and the first group's orders were to head back west to the bordertown of Halmard on the coast.
He, along with the rest of the group of teenage recruits. As well as sir Percavellé Lé Dic, thinks it's best they go straight to the border, and into their lord's lands.
Dorkindle doesn't care where they go. He just wants the chance to kill more people.
As the raider he killed last night, after he cut the man to pieces. Was the first person he's killed since before arriving in the lands Farque.
The son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks hadn't killed anyone in months until last night.
Basically a record for him, since he hasn't gone that long without killing anyone since he was a small orkling.
Dorc da Orc who takes great pride in torturing, killing, and eating people. Sometimes even in that order.
Grunts and nods, then says "Yeah cunt, me wills".
In response to Hamblin the teenage recruit saying to him "General if you could keep a look out all around us" followed by "And smell too".
The teenager from northwestern Farque then adds "You never know who could be in the area, and we might not know it".
As they walk southwards behind the rest of the group. Dorkindle with his naturally enhanced eyesight. And his phenomenal sense of smell.
Looks around in all directions every once in awhile. And constantly sniffs, as he tries to locate anyone in the same area of the unruled lands as they are.
After midmorning, and they've covered nearly ten miles. Dorc da Orc looks back and stops as they head up a rise.
The large ork looks back, and Hamblin stops beside him. Taking out the brass, cylindrical eyepiece from his pack, and looking through it.
The unofficial leader of the first group of teenage recruits, who have spent most of the winter in the forest town of Gildin Dale. Before heading out to the coast at the end of winter.
Can still see the raider's warcamp away to the north through the eyepiece.
Both he and general Dorc watch the makeshift village in the distance to the north.
"Looks like they are sending out patrols" quietly says Hamblin, who is surprised that they are, considering how disorganized he saw them last night, and how substandard their discipline was.
"Only on foot though" quietly adds the teenager from the farming village of Polsten as he continues to look through the eyepiece at the warcamp about ten or so miles away.
"Not this fucken way" says Dorkindle who with a clear, unobstructed view away to the north, can easily see the makeshift village just over ten miles away.
The warleader of the ork race grunts, as next to him, young Hamblin says "But they are up that rise to the north of their camp we were yesterday".
The teenage army recruit from the northwest of the lands Farque then murmurs "They might of found our tracks".
Referring to himself and his fellow recruit Golmard. Who entered the makeshift village early yesterday afternoon.
Where they abducted one of the raiders. Who was essentially an officer if they were a military force.
The remains of whom, are in the blood soaked sack tied to the back of general Dorc's weapon harness.
As he watches through the eyepiece, Hamblin sees some of the raiders up on the rise, to the north of the warcamp.
Ponting away to the northeast, in the direction of the clot of trees a further mile away.
Where the group of Farqian teenagers, along with their two instructors, spent the night.
"Damn" mutters the teenager from the farming village of Polsten in northwestern Farque in a worried tone.
Who figures the raiders will eventually find were they camped last night.
Then their tracks that lead south, to the border, and the lands Farque.
Dorkindle, who though he looks more than a little demented. Infact he looks pretty much fucking crazy if you think about it.
And isn't necessarily the smartest or intelligent of individuals. When in actuality, he's a bit of genius when it comes to ork kind.
Though that's not saying much, considering the entire ork race is mentally unstable. And every single one of them is crazy. They can't help it, they're born that way.
Figures out what's got the young teenage army recruit worried.
"Don't fucken worries" says the ork general in the armies of Farque.
Who with a shrug of his massive shoulders, continues with "They might fucken find where we been, and where we fucken goings".
The big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world as they watch some of the raiders disappear from view, as they go down the otherside of the rise about a mile to the north of the makeshift village.
Says to the Farqian teenager "Let the fucken cuntdicks come this way" followed by "We will fucken kill 'em deads if they do".
The ork who stands seven and a half foot tall, and weighs around seven hundred and fifty pounds, who was named warleader of his race by lord Farque, then says "We'll kills everyone of them shitface cuntheads".
Hamblin takes the eyepiece away from his face, and looks sideways at the ork weaponsmith. Who isn't one to lack confidence in anyway.
The ork who is a general in the armies of Farque, who has his own personal battalion. Made up exclusively of goblins.
Something no one else in their right mind would have. As goblins, who are loyal to a fault. Are extremely accident prone. Who can be a danger to themselves, and anyone around them at the best of times.
In a time of war, they're even worse. It's why they're usually only seen in auxiliary roles in other armies throughout the Southlands. Used for manual labour and the like.
He looks down at the teenage recruit, who maybe about six foot tall, but is absolutely dwarfed by the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
Who till this day, is still the largest ork amongst the current members of his tribe, the wolf tribe.
"They gots no fucken chance against us" says Dorkindle, indicating himself really, more than the rest of the group.
Hamblin isn't so sure. At the moment they only number eleven. And that includes the ork general, and the foreign knight, sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
"If you say so general" says the teenager from the farming village of Polsten as he returns the brass, cylindrical eyepiece to his pack.
"Me fucken knows so" says the ork weaponsmith, who has every confidence. In himself at least. At killing any of the raiders they may encounter. No matter how many they may come up against.
Hamblin turns, and nods up the rise the others are making their way up.
Dorc da Orc grunts, and turns. Then he and the young army recruit from the northwest of the lands Farque head up the rise.
Where the recruit Golmard has stopped, so that they can catch up. While the rest of the group, along with sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
Are either getting to the crown of the long, rising hill. Or they've already crested it, and are now going down the otherside.
As the first group of teenage army recruits, along with two of their instructors. Who are on patrol here in the unruled lands to the north of the border.
Continue on their way southwards, back to the border and the lands Farque.
Golmard sees the slightly worried look on the face of his fellow recruit Halmard, when he and general Dorc make their way up to where he's waiting for them.
"What is it?" asks Golmard the teenage army recruit.
After a quick glance sideways at Dorc da Orc, Hamblin replies to his fellow recruit in the elven language with "They've found our tracks, and looks like they'll find where we camped last night".
The unofficial leader of the first group of recruits slightly pauses before he continues on in elven with "They'll soon be following us" . . . . . .
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