The General & The Knight 50.

Spring. A Hill.

None of the raiders want to get too close to him. After all he's killed every single one he's got a hold of.
Dorc da Orc throws away what's left of the body he's been using as a club.
Then he kicks a raider crawling across the deck, who is missing his left arm.
The man's ribs explode from the kick that takes him in the side. Shattering apart, and ripping out of, and into his body from the impact of the powerful kick that instantly kills him, and sends his body across the deck to thump into the port rail.
Looking to aft, Dorc da Orc mutters "Use-a-less fucken prick" as he looks at his bitter rival, sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
Who is on the aft deck, fighting the raiders there. Keeping them from getting to the ship's wheel.
The large ork then hisses in pain, as a spear hits him in the hand. In the back of it, just between the forefinger and thumb, before being yanked out of his hand.
The ork warleader grabs the spear, and the raider holding it. Lifts them both up, and with a roar of anger, throws the two of them overboard.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
Shakes his bleeding right hand, as that spear thrust actually hurt.
The ork general in the armies of Farque looks to aft again, to yell at his bitter rival, the former paladin.
To get him to keep pulling back on the ship's wheel, so that the twin masted vessel keeps rising up, and away from the hill below.
When he sees the heavily armoured knight is doing exactly that. All the while fighting off the raiders on the aft deck.
Dorc da Orc, or Dorkindle which is his given name. Grunts as he realises they're still not moving that quickly.
The ork weaponsmith looks up, and though he kind of knows the rudimentary basics of flying.
He isn't exactly sure why the raiders airship, is still only about forty feet above the hillside.
But he suspects it has something to do with the sails up the masts, and their settings.
The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks, makes his way over to the starboard side of the deck.
Roaring at one of the raiders who contemplates running at him.
The man backs away quickly, and hurries down the nearest ladder.
As he suddenly decides he doesn't want to face the warleader of the ork race.
Dorkindle biffs the throwing axe he's holding in is his left hand. Barely missing that raider. And instead hitting another here in a midships.
That raider flies backwards before hitting the deck, with the large ork's throwing axe imbedded in his body.
Infact the axe blade goes through the raider, and halfway out his back, as he hits the deck hard.
The big, burly ork grunts, then murmurs "Hmmmmm" as he gets to the starboard rail, and looks overboard.
While out of the corner of his right eye, he sees one of the raiders with a sword drawn.
Working up the courage to confront the ork who was named warleader of his race a number of years ago by lord Farque.
Meanwhile down on the north facing side of the hill. A hill that's right on the northern border of the lands Farque.
Hamblin the teenage army recruit runs one of the raiders through.
Who definitely didn't expect the young Farqian teenager to slap away his blade with ease.
Before shoving his sword into the man's chest quicker than he was expecting.
Hamblin, who is the unofficial leader of the first group of teenage recruits. Who have been living and training in the forest town of Gildin Dale for most of the winter.
Before they made their way to the coast of the lands Farque, and the bordertown of Halmard to complete their training.
Quickly looks away to his right at his fellow teenage army recruit Golmard. Blocks one of the raiders sword, with his own broadsword.
It's a two handed block, with his left hand on the hilt, and the right on the blade, about a quarter of the way from the tip of the blade.
Golmard then slams the pommel and hilt up into the face of that raider.
Sending teeth flying, blood spraying everywhere, and shattering the man's nose. As he drops to the ground in a heap.
"A few of them" quietly says Hamblin the teenage recruit in the elven language.
"That's for sure" says Golmard the teenage recruit in the same language, as they keep the fallen tree between them and more of the raiders who rush them.
One of whom suddenly slams face first into the ground, with a sword all the way through him, which pins him to the ground
Hamblin, who is from the farming village of Polsten, which lies about forty five miles to the southeast of the town of Gildin Dale.
Quickly looks up at the raider's twin masted airship. And sees one of the raiders falling overboard, to hit the hillside with a thud.
The unofficial leader of the first group of teenage army recruits. Briefly sees the ork general Dorc da Orc, look down in his direction.
And the large ork nods, before he moves away from the starboard rail, and goes from view.
Hamblin, who in all likelihood will be in the scouts and rangers division of one of his lord's armies, that's if he lives beyond this battle, Shouts out with "Our lord wills it!".
In response to Maselle the teenage army recruit shouting "Our lord wills it!" before she leaps, and kicks one of the raiders in the back, attempting to get at Hamblin and Golmard.
Maselle then vaults over the fallen tree, and joins them after Golmard slams his sword across the back of that raider's head, as he lies there dazed across the large tree.
Up on the deck of the raider's twin masted airship, Dorc da Orc grunts as he hears down on the hillside, some of the teenage army recruits shouting something in elven.
The large ork isn't sure what it is, but it's familiar, and he's been told it has something to do with lord Farque.
The ork warleader who has just pulled out an arrow from his face, and grimaces as he tosses it away.
As it was in his broad, green, feral looking face. Just below the right eye, which hurt a bit.
He hates getting shot there, as it always stings when he has to pull it out. Whether it be an arrow, or a bolt.
The big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world. Who like all of his race, has the ability to self heal at an amazing rate.
Even now his hand is starting to mend itself where he was hit by a spear.
While the blood from the small wound in his face. Has stopped running, and the wound itself is closing already.
Dorkindle looks aft, then mutters "Fucken dickface cunt" as he sees his bitter rival fighting off the raiders on the aft deck.
The son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks who is in a midships.
Starts heading to the stern, bound for the aft deck, and the ship's wheel, along with his bitter rival, sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
Though they didn't discuss what they would actually do, once they got here onboard the twin masted airship of the raiders from the unruled lands.
They did have the same idea in common. And that's to get the converted cargo ship moving again, and away from the hill on the northern border of the lands Farque.
But more importantly, to get the raiders, well as many as possible. Away from the teenage army recruits down on the north face of the hill.
As there's only nine in the first group of teenage army recruits at the moment, as the tenth member.
The teenager Claradene left them a couple of days ago, for the bordertown of Halmard.
To inform the garrison commander there, what they've discovered and encountered up in the unruled lands while on patrol.
Over to port from the slowly rising twin masted airship.
Furnid the teenage army recruit hurls his last dagger, taking one of the raiders in the gut.
As the man staggers to a halt, and drops to his knees, clutching his stomach, as he wonder if he should pull the dagger out.
He doesn't have to, as he ends up with the right boot of Dammis the teenage army recruit kicked into his face.
Knocking him out instantly as Dammis runs by, who then dives forward. And rolls into the legs of another of the raiders. Knocking that man down too.
Dammis, who is small and light, not to mention he's very quick. Is up to his feet in an instant.
Where he slashes one of his long daggers. Taking the raider he just took to the ground, with a dive at the legs, across the face and neck, then throat.
Dammis backs away as that raider sprays blood from his wound, which he clutches as he falls to his side, not realising this is the last moments of his life.
Furnid the teenage army recruit quickly looks up at the twin masted vessel from the unruled lands.
The teenager like the rest of the group, is from the northwest of the lands Farque.
Sees towards the stern, on the aft deck, at the port side rail.
Sir Percavellé Lé Dic, who is in a struggle with some of the raiders.
Until the former paladin from the kingdom of Druvic, picks up one of his attackers.
Between the legs, and by the head. And tips the raider over the port side rail, and overboard.
Where he hits the ground with a loud thud, which cuts off his scream.
The heavily armoured knight slams his left elbow back into the face of another of the raiders.
And as that man stumbles along the port side rail, the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic.
Grabs that man by the back of the neck, pushes him across the rail.
And when that raider is off balanced. The nobleborn knight, tips him over the port rail too.
Sending him to the hillside below, which he hits with a thud. To lie dead beside the bodies of the raiders already thrown off the twin masted airship.
And those nearby that the teenagers Furnid and Dammis have seen to as well.
"Damn inconvenience this, wot" states sir Percavellé Lé Dic as he finds himself fighting off the raiders, when all he wants to do, is pull back on the ship's wheel, to get the vessel higher into the air, and away from the hill.
The former paladin turns, and is whacked in the left arm with a sword.
That blade clangs off the heavily armoured knight.
Who takes his pick, and drives it into the side of the head of the raider who just hit him.
The nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic rips the pick out, and that raider drops to the deck with the side of his head caved in.
The member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che then throws his pick at one of the crew, who has taken the wheel.
And is pushing it forward, trying to get the twin masted airship back down onto the hill.
That crewman staggers away howling in pain, trying to reach around to his back, where the nobleborn knight's pick is well and truly stuck in him.
As the foreign knight, who has no official position in the armies of Farque.
Who like his bitter rival, the ork warleader, Dorc da Orc. Has spent the winter as one of the instructors of the teenage army recruits from across the northwest of the lands of Farque.
He's hit in the side of the head with a spar swung by one of the crew of the raider's vessel.
And though it does no actual physical damage to the former earl of Lé Dic, which is his family's fief in eastern Druvic.
It does send the nobleborn knight staggering away to one side, and sees him seeing stars for a moment or two.
Sir Percavellé Lé Dic, or Percy as he's more commonly called by those who know him well.
Has always been amazed at people's stupidity when attacking him, or anyone else for that matter who wears a full suit of heavy plate armour.
Most want to hit you with the edge of a sword, which is about the dumbest thing anyone can do.
Others are little smarter and use weapons like maces, hammers, and other bludgeoning weapons.
But few go for the head, which is protected by a full helm, that's the heaviest and strongest part of any full suit of plate armour.
For if you hit it hard enough, and often enough. You'll quickly disorient a heavily armoured knight.
Daze the knight, effectively taking the knight out of the battle they're in.
Unfortunately for the crewman who just hit Percy in the side of the full headed helm.
He doesn't follow up and hit him there again with the spar he's wielding.
Instead he whacks the wooden spar across the back of the nobleborn from the kingdom of Druvic.
Shattering apart the spar in his hands when it hits the backplate of the former paladin's armour.
"Take that!" shouts sir Percavellé Lé Dic whilst spinning around, and swinging the hand axe he's holding.
Which smashes into the head of the crewman who briefly dazed him.
As that raider's head shatters apart in bits of broken bone, blood and brain matter.
Another raider runs at the former earl of Lé Dic, who ducks down as the raider essentially goes to tackle him.
Percy stands back up as the raider goes above him, lifting the man up, and sending him sailing over the port rail.
The sound of that raider screaming in fright is cut off short when he ploughs head first into the side of the hill.
The member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che looks forward along the deck, and murmurs "Hmmmmm".
When he hears his bitter rival Dorc da Orc roaring like only the large ork can roar.
The nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic scowls as he sees the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world is heading aft from a midships.
And as the ork who is a general in the armies of Farque picks up speed, and starts bowling over any of the raiders and crew who are too slow to get out of his way.
The scowl on the face of sir Percavellé Lé Dic changes to a frown as he watches his bitter rival.
For the briefest of moments, the nobleborn knight thinks the ork weaponsmith is running directly at him.
Then Percy mutters "Why that stupid, smelly, giant buffoon". As he realises what it is the ork warleader is actually running straight towards.
"Get some ya cunt!" shouts Dorc da Orc in his native language, who repeats it in common after shouldering away one of the raiders too slow to get out of his way.
The aft deck of the converted cargo vessel, is up a few steps from a midships.
And the large ork leaps up them in one go, and is quickly on the aft deck.
He stiff arms one of the raiders who turns to face him, snapping the man's neck in an instant.
Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name. Knocks down another raider, and tramples the man as he heads to the stern.
He sees his bitter rival sir Percavellé Lé Dic bash one of the crew in the face with a gauntleted fist. Then grab the man, and throw him overboard.
Then the ork warleader hears the former paladin who is his bitter rival shout "No you silly beast, don't!".
Which of course  Dorkindle ignores, for why should ever listen to what what the nobleborn knight tells him to do. He's never done so in the past, and he's not going to start doing so now.
The ork warleader does what he intends. As that's to do a running dive at the ship's wheel.
Which in the deepest, darkest recesses of the large ork's mind, where you can find whatever passes for his logic.
Hitting the wheel, will definitely push it backwards. Which will send the airship rising up into the air. No matter what the set of the sails are.
Unfortunately for Dorkindle, as he tends to do. He sometimes forgets how large and heavy he is. And how strong he is.
The ork general smashes into the ship's wheel, and though by some minor miracle it doesn't shatter apart when he hits it with a dive tackle.
It and plinth it's attached to, are ripped out of the decking when the large ork dives into it.
Then it shatters apart when he lands on top of it, just infront of the stern rail.
Behind the faceplate of his full helm, sir Percavellé Lé Dic winces, then sourly smiles, and rolls his eyes.
As his bitter rival Dorc da Orc lies there amongst the ruins of the ship's wheel, and says "Oops".
As the twin masted airship which has come to a sudden stop, starts to slowly list to one side above the hill, that's right on the northern border of the lands Farque, on what's a fine and sunny first day of spring . . . . . .