Spring. The Northern Border.
Markell the teenage army recruit blocks and deflects the raider's sword with one of his shortswords.
Then whips the other one upwards, taking the raider beneath the chin.
Shattering the man's jaw, and the blade goes up into his mouth, and face.
Markell kicks the dead raider backwards, kicking him into the path of another of the raiders.
Who goes to leap the body, only to end up with Marshay the teenage army recruit's sword whacking into his legs, breaking one, and slashing open the other.
Marshay who dived to do that, rolls forward, and pops up onto her feet. Blocking the overhead swing of a sword from another of the raiders.
Who screams in pain as one of Markell's shortswords, stabs him in the back.
His scream comes to an abrupt end when the Farqian teen's other shortsword slams into the back of his head, smashing open his skull.
As that raider falls to the ground dead, both of the teenage recruits from the northwest of the lands Farque.
Who spent the majority of the winter living and training in the forest town of Gildin Dale.
Before they and the rest of the first group of recruits made their way out to the coast, and the bordertown of Halmard.
Who are lower down the hillside than the rest of the group of teenage army recruits.
Look up at the twin masted airship that's in the sky further above the hill.
A hill, that's right on the border that the lands Farque has with the unruled lands to the north.
There's a momentary pause from both of the thirteen year olds, then Markell the teenage army recruit says "Huh".
While next to him, Marshay blinks in surprise at what the two of them see.
If the twin masted airship was a sailing vessel upon the ocean. It would be described as being dead in the water.
But alas, it's an airship, and the converted cargo vessel used by raiders from the unruled lands.
Has come to a stop about forty feet above this side of the hill, about thirty yards down from the brow of the hilltop.
Markell and Marshay share a look, before looking back up at the airship, that they're to aft of.
As the twin masted airship is definitely starting to list to starboard.
Not quickly, but definitely slowly to starboard.
The two teenage army recruits from northwestern Farque. Who have dealt to the group of raiders who came at them.
Who were more than a little surprised, that two young teens. Two of the smallest in the group. And one a girl.
Put up such a fight, with only Markell, receiving a wound. As his leather armour wasn't good enough to protect him from a slash along the upper part of his right arm.
As he prefers to get in close to any opponent as he fights with a shortsword in each hand.
Watch as one of the raiders comes flying over the stern rail of the twin masted airship, that's slowly listing to the starboard side.
"You big stinking idiot" says sir Percavellé Lé Dic in a disparaging tone of voice after he grabs a dazed raider, and flings him off the stern of the converted cargo vessel.
"Look what you've done you foul smelling retarded oaf" continues the former paladin, who then adds a muttered "Wot".
"Dorc not a retard" mutters Dorc da Orc as he rolls off the shattered ship's wheel, and the plinth it was on.
"Ah fuck up you lot" adds the large ork in his native language when more than a few of the voices in his head, the loudest of which is his 'mother'. Tells him that indeed he is a retard. And what he just did, clearly proves it.
The ork warleader staggers to his feet, kicking away the remnants of the ship's wheel he's just destroyed.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world shakes his head, then says "Why the world so fucken wonky?".
As he finds himself leaning to one side to get himself steady and upright.
"Because it is wonky" says the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic in a tone of disgust.
"The ship is tilting to starboard" adds the heavily armoured knight as he shakes his head, and looks at his bitter rival, the warleader of the ork race.
Dorc da Orc, or Dorkindle which is his given name. Not his full given name, as that's far too long to describe. Which often changes depending what the large ork has done recently, or how he's feeling.
Steps back, and grabs a hold of the stern rail to keep himself steady as the twin masted airship has come to a stop above the hill, and it's definitely starting to list or tilt to one side.
Both the ork general in the armies of Farque, and the nobleborn knight. Know that an airship will drop out of the sky, if it's magical keel is damaged or destroyed.
They also know, that if an airship tilts far enough to one side, it will flip over.
Which may or may not see it fall out of the sky and hit the ground.
Though when an airship does flip over like a sailing ship on the water, capsizing.
Those onboard, particular those on deck. Tend to fall, and drop off, and out of an upside down airship.
"Way to go you blundering idiot" sourly says sir Percavellé Lé Dic or Percy as he's more commonly called by those who know him well.
With a scowl upon his broad, green, brutish looking face, the ork weaponsmith says to his bitter rival "Stop ya moaning bitch" followed by "At least these cunts not gonna use this fucken ship again".
The former earl of Lé Dic, which is his family's fief in the east of the kingdom of Druvic, sourly smiles.
As the two of them, bitter rivals. Who have disliked one another for about fifteen years.
Who spent a good part of the first dozen of those years trying to kill one another whenever they encountered one another on a battlefield or elsewhere.
Looks forward along the deck at the raiders. Who couldn't care less about the two of them at the moment.
As they are more worried about how they're going to get off their airship alive.
As they're still about forty or so feet above the hill, a bit down from the brow on the hilltop.
"Hmmmmm" murmurs Dorkindle, while next to him on the stern, also holding onto the rail, Percy murmurs "Wot".
As they wonder how they too can get out of the predicament they find themselves in.
Unable to think of anything quickly that will get them out of the situation they're in, which is no surprise really.
Dorc da Orc who does briefly thinks about back handing his bitter rival over the stern of the twin masted airship.
But he gives up on that idea, when he looks back and down. And spots two of the teenage recruits from the group. Down on the hillside, looking up at the raider's vessel.
The ork warleader who is glad to see a number of dead and dying raiders on the ground near those Farqian teenagers.
Who he thinks might be Marshay and Markell. He's not too sure, as a lot of the group look the same to him.
And he's never been particularly good at remembering people's names.
Grunts as he looks ahead, and unable to think of what to do. He does what he knows he's able to do, no matter what. And that's violence.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks takes a spear from across his back, and throws it as he continues to hold onto the stern rail.
The spear slams into the back of one of the raiders, picks him up, and knocks him forward at least ten feet, before slamming him into the main mast, and pinning him to it.
With a sideways look at his bitter rival the ork warleader, who is chuckling at what he just did.
The nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic sourly smiles. And goes back to looking at what some of the raiders and the crew are up to.
True some have scattered, and others hurry below deck after Dorkindle just killed one with a spear. By pinning the man to the main mast of the converted cargo vessel.
Others further along the deck, are tying ropes to the starboard rail, which Percy figures they'll use to climb down to the ground as the twin masted airship continues to slowly tilt to the starboard side.
Lifting up the faceplate of his full helm, the nobleborn knight nods along the deck, and says to his bitter rival "There beast" followed by "That lot forward of a midships, by the forecastle".
The large ork looks forward along the deck, then grunts when he sees what the former paladin has spotted.
"Dorc too fucken fat, me mean too big and muscley for that" says the son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks.
"Me will break the fucken rail" adds the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world.
The former earl of Lé Dic grunts in agreement. As for once his bitter rival is actually telling the truth.
The member of the order of the Knights of Saint Mar-che. Will admit that climbing down a rope tied to one of the rather worn looking rails might not be the best for himself too.
As he weighs well in excess of two hundred pounds, and well over two hundred and fifty, closer to two hundred and seventy five pounds with all his armour, and weapons.
Percy after glancing at his bitter rival, who is now scowling at the deck, silently willing it to stop tilting, and return to level.
Looks up at the main mast of the airship, where a couple of the crew are hurrying down the lines and sheets as their airship continues to slowly tip over to one side.
Then the nobleborn knight comes up with an idea. Deep down he doesn't know if it's a good idea.
But Percy, who is ever an optimist. Who always looks on the positive side of things. At least where it concerns him in any way.
Says to his bitter rival Dorc da Orc "I, the great sir Percavellé has come up with an ingenious idea, wot".
Before the ork general in the armies of Farque can tell the former paladin to stick his idea up his ass.
The warleader of the ork race, grunts when the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic asks him "You putrid smelling demon, i have a question for you, wot" followed by "Doth thou think'st you can knock down that mast, wot".
"Er?" says Dorkindle, who have after a pause adds "Fucken maybe" in a rather dubious tone of voice as he looks at the main mast of the raider's airship.
The large ork who has knocked over trees, doors, walls and many other things over the years.
Has never knocked down the mast on an airship. At least not one this size.
The ork who was named warleader of his race by lord Farque a number of years ago, looks at his bitter rival, and asks the former paladin "Why you wants me to do fucken that?".
So you can crack open that fat head of yours, and have what little brains inside of it, spill out of it, wot, is what the nobleborn knight thinks.
But what he actually says is "So we can climb down the sails and the lines, as it lies across the side of the ship".
The heavily armoured knight continues on with "Or we might actually be able to climb down it, depending how it falls, and how far this ship tips over on it's side, wot".
Dorc da Orc has to think about it for a moment or two, then he grunts as he realises what his bitter rival has suggested, actually makes some sense.
"Hmmmmm maybe me can" murmurs the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
Who left his homeland, The Ork Range. When he was sent into exile for killing the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe, his mother.
Which was only fair, considering she was doing her best to kill him at the time.
To say ork relationships, especially amongst family members. Is a bit acrimonious at the best of times. Is an understatement in the extreme.
Looking at his bitter rival the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic, the ork weaponsmith tells him "Yeah cunt, me will try and bring that fucker down".
Then not bothering to wait at all, the large ork who is a general in the armies of Farque.
Takes off at a run along the deck towards the main mast of the raider's vessel.
The ork warleader runs with arms outstretched to his sides. Trying to keep his balance as the twin masted airship continues to lean to starboard.
Dorkindle drops his head as he runs towards the main mast of the converted cargo ship.
While on the aft deck, still holding onto the stern rail. Sir Percavellé Lé Dive slightly winces as he watches his bitter rival the ork general.
Wondering how the large ork will fare when he hits the mast head on.
If he'll be able to at least get some movement on the main mast if he smashes into it, head first.
That's exactly what the warleader of the ork race does.
Running head first into the main mast, just to the side of the dead raider pinned to it by one of the large ork's spears.
The entire mast shakes, and the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world. Staggers to one side, before falling down onto his rump.
The ork weaponsmith sits there on the deck shaking his head to clear it.
While on the aft deck, his bitter rival sir Percavellé Lé Dic calls out to him to do it again.
"Er?" says Maselle the teenage army recruit as she quickly looks down at the twin masted airship.
"What?" asks Lamis the teenage army recruit after he kicks one of the raiders in the head, who is trying to crawl away.
The teenage girl nods down to the stationary vessel, and says "On the deck" followed by "The general".
Lamis looks out through the trees on the brow of the hill where they are. Where they can see down onto the deck of the twin masted airship. A ship that's just not stationary, but also slowly listing to one side.
The teenage boy from the northwest of the lands Farque, easily spots the ork general, Dorc da Orc. After all, he's not exactly hard to miss.
The large ork is heading aft, staggering as he does so, arms out wide as he tries to keep his balance.
To Lamis, the ork warleader looks like a drunk man as he weaves his way back to the stern of the vessel, where his fellow instructor, sir Percavellé Lé Dic is.
"What's he doing?" asks the teenage boy who whips his shortsword to one side, to clear the blood off the blade.
"Watch" replies Maselle, who continues on with "I think he's going to do it again".
Then the two of them watch the ork general in their lord's armies. Lower his head, and take off in a staggering run, heading forward along the deck of the converted cargo vessel.
"Huh" says Lamis after the ork weaponsmith runs into the main mast of the raider's ship again.
The main mast, which they clearly see sway back and forth after the large ork ran into it head first.
"Well, i guess he's trying to bring down that mast" says the teenage boy who then looks quickly down the hill to see if anymore of the raiders are heading up their way.
"That's fairly obvious" dryly says Maselle who uses a piece of cloth to dab at the shallow cut along the side of her neck.
"But why's he doing that?" adds the teenage girl from the northwest of the lands Farque.
"Who the hell knows why those two do anything" mutters Lamis as they see general Dorc struggling to his feet again.
Maselle nods her head in agreement with that muttered comment from her fellow army recruit.
As they watch the warleader of the ork race start making his way back to the aft deck of the raider's vessel.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world, is moving from side to side, as much as he is forwards.
Then Maselle looks down the hill, when Lamis quietly tells her "Two more of them are coming up the hill".
As the teenage boy retrieves one of his daggers from one of the nearby dead raiders.
Maselle continues to watch what's going on onboard the stationary twin masted airship, that's listing to starboard.
As she sees Dorc da Orc reach the stern, where his bitter rival sir Percavellé Lé Dic says something to him, while gesturing to the main mast. Lamis says to her "They've spotted us".
The two teens from the first group of young army recruits from across northwestern Farque.
Who spent most of the winter living and training in the forest town of Gildin Dale.
Before they and the rest of their group, along with two of their instructors. Made their way out to the coast, and the bordertown of Halmard, to complete their training.
Watch as another pair of raiders from the unruled lands to the north of the border.
Hurry up the hill to the trees on the brow, where Maselle and Lamis are waiting. On this, the very first day of spring on the northern border of their lord's lands . . . . . .
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