To War 3.

Summer. Farque.

Dorc da Orc walks back and forth waiting for a spellcaster. He doesn't care which one. Just as long as there is one.
Nearby next to a pillar, are a couple of barrels. One of ale, and the other full of water.
He filled the one with water himself. To say that was a challenge, is an understatement in the extreme.
The large ork believes he deserves a medal or something for doing that.
Finally amongst the people coming in, or exiting the building. The ork warleader catches the scent of one who is a spellcaster.
"Hey you" says Dorc da Orc to the young woman he walks towards.
She stops and says "Yes general".
"Fucken over here" says the ork weaponsmith, who leads the young spellcaster over to the barrels.
"Freeze this fucken one all icy like" says the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
"And this one fucken cold" adds the ork general in the armies of Farque.
The young spellcaster, a sorceress. Does exactly what the large ork wants.
Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name. Grunts in satisfaction, and with a nod of his head, dismisses the sorceress. Who continues on her way, out of the building.
The warleader of the ork race straps the cold barrel of ale to his weapon harness.
Then he picks up the frozen barrel of what was water, and is now ice.
The son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks. Sighs in relief as he hugs the frozen barrel to his chest.
And though it's not all that warm here inside the building. It's still too warm for the large ork. Who absolutely hates this time of the year, summer.
The ork weaponsmith is just about to wander away, and find a quiet place to drink his cold barrel of ale.
When in walks his bitter rival, the foreign knight, sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
"Come along you filthy beast" says sir Percavellé Lé Dic, who continues on with "His lordship wishes our presence, wot".
The nobleborn knight who hails from the kingdom of Druvic would rather not inform the large ork he's wanted.
But he's been specifically told to fetch the ork general in the armies of Farque.
The former paladin turns and makes his way outside. After a few moments, his bitter rival the ork warleader heads outside too.
With the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world eventually following behind him.
Dorkindle steps outside and scowls up at the sun on this warm, sunny day.
Here in The Citadel, the capital city of the lands of Farque.
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks continues to hug the frozen barrel to his chest.
Trying to keep himself cool on this warm summer day.
He heads after his bitter rival, the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic.
Who is making his way towards the three massive towers in the middle of the city, that's the capital of the nation of Farque.
Sir Percavellé Lé Dic, or Percy as he's more commonly called by those who know him well.
Is always amazed when he looks at the three towers that dominate the skyline here in The Citadel.
When he arrived here in the capital for the first time during the spring. The heavily armoured knight couldn't believe at what he was seeing.
The buildings and their construction are like nothing else he's ever seen, anywhere in the Southlands. And those places he's seen beyond the Southlands.
But what stands out even more than anything else. Are the three towers in the middle of the city.
They're so tall, over a thousand feet in height each. That on some days with low loud cover. You can't even see the tops of the towers.
Three towers, that have a mirror like glass cladding over them.
They're so foreign looking to the eyes of the former earl of Lé Dic, which is family's fief in eastern Druvic.
That he couldn't believe they were possible if someone told him about them, before he actually saw them for himself.
The member of the order of The Knights of Saint Mar-che. Refrains from shaking his full helmed head as he looks at the towers, he's walking towards.
Instead he glances back to make sure his bitter rival is doing that as well. Which he is. Much to the relief of the former paladin.
The two rivals, the foreign knight and the ork general make their way to the one tower that's partially open.
The other two towers are closed to everyone with the exception of lord Farque himself, and a small handful exempt from doing so.
As Percy enters the tower, into the foyer as it's been described to him as.
The temperature drops inside, and it's much more tolerable for the ork warleader who follows him inside the tower.
The foyer is empty except for a number of runners and adjunctants sitting on the benches, that are moulded into one of the walls.
As the former paladin looks down and wonders what the floor is made of.
His bitter rival, standing nearby. Hugging the frozen barrel to himself.
Looks up, and watches the section that's coming down into the foyer.
It's a platform, like a moving floor. That's dropping down the face of the tower, as the foyer, along with the rest of the base of the tower, is much larger, and wider than the rest of the structure, that stands over a thousand feet in height.
Eventually the former earl of Lé Dic looks up and watches the platform coming down to the foyer.
The ceiling of which, that looks like glass. But isn't. Slides open in two parts. Allowing the platform to drop down into the foyer that's about three storeys high.
On the platform are a few people. One of whom is Tamric Drubine the field commander.
The other two, are the undead brothers Dargarven and Arveem.
When the platform sets down on the floor, the young field commander waves to Percy and Dorkindle to join them on the platform.
As the bitter rivals make their way over to the platform, the undead heavy trooper Arveem has a quiet word to field commander Drubine about something, as he looks over at the runners and adjunctants.
Then Arveem the undead heavy trooper says "Adjunct Hamblin join us".
The young officer in training gets up from the bench he's sitting on, and makes his way onto the platform as the bitter rivals, the foreign knight and the ork general do.
"Hey cunts" says Dorc da Orc in the ork language.
"Hey Dorc cunt" says the brothers Dargarven and Arveem in unison in the language of the orks.
Dargarven the undead scout, who is standing at the plinth, on top of which is flat panel, that looks like dark glass.
Touches the panel, and the platform starts to rise up, going through the ceiling. That closes beneath it, as it goes up the face of the tower.
"What fucken goin' on?" asks the ork weaponsmith as he stands beside the nobleborn teenager originally from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin.
"Negotiations" replies Tamric Drubine the field commander, who is glad the ork warleader has switched to the common language.
"A delegation from the province of Corlinda in Melaurn will be arriving at the border soon" adds the teenager, who is a senior officer in the armies of Farque.
Dorkindle grunts, then falls silent as the platform rises up high into the sky.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world enjoys the breeze as the platform gets higher and higher up the face of the tower.
It eventually stops about three quarters of the way up the tower. Where it becomes part of an even larger platform.
On which waits a few people, most important of whom, is lord Farque himself.
As they walk across the platform to where the undead warlord and the others are standing.
Dorc da Orc looks away to their right across the city, and as an airship lifts off from the roof of a building down below.
He spots another airship passing over the city heading towards the towers.
This one a krean scoutship that's making a beeline for the tower that they're on.
After the young adjunct Hamblin bows to his lord, the heavily armoured deathlord points at the approaching krean vessel.
"We'll be going to the hills on our southern border" says lord Farque, who continues on with "Another delegation from Melaurn will be arriving later today".
The undead warlord follows that with "From the province of Corlinda" the lord and ruler of the lands Farque pauses for a moment or two, before adding "Looks like they're willing to pay way more than their previous offers".
He glances to his right where Narladene the ground pixie is hovering, who nods yes to what he just said.
The krean scoutship comes in and lands, and the first one to board is one of the undead Farqian wardogs.
Dorc da Orc can't tell which one, but he knows it's not Axe. But figures it's either Anvil or Hammer.
The same size as Axe, but slightly broader in the shoulder.
The rest of them board the mastless airship. That quickly takes off, heading south across The Citadel. On it's way to the southern boarder of the nation of Farque.
The scoutship flies straight, meaning it doesn't go through a sky rift. Allowing the passengers onboard to stay on the mastless deck, or go in the wheelhouse.
While lord Farque, along with the undead brothers Dargarven and Arveem, along with the young adjunct Hamblin are in the wheelhouse.
The bitter rivals Dorc da Orc and sir Percavellé Lé Dic are out on the deck, with the young field commander, Tamric Drubine.
The ork general in the armies of Farque keeps an eye on the wardog that's lying nearby.
As he's sure it's been eyeing up the frozen barrel he's still hugging to himself to keep himself cool.
Though it isn't all that warm at the moment, as the krean scoutship is flying fairly quickly, in excess of fifty knots, creating a strong breeze much to the relief of the warleader of the ork race.
"I say young Tam, you think his lordship will take this offer?" asks sir Percavellé Lé Dic, who quickly adds "Wot".
"I think so" replies Tamric Drubine the field commander.
"By all accounts, they can't offer any more than this one, and those in Karricaw are unable to get anywhere near this new offer from those in Corlinda" adds the nobleborn teenager originally from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin.
Both the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic, and the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world, grunt when they hear that.
As both of them, bitter rivals. Have been itching to get into a bit of action. Hoping that one of the two provinces in the kingdom of Melaurn that are in conflict, make a high enough offer to hire one of the armies of Farque.
Infact Dorc da Orc suggested to lord Farque to take the very first offer either the province of Karricaw or Corlinda came with.
The ork general didn't care what it was, just as long as they could go off to war somewhere.
And though the large ork is more than a little disgusted that it looks like they're going to be fighting at the worst time of the year for him, the summertime.
It's balanced in the fact he will get to kill a lot of people, and hopefully eat a fair few of them too.
Dorkindle shoots a look at the nearby wardog, which rolls over, then grunting in satisfaction as it's no longer looking this way, the ork weaponsmith asks "How big of a fucken army we gonna take?".
"Most of the first by the sounds of it" replies Tamric Drubine, or Tam as he's more commonly called by those who know him well.
The young field commander who was assigned to the first army of Farque in the spring, bringing the two bitter rivals along with him.
Says to the warleader of the ork race "Er maybe" is response to the son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks asking him "Can general Dorc take his fucken army?".
"I bloody well hope not, wot" mutters sir Percavellé Lé Dic, who doesn't mind the battalion of goblins in the armies of Farque.
He just dislikes that they're led by his bitter rival Dorc da Orc. Who he believes shouldn't lead anyone, anywhere.
"The lord will have to decide on that Dorc" says Tam, who is a senior officer in the armies of Farque.
As the krean scoutship travels quickly to the hill range along part of the southern border of the lands Farque. Heading more southwest than directly south from The Citadel. Which is located in the south of the largest nation by size in all of the Southlands.
Dorc da Orc sits down on the mastless deck to enjoy the wind as the scoutship cuts through the air, far quicker than any other airship on the world of Volunell can fly.
The ork general keeps an eye on both his bitter rival sir Percavellé Lé Dic, and the nearby wardog, who Tam mentions is Anvil.
While the former paladin stands nearby, chatting with field commander Drubine.
They're soon over the hill country, a part of which lives clans of hill dwarves.
Much to the disgust of Dorkindle. Who was captured by them nearly twenty five years ago when he first came to the lands Farque.
It's when he first met the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, who rescued him from the prison, a deep pit in the ground, that he was held in at the time.
They head west, quickly leaving behind the area of the hill country where the dwarven clans live.
The krean scoutship picks up speed, going close to seventy knots, making speech difficult to be heard. And for those who aren't undead, to either sit down on the deck. Or go into the wheelhouse, or below deck.
As he's buffeted by the wind, sir Percavellé Lé Dic remains on the deck, sitting there. Because his bitter rival is doing so.
The nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic doesn't like letting the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world do anything, that he can't do himself.
To say they try to one up one another, would be an understatement.
The two of them, ork general and foreign knight. Truly are rivals in everything they do.
In the wheelhouse of the krean scoutship, Tamric Drubine looks out one of the front windows.
And shakes his head as he sees the two bitter rivals Dorc and Percy. Sitting on the deck, not far from one another as mastless vessel heads quickly westwards above the southern border of the lands Farque.
The young field commander slightly shakes his head again at the antics of the ork warleader and the former paladin, then he turns and joins in the conversation that lord Farque and the others are having, concerning the latest offer from the nobility of the province of Corlinda in the kingdom of Melaurn . . . . . .