The Find 8.

Autumn.

Hilsons Point. The edge of The City of Ruins. Morning.
Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit looks back to where Helbe the elven thief said the bakery stood.
Where there's now just an empty gap, close to the edge of the giant hole in the ground.
Down within it, lies the ancient city of Dalphene, or as it's more commonly called, The City of Ruins.
The halfling former air sailor who is originally from the Sultanate of Dreese, which lies on the far east coast of the continent. Shares a look with the elven masterthief beside him.
"This can't be good" quietly says Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit, the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel, nods his hooded head in agreement with him.
"Mira's that way" says Helbe the elven thief who has sensed where his fellow spellcaster, Mira Reinholt the mage is.
"Dorc is probably with him" adds the highly talented elven magic user, who then nods at Narladene the ground pixie to go that way, and see what's happening.
The naturally magical creature who is on the right shoulder of the elven masterthief she's attached to.
And who is only visible to him at the moment, and a mangy looking dog that slinks across the dirt packed street infront of them.
Takes off, and wings her way to where she too can sense the once powerful mage.
Who like Helbe the elven thief and Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit, is a member of the personal council to lord Farque.
The halfling former air sailor who isn't at all what he appears to be. And the elven master assassin, head to where the highly talented elven magic user can sense the mage Reinholt.
They don't get far, before they start to hear something with their naturally enhanced hearing.
The two of them stop and share a look, then Jarjin Littlefoot quietly says "That doesn't sound too good".
The hobbit, who is really a hordes outrider from the southern tundra, by the name of Zubutai Timaginson.
Who just happens to find himself inhabiting the body of Jarjin Littlefoot.
Then dryly adds "That pretty much sounds like a certain somebody having a tanty".
"Yep" says the young elven noble who is the grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel.
"Come on, let's see what's happening" adds the elven master archer.
The two of them set off again through the town of Hilsons Point.
One of the many towns and villages along the southern edge of the giant hole in the ground. Within which is The City of Ruins.
And like all the towns overlooking the ancient city of Dalphene. It's fairly busy this morning, on what's a cold autumn day, here in the very north of the central regions of The Southlands.
As they turn onto another street, Narladene the ground pixie lands back upon the right shoulder of the elven masterthief she's attached to.
The elven princeling from Laerel rolls his eyes, and sourly smiles. And doesn't even bother asking the tiny winged creature what's happening.
Besides she's too busy, bent over in silent laughter to answer anything he might ask her.
The two councilors, Jarjin aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman, and prince Helbenthril Raendril.
Turn right onto another street, where they hear the yelling, shouting, growling, not to mention things being smashed, are coming from.
The halfling former air sailor, and the elven master assassin come to a stop.
Just infront of them stands Mira Reinholt the mage and Shur Kee the monk.
While a crowd of locals have gathered along a fair chunk of this street.
Which Helbe the elven thief sees is a pretty new street, as are the buildings on it.
As this part of town, wasn't even here, the last time he and the group at that time, was here nearly twenty years ago.
There's a few scared and anxious looking people standing outside one of the shops.
The shop that all the commotion is coming from. As a roar can be heard from inside it, followed by something being smashed.
"I gather that's Dorc bakery?" asks Jarjin aka Zubutai Timaginson as he and Helbe the elven thief stand beside the once powerful mage, and the short, statured monk.
"Ah not quite" says Mira Reinholt the mage, who briefly pauses, before he adds "Well it is kinda" followed by "Though not really as well".
"Oh this should be interesting" murmurs the halfling former air sailor who was once in the air fleet of the Sultan of Dreese.
"You can say that again" dryly says the mage who is in exile from his homeland, the city-state of Vexil.
The human spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster says "You see where Dorc's bakery once stood?".
Both the hobbit and the elf nod, then the mage Reinholt tells them "The ground started giving away beneath it as it was so close to the edge".
Nodding his hooded head at the bakery that has a rampaging ork inside of it.
The spellcaster, who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands.
Until he was stripped of most of his powers, when he went offworld through a rift/void spell that he accidentally cast a number of years ago.
Says to the halfling former air and the elven magic user "They moved here about twelve years ago, when this part of town was being built".
"The former owner, the baker who Dorc brought the place off, suddenly died about eight years ago, and his son took over" continues the exiled Vexilian mage, who then adds "He drove the business into the ground in less than two years, and he sold up to become an adventurer down in the pit".
The swordmaster Reinholt follows that with "Even though the bakers still working here from nearly twenty years ago, told him he couldn't sell it, as it belongs to the big, green monster that brought it off his father".
The once powerful mage shrugs as he says "He didn't listen, and said that, the monster hasn't been seen for years".
"Now the monster is back" says Jarjin aka Zubutai the son of Timagin.
"Yep, he sure is" says councilor Reinholt as a loud crashing sound comes from within the bakery.
"And i guess that lot bought the place?" says the halfling former air sailor as he nods to small group of people on the street, infront of the shop that's being torn apart from the inside.
"Correct again" says Mira Reinholt, who continues with "They were warned at the time by the bakers who were working here when it got sold, who it was that actually owned the bakery".
"Those bakers all left, and this lot didn't listen" says the Vexilian mage in exile, who gestures at the bakery within which is Dorc da Orc, and he adds "And now we've got this".
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, continues with "That fat oaf being the food snob he is, isn't happy with the quality of the cakes and pastries in there, compared to what the old bakers used to make".
The once powerful mage then dryly adds "He's more annoyed at that, than he is at it being sold to someone else".
"Well, technically it still is his if you think about it" says the hobbit from the far east coast of the continent.
"You sure you weren't a lawyer in one of your lives?" dryly says prince Helbenthril Raendril with a sideways look, and down at his fellow councilor, the halfling former air sailor.
Jarjin aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman sourly smiles up at the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel.
Then the hobbit from the Sultanate of Dreese, says "Well, someone better do something about that big, raving lunatic in there before the local authorities turn up".
Both the spellcasters, Mira Reinholt the mage and Helbe the elven thief snort when they hear that.
Then the elven master archer says "What authorities?".
With the Vexilian mage in exile adding "There's no authorities here, or any of the towns and villages around the pit".
The practitioner of magic, who was the youngest ever member of the mage council of Vexil continues with "You should of learnt that from that fight last night over in Peacesmith".
"He should of" says the elven masterthief who then dryly adds "Except he spent nearly all of it cowering under a table".
Jarjin aka Zubutai Timaginson turns red with embarrassment at that. As he can't deny it in anyway. Because he did spend most of that fight under a table.
"Fisticuffs really isn't this body's strong suit" says the halfling who is a member of the personal council to the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
"That's for sure" dryly says the grandson of Prince Raendril of Laerel, who then adds "But you're right, it's probably for the best if someone stopped the raving lunatic".
The highly talented elven magic user looks at his fellow spellcaster, and says "Mira?".
"Nah, just let him wear himself out" says the mage Reinholt in reply to the enquiring look from his fellow practitioner of magic.
"Dorc?" says the elven masterthief in an incredulous tone of voice, followed by "Wear himself out?" after a slight pause, he adds "In a bakery?".
"Good point" dryly murmurs the once powerful mage, who then quickly says "Pass".
After rolling his eyes at that response from the exiled Vexilian swordmaster.
The elven master assassin looks at the short, statured monk and asks him "Shur Kee, you want to try?".
"Ah" says Shur Kee the monk, who then tells the elven masterthief "That is alright with you friend Helbe, i would rather not".
"Wise man" murmurs the elven princeling from the island  of Laerel.
Then looking down at the halfling former air sailor, Helbe the elven thief asks him "You want to give it a try?".
"Are you fucking nuts?" says Jarjin aka Zubutai the son of Timagin, who follows that with "I just told you this body isn't up to scratch in any physical confrontation".
The hobbit then sourly adds "Especially against a raving lunatic like Dorc, who is probably stuffing his face in there, as he smashes the place up".
"I wasn't serious with you" dryly says the elf who is a member of the royal family that rules the island principality of Laerel.
"I was trying to include you in the group, so you don't feel left out" adds the highly talented elven spellcaster.
"Thanks" sourly says the halfling from the far east coast of the continent.
"You're welcome" says Helbe the elven thief with a wide smile upon his face.
Who then walks towards the bakery, and the group standing infront of it. To afraid to go into their own shop, because of who is in there.
While the crowd along the street gets larger, as more people come to see what all the commotion is all about.
"They told you he'd be back" says the elven master assassin as he walks by the current baker and his apprentices.
Before they can say anything, Prince Helbenthril Raendril walks through the front door of the bakery.
Or what's left of the front door, as it's been ripped off, and lies outside on the street.
While pretty much the entire door frame, and bits of the surrounding front wall are gone.
The elven practitioner of magic murmurs "Colourful" as he looks around at the mess inside the front of the bakery.
What's essentially the shop, as all the actual baking is done out in the back half of the building.
The elven masterthief winces as he hears a loud roar from the back of the shop, followed by something crashing down.
Helbe the elven thief glances at his right shoulder, and Narladene the ground pixie murmurs to him "He's in a mood".
"No kidding" murmurs the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel.
Who then makes his way through the ruins of the front of house, and heads to the kitchen and bakehouse, at the back of the building.
The elven princeling notices in the ruined shop that although a lot of the product has been thrown about.
It looks like an awful lot of the cakes, pastries, bread and other delicacies are missing.
More than likely eaten by the rampaging ork warleader who is more than a little unhappy with the situation concerning his bakery.
The highly talented elven magic user steps over some broken shelving, and steps through a large hole in the wall, into the back of the building.
Looking around at the kitchens, the elf who is the envoy for the armies of Farque.
Sees that one of the large wall ovens has been destroyed, the brickwork all collapsed.
And the only reason the other one is still intact, is because it's still warm. Even though there's a large ork glaring at it, as he stands amongst the ruins of some of the work benches back here.
"Dorc" says Helbe the elven thief, who refrains from grinning as Dorc da Orc grunts "Huh?".
And turns to look at him, and the ork warleader's face is smeared with chocolate.
Well, the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel hopes it's chocolate.
He's certain it is, for if it was the large ork's own shit, it would reek like hell.
"What are you doing?" asks the elven masterthief.
"You see what these cunts done to Dorc's bakery?" says the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
"The cunts say they fucken own it" continues the ork weaponsmith, who follows that with "Not just fucken that, the fucken stuffs here not as fucken good as the last time".
Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name. Forgets an awful lot of things over the years.
But some things he's got the knack of remembering perfectly. Like the quality of cakes, pies and bakery goods, from a single visit nearly twenty years ago.
"Look at this fucken shit" growls the warleader of the ork race.
Who steps over to one of the benches he hasn't destroyed yet. Where there's a row of freshly made cakes that were about to go out to that front of the shop.
"Gots fucken bits of fruits on all of them" growls the large ork who is a general in the armies of Farque.
"They look pretty good" quietly says the elven master assassin as he eyes the cakes.
"You would say that, you fucken fruits eater" mutters Dorkindle, who then smashes his right fist down onto bench, breaking it and sending bits of cake flying in all directions.
As the elven master archer steps to one side to avoid the flying debris.
The ork general quickly licks his fist that's covered with cream, cake and slices of peaches.
He may hate fruit, but that doesn't stop the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks from eating any of the cakes and other bakery goods in here.
"You know, this is still actually your bakery when you think about it" says Helbe the elven thief, when the large ork goes back to glaring at the oven, that's too warm for him to get close to.
The big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world, grunts, then blinks in surprise, before looking at the elven master assassin, and saying "It is?".
The elven envoy nods his hooded head, then says "The son of the baker you bought it from had no right to sell it, so technically I'd say it's still yours".
The ork warleader mulls that over for a few moments, then he grunts and says "Fuck yeah".
A short while later, and the elven princeling and the ork general step outside.
Where Dorc da Orc who is covered in powdered sugar, and has chocolate smeared all over his face.
Throws a pouch of gold coins at the feet of the current baker, and tells him "Fucken fix that place up".
The ork weaponsmith follows that with "And make better fucken stuffs, no fruits!".
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world adds "Me will be back one day soon to make sure all the fucken stuffs is good".
Dorkindle briefly pauses before he continues with "If not, me will fucken smash the shit out of this place again".
Then the large ork along with the elven masterthief go and join Mira Reinholt the mage, Shur Kee the monk, and Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit.
The five of them then walk away, heading to the west of town, where the Quick Gull is waiting for them . . . . . .