The Thick Of It 19.

Winter.

Dorc da Orc looks away to his right and scowls when he spots his bitter rival sir Percavelle Lé Dic.
The large, heavily armoured knight, like the ork warleader. Is flat on the ground, behind cover. Looking through the trees up ahead.
Well, in the case of the nobleborn knight from the kingdom of Druvic. He's peering ahead, as he can't exactly see much in the darkness before dawn.
As he lies there on the snow covered ground, feeling slightly comfortable for once.
The large ork can't help but shake his head in disgust at always being paired lately with the former earl of Lé Dic.
The reason why stands about thirty yards infront of the two of them.
Lord Farque, who the ork weaponsmith can clearly see. And who sir Percavelle Lé Dic can barely glimpse in the predawn darkness.
The group left the city of Kuradum a little earlier. Now they're in the northeast of the city-state.
Having come here by way of a gateway cast by Beldane the cleric.
They've met up with a contingent from the third army of Farque. Predominantly scouts and rangers, and a number of light infantry.
Who are fighting behind enemy lines. Here in what's essentially a civil war in the city-state of Kuradum.
A civil war between the so called duke of Kuradum, councilman Hirrye. Who is hell bent on changing the way in which the city-state is ruled.
And the ruling council of Kuradum, led by councilman Sammis. Who are determined to keep the status quo.
Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name. Is just about to reach out to grab a nearby branch, that's broken off from the tree to his left.
And biff it at his bitter rival, who is a member of the order of The Knights of Saint Mar-che.
When he smells someone approaching from up ahead. The large ork softly grunts as he recognises who it is.
Dalinvardèl Tanith the elven spy walks back to where lord Farque is waiting.
The spy from the elven principality of Alínlae stops next to the tree the undead warlord is standing beside.
"They're there alright" quietly says Dalinvardèl Tanith the elven spy, who continues with "Pretty much where you said they would be".
Dalinvardèl Tanith or Dalin as he's more commonly called by the others in the group, then says "He is".
In reply to lord Farque saying in a slightly dry tone of voice "He's having a look around isn't he?" followed by "Amongst them?".
Dorc da Orc sourly smiles as up ahead, lord Farque and Dalinvardèl Tanith the elven spy are speaking in the elven language. Which obviously he doesn't understand.
The same for sir Percavelle Lé Dic, who like Dorkindle. Has absolutely no idea what the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, and the elven spy from the principality of Alínlae are discussing.
The large ork who is starting to get bored, reaches out to take a hold of the fallen tree branch.
When he grunts, and pulls his hand back after lord Farque, without looking back, quietly says in the common language "Don't do that Dorc".
Sir Percavelle Lé Dic or Percy as he's more commonly called by the others in the group doesn't know what the ork warleader was about to do.
But whatever it was, he can't help but grin at the large ork being reprimanded by the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
Then both the ork who is a general in the armies of Farque, and the knight who is a former paladin.
Both grunt when they hear the undead warlord quietly tell them "You two get up here".
The large ork who is the son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks.
And the former earl of Lé Dic, which is his family's lands in the southeast of the kingdom of Druvic.
Both grunt as they get up off the snowy ground, then they hurry forward to where the large, heavily armoured deathlord and the elven spy are standing.
The bitter rivals, both of whom want to say something, remain silent after the lord of the death realm glances at the two of them and says "Quiet".
Dorc and Percy are both impatient as they stand there, while the lord of the lands Farque and the spy Tanith converse in elven for a little bit longer, in the darkness before dawn.
Then the undead being who is also known by the name of Draugadrottin to the people of his lands, quietly says in the common language to the bitter rivals "Let's go". The deathlord of Farque then adds "Keep quiet".
Then with Dalinvardèl Tanith or Dalin as he's more often than not, called by those who know him well.
Leading the way, they move off. Heading roughly northwards through the trees, here in the northeast of the city-state of Kuradum.
For the nobleborn knight who is originally from the kingdom of Druvic.
He doesn't exactly know what they're doing, or where they're going. Apart from that the enemy are nearby.
Not so Dorkindle, who might not of been told what they're doing, and where they're going.
He's still got the advantage of his eyesight, hearing, and most importantly his sense of smell.
And even with his limited capacity of thought. After all, he is an ork. And even though he's a genius of his race.
That's not saying much considering the entire race is mentally unstable, and absolutely psychotic.
He can deduce that they're heading north, and that the rest of the group are that way.
As are the contingent of Farqian soldiers, about a hundred and fifty of them. Who are spread out across a hundred yards or so.
While beyond them, the large ork who is a general in the armies of Farque.
Can easily smell the presence of the enemy. Who are in camp. And easily outnumber the Farqian forces.
As it gets closer and closer to dawn, the spy Tanith leads them to where some of the group are waiting.
They stop next to Tamric Drubine the field commander, Saanea the witch. Along with Tovis the war engineer, and the newest member of the group. The ex mercenary Zam, who is from here in the city-state of Kuradum.
"What do you see Dorc?" quietly asks lord Farque who gestures away to the north of them.
And though the ork warleader wants to automatically reply with "Cunts". He knows the lord and ruler of the lands Farque is referring to something else.
Looking out from the woods they're at the northern edge of, the large ork studies the enemy camp that's only fifty yards away, if that.
The big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world. Is definitely mentally unstable and a raving psychopath.
But for all that, he can size up a battle, or potential one such as now, in an instant.
And even more impressive, during a battle he can clearly see the ebb and flow of a battle. How potential things may or may not turn out.
And though this skill he's always had. It's been expanded and fine tuned in the more than two decades he's been around the undead warlord, who has taught him.
Dorkindle immediately sees the enemy should of camped in the woods. Or at the least at the edge of it.
But he figures it must of been a mild day yesterday. And never suspected that their would be a heavy snowstorm during the night.
For though back amongst the trees, there's snow covering the ground.
Out in the open, to the north of the woods, the snow is thick on the ground.
And the son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks. Who he killed in an altercation between the two of them. Which was only fair, as she was trying to kill him at the time.
Can see a fair few number of tents in the camp have collapsed, or partially collapsed.
And though some have tried to put them back up during the night, most haven't.
The ork weaponsmith, who sometimes struggles to count to ten. And when he usually does count something, he gets it wrong.
Not so during battle, or just before a potential one in this case. And at a glance he can easily estimate, quite accurately at times, how many the enemy are.
Even now, with most of the enemy out of sight, in their partiality collapsed and collapsed tents. He knows how many there are in the camp.
In mere moments the ork warleader works out what he thinks. And in his native language, the general in the armies of Farque explains to the large, heavily armoured deathlord what they should do.
Sir Percavelle Lé Dic sourly smiles as his bitter rival the ork weaponsmith starts speaking to lord Farque in the unintelligible language of the orks.
The nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic, where he is the former earl of Lé Dic. His family's lands that are now in the hands of his young niece.
Figures the two of them are chatting about the enemy camp he can just make out on the snow covered ground less than fifty yards away from the edge of the woods.
"Of course you would fucking suggest that cunt" dryly says lord Farque in the ork language, who then adds "Because you're a big fucking lazy cunt at times".
Dorkindle goes to protest that, even though it's true, and it is the reason why he suggested it.
But he stays quiet when the undead warlord raises a gauntleted hand, and says "None of your fucking shit excuses".
The undead being who has the elven name of Des'tier, then adds "It's basically good enough, we'll fucking try it".
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world briefly grins, then he scowls when the lord of the death realm tells him "Though with one fucking change".
Draugadrottin continues with "We've got the fucking advantage of spellcaster cunts with us, fucking use them".
The ork warleader who is of the opinion that using magic is cheating. Stands there with a sour look upon his broad, green, brutish looking face as the lord and ruler of the lands Farque tells him what the spellcasters will do.
The large ork grunts, then he says "Why the fuck should i?".
After the deathlord of Farque says to him "Now tell Tam the fucking plan".
Des'tier stares at the warleader of the ork race for a moment or two, before he says "Because he's the field commander" followed by "And you're a general in my armies" he briefly pauses then adds "So fucking act like one".
That gives Dorc da Orc pause. He doesn't know why. It's not the usual reprimand that lord Farque gives him.
Those ones have a definite undertone of violence to them that the ork weaponsmith definitely understands.
This is something else. Something he's not accustomed to. And frankly something he doesn't particularly like.
Feeling disappointment in himself for one of the few times in his life. A feeling he doesn't understand, or know how to describe.
The ork general turns to Tamric Drubine and starts explaining to him the plan of attack upon the enemy camp.
The lord Farque rolls his eyes, then quietly says in orkish "In fucking common Dorc".
Dorkindle not realising he was still speaking in his native tongue. Grunts, then he switches to the common language, and he tells the young field commander in the armies of Farque the plan of attack . . . . . .