Disputed Lands.
As dusk turns to early evening on what's been a cool, but clear autumn day here in the southern region of the disputed lands between the city-states of Phamal and Tuledare. Airships start to put down just outside of town.
And the loading of them begins, starting with the war machines of the engineering corp of the Fifth Army of Farque.
As the sections of the war machines are loaded under the watchful eye of the war engineer Tovis and his officers.
Field commander Tamric Drubine and an accompanying group make their way out of town to where the airships have put down.
"Sorry about this" says Tamric Drubine the field commander once he's alongside the commander of the engineering corp.
With a shrug of his shoulders, Tovis the war engineer says "It's okay" followed by "Someone has to be the target".
The war engineer who hails from the kingdom of Druvic, and is a few years older than the field commander, then adds "Nothing like dozens of trebuchets, catapults, scorpions and mangonels to draw out the enemy".
The young noble originally from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin, who is in command of the Fifth Army of Farque, nods in agreement with the war engineer then says "It's what they'll expect, so we'll give it to them".
Tamric Drubine or Tam as he's more commonly called by those who know him well, turns and looks at those who have followed him outside of town.
The field commander frowns in the fading light of the early evening, then he asks "Where did Dorc get to?".
"Lost hopefully, wot" says sir Percavelle Le Dic with enthusiasm, which Tam ignores after sourly smiling.
"He was following us before" says the commander of the Fifth Army of Farque, who then mutters something in the ork language that no one else here understands.
"He went into one of the taverns back there" replies Malisse aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman with a wave of a hand back in the direction of town.
"Getting drunk no doubt" dryly adds the overweight woman who is a former tavern owner in some unruled lands further to the south of the city-state of Phamal.
"Go and get him" field commander Drubine tells the woman who is really a hordes barbarian from the southern tundra by the name of Zubutai Timaginson, who just happens to inhabit the body of the former tavern owner.
"Me?" says Malisse with a snort of disbelief, who follows that with "He'll just sit there laughing at me while he continues to drink".
Before the young field commander asks anyone else, Shur Kee the monk steps forward and says "I will get friend Dorc".
Tam nods, as he realizes he should of thought of that first. As about the only person the ork warleader kind of listens to apart from himself amongst the group, is the short statured monk who is originally from the far east coast of the continent, basically the other side of the world.
The young field commander glances at Beldane the cleric and nods to him, to follow after the monk who is an honorary member of Lord Farque's personal council.
The short statured monk, followed by the powerful fighting cleric head back into town, while the rest of the group remain with field commander Drubine and the war engineer Tovis.
As the bulk of the Fifth Army of Farque and those of the Phamalian army with them, prepare to depart tonight.
Following closely behind Shur Kee the monk, Beldane the cleric wonders which tavern the large ork is in.
He wryly smiles as both he and the physical adept, can clearly see which tavern it is. As there's a group of local soldiers standing outside of the establishment.
Clearly wanting to enter and get something to drink before they depart later tonight. But something, or more correctly, someone is stopping them from entering. Most likely from their behaviour.
"Stand aside" says Beldane the cleric when Shur Kee stops behind the Phamalian soldiers, who are crowded around the open front door of the tavern.
They turn to have a look to see who spoke, and they quickly part for the acolyte in the order of Bru Li, and the fighting cleric in the church of Glaine.
"Best you lot go somewhere else if you want to get something to drink before you fly out" states Beldane the cleric who has caught a sight of what's going on inside the tavern.
"Because you're not going to get anything from here, that's for sure" adds the powerful spellcaster in a slightly dry tone of voice.
The local soldiers, who are Phamalian regulars have already come to that same conclusion, and though many of them would like to stay, they move off to find somewhere else to drink.
Whilst Shur Kee and Beldane enter the tavern, which only has the one customer this evening.
As the short statured monk from the kingdom of Wah Lee which is on the far east coast of the continent, and the fighting cleric who hails from the kingdom of Nastell, which is further north, here in the Southlands.
Come to a stop, the sole customer in the tavern ignores them as he sits in the middle of the floor, already surrounded by empty bottles of wine, liqueur, and other hard liquor.
And is now drinking from a barrel of ale, and is eating from a large skillet. Bacon and fried potatoe pieces by the looks of things.
"Friend Dorc, time to go" says Shur Kee the monk, who after a brief pause, as he looks at the alarmed looking tavern owner, and one of the servers behind the counter, adds "We will be flying out soon".
Dorc da Orc who though totally engrossed in both eating and drinking, most of the time, at the same time.
Isn't totally oblivious to what's going on, as he knows they're to leave town later tonight. Infact he knows in detail, as he helped field commander Drubine with the upcoming plans they have for the war against the city-state of Tuledare.
Just that he can't be bothered with it at the moment, and would rather be drinking and eating, throughout the entire night and into the morning if he has his way.
"Nah that's alright cunt" says Dorc da Orc, who after slurping some more ale, continues with "You cunts go on without me" followed by "Me catch up fucken laters".
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world, who is a general in the Armies of Farque then adds in a loud mutter "Me gotsa eats and drinks all the fucken shit they got here first".
The large ork briefly pauses, as from the kitchen comes another of the servers carrying a large wooden trencher, covered in cooked meats.
Predominantly sausages and rolled pork, and pork ribs, but also sides of beef. Which after the server puts down on the closest table next to the ork general, before hurrying back to the kitchen where the cook and her helpers are busy preparing more food.
As the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks goes back to eating. Alternating between the fried bacon and potatoes, and the newly arrived trencher. Where he gets stuck into the glazed ribs.
Shur Kee the monk and Beldane the cleric share a look, as they both know the warleader of the ork race can be extremely stubborn when he wants to be.
"Friend Dorc have you paid for all this?" asks the acolyte in the philosophical order of Bru Li, who knows the ork general can be more than a little forgetful when it comes to paying for things.
The big burly ork as he chews a mouthful of pork ribs, grunts and waves a big, meaty, frying pan sized hand in the direction of the tavern owner behind the counter.
Shur Kee and Beldane look that way, and see a pile of coins, some of it gold, a small fortune really. More than enough to pay for all the food and drink the tavern has, and more. Lying on the counter top in front of the tavern owner.
The physical adept and fighting cleric share another look, and while the short statured monk slightly winces, the tall man in the half plate armour mutters "Hell".
Then changing tack, Beldane speaks up "Best you come along Dorc, if not you're going to miss out on all the fighting that's bound to take place".
Now that does get the ork warleader to pause, as he's about to take another long drink. But instead he looks over at the other two, who like him, are members of the group that travels with the field commander Tamric Drubine.
The thought of missing out on any fighting, let alone battle plans that he has helped devised. Is something that Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name, doesn't want to contemplate.
But then again, he is rather hungry and thirsty. And the big burly ork, who is the son of a former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks shrugs his shoulders and goes back to eating and drinking after he tells the tavern owner "More booze cunt".
As the proprietor of the establishment, and the server behind the counter with him, tip over an unopened barrel of ale, and start rolling it around to where the warleader of the ork race is sitting in the middle of the floor.
Beldane the cleric murmurs to Shur Kee the monk "Get him outside" followed by "I'll do the rest". The powerful spellcaster then mouths the words "I'll teleport him".
The acolyte in the philosophical order of Bru Li nods in understanding, then he pauses for a moment or two as he thinks of something to get the ork weaponsmith outside.
Then the short statured monk, who is the living incarnation of the Jade Warrior Bru Li, faintly smiles to himself as he thinks of something.
After the tavern owner and the server stand the new barrel up beside him, Dorc da Orc grabs the entire trencher off the table beside him, as he intends to shovel what's left on it, into his mouth.
Just as he's lifting the large wooden trencher up towards his mouth, it's whacked out of his right hand, and the remaining cooked meats fall to the floor.
Dorkindle blinks in surprise, and murmurs "What the fuck was that?". The big burly ork from the southern polar region of the world looks to his left, and finds Shur Kee the monk standing there, holding his staff.
"Dafuck" growls the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, who couldn't care less that the remaining cooked meats is lying on the floor. He'll eat it no matter what.
But what he is annoyed about, is that it was whacked out of his hands as he was about to eat it.
The general in the Armies of Farque scowls at the short statured monk, and is just about to admonish him. Admonish ork style, means swear profusely and loudly.
But before he does, the large ork yelps and covers his left eye which has just been hit by the end of Shur Kee's staff.
"Why you fucken monkey cunt" growls the ork who was named warleader of his race by Lord Farque a number of years ago.
The big burly ork yelps again, this time more in surprise than anything, and he ducks his head just in time, to avoid the end of the physical adept's staff, which was going for his other eye.
"Dorc gonna fucken kill ya" growls the ork general, who gets up and goes after the short statured monk, who has already turned and ran.
Though the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks does briefly pause to grab the new barrel of ale beside him before he takes off after Shur Kee who has rushed outside.
The large ork totally ignores Beldane the cleric as he hurries outside after the honorary member of Lord Farque's personal council.
The powerful fighting cleric doesn't ignore the ork general, as he follows closely behind the warleader of the ork race.
Outside, Dorkindle turns left, and goes after Shur Kee who flees in that direction "Come back here ya cunt" growls the big burly ork, who follows that with "Me gonna fucken kill ya".
With the large barrel of ale tucked under one arm, and his left eye smarting from where the physical adept whacked it with his staff.
Dorc da Orc in the middle of a stride is one moment in town running down a street in the early evening light, after Shur Kee the monk.
The next moment, he's somewhere else as he completes that stride. The big burly ork from the southern polar region of the world stumbles to a stop.
"The fuck?" mutters the large ork, who after blinking a few times, continues muttering with "Fucken magics".
Dorkindle grunts, then with a scowl upon his broad green brutish looking face, he turns around when he hears Tamric Drubine the field commander say "Dorc get over here, we're about to leave soon".
Seeing that he's outside of town, and standing near a pair of airships, one of which is a Krean strikeship.
Dorc da Orc with a sour expression upon his feral looking face, walks over to where some of the others in the group, including Tamric Drubine are standing.
Rubbing his sore left eye with one hand, while carrying the full unopened ale barrel tucked under his other arm.
The large ork whilst muttering to himself in his native language, makes his way over to where field commander Drubine and some of the others are waiting to board the Krean strikeship.
On this cool, turning to cold, early evening here in the southern region of the disputed lands between the city-states of Phamal and Tuledare . . . . . .
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