Disputed Lands.
"I've got squads all throughout there" says Lisell Maera the scout commander as she points at the illusion spell cast by a Krean navigator.
The spell, which is an overhead map on the table, is zoomed in on the southern border region of the city-state of Tuledare.
"Some would of moved northwards by now to infiltrate their army" adds the Farqian scout commander, who continues with "Especially if the royal thief has got in contact with them".
The field commander Tamric Drubine who is on the other side of the large table, nods his head in agreement with Lisell Maera, or Lis as she's more commonly called by those who know her well.
"Dalin or his highness will get in contact with them when they get to the capital city" adds the scout commander, who in her early twenties, is of a similar age as the field commander.
The young field commander, who leads the Farqian Fifth Army looks around at those in attendance of the early morning strategy meeting, then he frowns.
"Where the hell is Dorc?" asks Tamric Drubine the field commander, who then mutters "I sent that runner to get him a while ago".
The field commander, who is noble born, originally hails from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin. Also sent Beldane the cleric and sir Percavelle Le Dic to go and find the ork warleader. Who is a general in the Armies of Farque.
"I wanted to send him off to check on the progress of Tovis and his companies" quietly says Tamric Drubine referring to the war engineer and his corp.
The young Fifth Army commander glances over at his partner Saanea the witch. The spellcaster from near the coast of the Southlands. The Maldin Hills to be exact. Who slightly nods to indicate she'll try and locate the big, burly ork.
Tamric Drubine or Tam as he's more often than not, referred to by those who know him well. Then looks away to his right, to the figure standing at that end of the table, and asks "Zam how goes things with the Phamal regulars?".
The ex mercenary who hails from The City Of Ruins, sourly smiles, then commander Zam tells the field commander "As well as can be I guess" followed by "At least they're following my orders".
Zam, who is in his early twenties too, then says in a dry tone of voice "It would certainly be a lot easier if his highness was here to deal with them".
The ex mercenary continues with "Some of those in their military command were put in place by their ruling council at the outset of this war" he then adds "They don't have any experience at all when it comes warfare".
Field commander Drubine grunts when he hears that, as he figured as much when he himself has met with some of those in command of Phamalian army.
"Just as long as they keep following orders, and doing what we tell them to do, then things will be fine" says the noble born field commander, who was given his rank over six years ago now, when he was just seventeen.
Commander Zam sourly smiles as he hopes so. Though he wishes the elven envoy, prince Helbenthril Raendril was here to deal with Phamalian army commanders. Well, those ones with little to no experience. Who were given their commission for political reasons.
Tam is just about to look at his lover Saanea the witch to see if she's located general Dorc. When he notices the Krean navigator frowning as he looks towards an open window. Here in the common room of the inn that the field commander is using as his headquarters building.
"What is it?" the commander of the Fifth Army of Farque asks the spellcaster from the Krean Protectorate, which lies in the northern mountains of the Lands Farque.
"Er?" replies the Krean navigator, whose dragon like facial features can best be described as wincing at this time.
Just then, Tam along with everyone else gathered around the large table in the common room of the inn, hears shouting and yelling from outside.
After a moment some of the voices out on the streets in this part of the town, are easily recognizable to those who know them.
"The fuck?" mutters field commander Drubine, while across the table, Lisell Maera sourly smiles, then says "What the hell have that lot been up to?" followed by "No good by the sounds of it".
The commander of the Fifth Army of Farque looks over at his partner the witch from the Maldin Hills, who just rolls her eyes, and dryly says "You don't want to know".
Just then, Shur Kee the monk comes running in through the open front door of the inn, and enters the common room.
He's quickly followed by a near breathless Beldane the cleric, and a few moments later. A heavily breathing sir Percavelle Le Dic runs into the common room from outside.
The nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic, who has the visor of his full helm up at the moment. Might be sucking in air to get back his breath, but he's smiling from ear to ear as he does so.
"Who would of thought that fat green demon could move so quickly, wot" says a near out of breath sir Percavelle Le Dic.
As a loud roar, clearly one of anger can be heard out on the streets in front of the inn. The young noble who hails from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin asks "Where's that runner I sent?".
"He was smart" says Beldane the cleric as he gets his breath back, the powerful spellcaster in the half plate armour then dryly adds "He ran".
The former paladin, sir Percavelle chuckles as he quickly closes the front door of the inn, and places the bar plank he finds on the floor, into the iron holders across the back of the heavy door.
The innkeeper who was sitting near the door, is just about to protest, when the former Earl of Le Dic tells him "I say good chap, I'd run away if I was you" followed by a quick "Wot".
And before the innkeeper can ask why, the large heavily armoured knight tells him "The ork". The proprietor of the inn quickly gets up, and runs upstairs as he doesn't want to be anywhere near what's coming.
Sir Percavelle Le Dic or Percy as he's more commonly called by those who know him well, hurries further into the common room, and goes around the large table to stand beside field commander Drubine.
Looking sideways at the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic, Tamric Drubine sourly smiles before saying in a dry tone "Let me guess, you did something to him?".
The former paladin who is a member of the order of Saint Mar-che guffaws, and the young field commander dryly says "I take that as a yes".
As from just outside the inn, a loud roar is followed by a loud voice yelling "Where's that fucken knight cunt?!".
The front door of the inn then bursts open, the thick solid bar being no impediment to the kick it just received, as the shattered door goes flying off it's hinges.
Then an angry looking, well more angry looking than usual, Dorc da Orc ducks down and enters through the open door.
Once inside, the seven and a half foot tall, near eight hundred pound ork warleader stands up to his full height as he spots his arch rival the noble born knight from the kingdom of Druvic.
"You fucken dead ya cunt" growls the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks as he points at Percy standing next to Tamric Drubine.
The big, burly ork who is originally from the southern polar region of the world, goes to take a hammer from the many on his weapon harness that's strapped all across his body.
But the large ork has to pause, and wipe his face as water runs down it from his bedraggled and drenched looking dreadlock topknot.
"Eeewwww gross" loudly mutters the ork warleader who is a general in the Armies of Farque.
While sir Percavelle Le Dic sniggers, and next to him, the young field commander who is in charge of the Fifth Army of Farque just rolls his eyes as he quickly, and correctly figures out what's happened.
Then as a growling Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name. Though not his full name, as that's way, way longer than that.
Stomps his way across the common room floor with murderous intent in his already crazed eyes, as he's finally taken a hammer from his weapon harness.
And sir Percavelle has quickly taken a hammer and pick axe from his belt and stepped back to give himself room.
Field commander Drubine after sourly smiling, says "Dorc calm down, and put that hammer away" quickly followed by "Percy put those weapons back, that's an order".
The nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic lifts a rather skeptical looking eyebrow, before he says "Er that's alright young Tam, I'll just keep a hold of them for now, wot".
As it's fairly obvious the warleader of the ork race has no intention of returning the hammer he's holding back to it's place on his weapon harness as he makes his way across the common room to the large table.
"Dorc cakl kar ogahar" says Tamric Drubine in orkish, a language few outside the ork race know. It's one of the advantages or depending on your point of view, disadvantages. The field commander had in growing up from a very young age, with Dorkindle for lack of better words, as one of his carer's. Who helped raise him.
The overall commander of the Fifth Army of Farque basically told the ork weaponsmith to stop it, more or less.
The actual literal translation being "Dorc cunt, don't, not". As the ork language tends to be both colourful and basic, almost blunt to a fault.
Seeing that the big, burly ork from the wolf tribe of orks isn't going to listen to the young field commander.
The noble originally from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin, looks quickly at his lover the witch Saanea. To get her to cast something to stop the large ork in his tracks.
The attractive looking spellcaster from the Maldin Hills near the coast of the Southlands, doesn't have to as somebody else, or to be more precise, something else intervenes.
As he stomps his way across the common room towards the large table, on the other side of which stands his target sir Percavelle Le Dic.
Dorc da Orc who briefly contemplates throwing the hammer at the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic. But thinks better of it. As he might hit Tamric Drubine. But more importantly, he wants to grab his arch rival and have the satisfaction of holding him in an unbreakable grip as he whacks him to a bloody pulp.
Spots something out of the corner of his eye as others scatter out of his way, as no way in hell they want to get in his way.
The large ork, who is the son of a former matriarch of his tribe, the wolf tribe. Tries to ignore it as he's pretty sure what it is. Infact the ork warleader knows exactly what it is, as he can clearly smell it.
A grimace appears on the feral looking face of the ork weaponsmith as something rather large, even bigger than him, moves in one of the corners of the common room.
Everybody looks that way, after a slight growl, followed by a few soft barks come from that corner of the common room.
Dorkindle who would like nothing better to do than continue on his way, grab his arch rival sir Percavelle Le Dic and beat him to a bloody death.
Comes to a stop and mutters "He not fucken here is he?". Before he repeatedly sniffs and looks around as he tries to locate someone.
The ork general in the Armies of Farque almost breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn't find who he was scenting for.
Instead the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world, turns and looks at the massive form of one of the Farqian wardogs in the corner, which has stood up from where it was lying down, and is now looking directly at him.
The warleader of the ork race, who clearly smells it's one of the cold smelling wardogs, scowls then says in his native language to the figure sitting on the bench next to the massive canine that weighs twice as much as the large ork "Varn cakl".
"Varn cakl" replies the senior wardog handler Jessup, giving the traditional ork greeting back to Dorc da Orc. The traditional greeting being, hey cunt.
The undead being, who like Hammer the undead wardog beside him, clears his throat and tells Dorkindle in orkish that he best listen to field commander Drubine. Obviously what he says involved way more swearing than that.
And the ork weaponsmith gets the gist of it, and sourly smiles after Hammer softly barks at him, before the massive animal lies back down and yawns.
The large ork still has the sour look on his broad, green, brutish looking face as he returns the hammer he's holding back to his weapon harness.
Though only after sir Percavelle Le Dic returns his weapons back to his belt, when Tamric Drubine once again orders him to.
There's a brief moments silence in the common room, and just before Dorc da Orc goes to say something about how he's going to kill his arch rival.
The back door of the inn opens, and a figure walks into the common room from that direction. It's a woman. A rather large woman. Standing nearly six foot tall. Who one would almost say is obese. Though there's no denying it, she's definitely fat.
After the silence, the ork warleader bursts out laughing and points at the new arrival. "Ahahaha fucken look at you!" says the large ork as tears of laughter start to flow down his feral looking face.
Wiping his face, the ork general in the Armies of Farque after more laughter adds "Pretendy Zubu" . . . . . .
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