Soldier Of Gods 38.

Tuledare. 

Dorc da Orc to say the least, is bored as they walk the streets of the city of Tuledare, on what's a cold autumn morning. Though not nearly cold enough in the opinion of the large ork. 

As this weather would even be warm for the middle of summer in the southern polar region, where he's originally from. 

The big burly individual from the Wolf tribe of orks, who had a little bit of fun during the middle of the night, when he deposed of a dwarf that was staying at the Traveler's Comfort inn. 

Others wouldn't describe it as deposed. They would call it murder. But in the opinion of the ork warleader, he was doing the world a favour. Getting rid of another dwarf, who are a totally despicable race in the opinion of Dorc da Orc or any ork for that matter, is perfectly fine . 

The large ork who is a general in the Armies of Farque wouldn't mind finding another dwarf to murder. I mean, get rid of. 

But alas, he can't smell any others in this part of the city of Tuledare, as they head towards the city center. 

The son of a former matriarch of the Wolf tribe of orks, spotted a halfling a little earlier. But since the hobbit didn't cross his path, the big burly ork didn't see the need to go after it, and kill it. 

Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name, not that anyone here calls him that. Dorkindle is only part of his name, which is far too long and complicated to discuss at this particular time in events. 

Couldn't be bothered chasing after a hobbit to kill it, the seven and a half foot tall ork, who weighs over seven hundred and fifty pounds. Is of the, less is more mentality when it comes to killing halflings. 

The less he has to do to kill them, the more enjoyable it is. 

Chasing after one is just a waste of time in the opinion of the big burly ork from the southern polar region of the world. 

Dorkindle who briefly stopped at a bakery that was open, when a fair few of the places of business they've passed this morning have remained closed. 

The large ork would of stayed in the bakery all morning if Shur Kee the monk hadn't come back to get him. 

The warleader of the ork race was going to be his usual stubborn self, and stay in the bakery, a fine establishment if Dorkindle had ever seen one. 

But the short statured monk convinced him otherwise, by mentioning that a confrontation was imminent when they turned up to their destination this morning. 

Though Shur Kee had to explain to the large ork exactly what a confrontation was. By plainly telling him that it was a fight. 

A fight that he would miss out on if he stayed in the bakery. But more importantly, a fight that the ork weaponsmith's arch rival, sir Percavelle Le Dic would clearly be involved in. 

Something that the general in the Armies of Farque couldn't let happen. His bitter rival the former paladin, in a fight he wasn't involved in. 

In the opinion of Dorc da Orc, that's something that should never be allowed to happen. Not to mention, he'd like to see the nobleman originally from the kingdom of Druvic get killed in a fight they're both involved in. Preferably by him, though he mustn't let any of the others see him do that. 

Dorkindle know he'll never hear the end of it if he killed sir Percavelle Le Dic and it was witnessed by someone else in the group. 

So now the big burly ork from the southern polar region of the world, is walking at the back of the group. Munching on pastries, a large box of which he purchased from the bakery he stopped at. 

While Shur Kee the monk, the honorary member of Lord Farque's personal council, keeps a close eye on him. 

Making sure the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks doesn't wander off, when he thinks no one else is watching him. 

With a couple of cream puffs stuffed in his mouth, and another one on it's way. The ork weaponsmith who clearly isn't paying attention to what's going on. 

Frowns when he hears his name being mentioned by Tamric Drubine the field commander, who is at the front of the group, walking with Saanea the witch and Beldane the cleric. 

The ork warleader frowns even deeper when he hears field commander Drubine say something about him in line to the fighting cleric, Beldane. 

"Line?" mutters Dorc da Orc spitting pastry everywhere as he does so "Line fucking what?". 

The large ork who is now scowling as he looks at those in the lead. Clearly didn't hear Tamric Drubine or Tam as he is more commonly called by those who know him well, tell Beldane the cleric to keep Dorc da Orc in line. 

The general in the Armies of Farque also sees the powerful cleric in the church of Glaine gesture up at the sky above the city, and quietly say "They are" and "I am". 

In response to the young field commander quietly ask him "Are they watching us?" as well as "Are you in contact with them?". 

With a scowl upon his broad green brutish looking face, and mouth still stuffed with cream filled pastries he's yet to properly chew. 

The big burly ork from the southern polar region of the world, looks upwards into the sky on this cold autumn morning here in the city of Tuledare. 

Dorkindle grunts when he spots a Krean warship high in the sky, so far up, that he can see, but no human would be able to see. 

The large ork is pretty sure the small, sleek looking mastless vessel is slowly moving, keeping pace with the group on the ground as they head towards the center of the capital of the city-state of Tuledare. 

The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, almost stubbles when he looks back down, as the group walks out of the street they're on, and into another of the massive squares here in this part of the city. 

This one is the largest square in Tuledare, Foundation Square. Not that the ork warleader knows this. 

But he comes to a stop, as in front of him, the others have also stopped as they step out onto the southwest corner of the massive square. 

Dorc da Orc remembers he's actually got food in his mouth, and finally chews the remains of the cream pastries, and swallows them. 

Then the large ork looks across the massive square, to where the others are looking, the northern end of Foundation Square. 

There stands the impressive looking building, with a round dome, that is the main building of the ruling council of Tuledare, a building also known by it's other name, the council chambers. 

The general in the Armies of Farque grunts when he sees a lot of people around and on the massive steps in front of the council chambers. 

Dorkindle doesn't even have to sniff to catch the scent of so many spellcasters in one place. He can pretty much see that a lot of those gathered in front of the main building of the ruling council of the city-state of Tuledare, are practitioners of magic. 

As those at the front of the group quickly discuss something, Dorc da Orc looks at those closest to him, and asks "What we fucken doing?". 

Zam the ex mercenary looks back at him, and just shakes his head, before looking forward again. While Shur Kee the monk just stands there with his eyes closed, as if he's meditating. Which he is. 

The warleader of the ork race scowls at the short statured monk. A scowl that deepens when his arch rival sir Percavelle Le Dic looks back at the large ork. 

After a loudly muttered "Filthy green demon" from sir Percavelle Le Dic, and a response of "Fucken knight cunt" from the ork weaponsmith. 

Dorkindle scoffs, then chuckles, and finally giggles in a high tone, well high at least for an ork, which sounds like a giant, growling bumble bee. 

When Malisse aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman looks back at him, with a disapproving look upon her face. 

The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks can't help but laugh everytime he looks at the current predicament that Zubutai Timaginson finds himself in. 

Once the member of Lord Farque's personal council looks ahead again. And the big burly ork from the southern polar region of the world finally stops laughing. 

The large ork looks at some of the others who have come along with the group on this cold autumn morning, here in the city of Tuledare. 

And though most of them are from Tamric Drubine's staff, including his adjuncts and his personal guards. 

Dorkindle spots his adjunct, after all he is a general in the Armies of Farque, and has a staff of his own. 

Not that he uses them much. Which is fine by them. As they can get their jobs done a lot more easily without any interaction with their boss. 

"Hey cunt" says Dorc da Orc to his adjunct, who he can never remember his name. The big burly ork can't remember a lot of names. In fact, he can't tell a lot of humans apart, as a lot of them all look the same to him. 

"What we fucken doing here?" adds the ork weaponsmith who has spent more of his life outside of his homeland, The Ork Range. Than he has in it. 

"We're going to see if they'll surrender, general" says the black clad, and armoured adjunct, who is a commander in the Armies of Farque. 

"That's if we can find anyone of importance to surrender to us" adds the adjunct as the group gets underway again. 

Dorkindle grunts as they start heading across the massive square, making their way to the north side of Foundation Square. 

The large ork listens in on what those in the front of the group are saying. One of the advantages of his race, is his enhanced hearing. Allowing him to hear what others wouldn't normally be able to hear. 

Though this is only beneficial if he actually pays attention. Which most of the time he doesn't, as he's got other things on his mind most of the time. 

Like right now, as he goes to listen what Tamric Drubine and Beldane the cleric are discussing. He's also taking the last of the pastries from the box he's carrying. 

Pay attention you fat fucken cunt, Dorc da Orc thinks to himself, the large ork silently adds, shut the fuck up you nasty old whore!

The ork warleader hears the voice of his Mother snort in derision as he scowls at her large skull that is tied to his belt. 

Then after stuffing the last of the pastries into his mouth, and biffing the box away. The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks goes back to listening to what those at the front of the group are talking about. 

"If he gets to be too much trouble, just send him away" is what Tamric Drubine the field commander is quietly saying to Beldane the cleric. 

"Don't want him killing someone we actually want to talk too" quietly adds the young noble originally from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin, who is in overall command of the Fifth Army of Farque.

Who are fighting on behalf of the city-state of Phamal in their war against the city-state of Tuledare. 

"Will do" says Beldane the cleric as they head across the massive square to where the main building of the ruling council of Tuledare is located. 

Dorc da Orc wonders who the young field commander and the fighting cleric in the church of Glaine are talking about. When it is infact him, the two of them discussing on this cold autumn morning here in the capital city of Tuledare . . . . . .