Soldier Of Gods 47.

Tuledare 

It's with a maniacal laugh, that Dorc da Orc goes running around the corner into the next hallway. 

As he runs he blinks in surprise, then Dorc da Orc yelps "Fuck!". As sir Percavelle Le Dic, who is all flailing arms and legs, comes flying at the large ork. 

Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name, ducks to one side, and by the grace of the gods. Though it's more by just dumb luck. 

The nobleman originally from the kingdom of Druvic passes by the big burly ork who hails from the southern polar region of the world. 

The ork general looks back, and chortles in glee as his bitter rival goes flying by, before hitting the floor a further thirty feet back, where he lands with a thud and groans. 

The warleader of the ork race, who is still chortling as he runs, looks ahead again, glad that his bitter rival is incapacitated at the moment. 

Then a crossbow bolt slams into the large ork's face, directly into his right cheek and mouth. As one of the mercenaries who was able to recover quicker than the others, shot a bolt at the ork weaponsmith. 

And though his head briefly snapped back, and he momentarily hisses in pain. Dorkindle continues running down the hallway. 

More determined than he previously was, as the steel bolt in his face is just an annoyance to him. While it would just about kill anyone else. 

The ork general in the Armies of Farque leaps over a hole in the floor, caused by one of the explosions from when the now dead sorcerer's traps were set off. 

Dorc da Orc feels something shoot by him, and the crossbowman who shot him, and is quickly trying to reload his weapon. 

Is knocked back with force, by the steel bolt sticking out of his chest. A bolt shot from Dalinvardèl Tanith the elven spy's crossbow. 

As the spy originally from the elven principality of Alínlae, has walked out into the hallway. And is busy reloading his own weapon. 

The warleader who is from the wolf tribe of orks, in fact he's the son of the former matriarch of his tribe. 

Who he killed during a fight. Which was only fair, as she was doing her damn best to kill him at the time. 

Leaps over another of the larger holes in the floor caused by one of the explosions from earlier, due to the sorcerer's traps being triggered. 

And with the maniacal laugh of the big burly ork just getting louder and louder, he takes a throwing axe from the front of his weapon harness. 

Then Dorc da Orc shouts "Get some!" as he runs into the remaining mercenaries, who are backing up as the large ork runs at them. 

The ork general in the Armies of Farque unleashes absolute havoc amongst the remaining mercenaries. 

Here in one of the long hallways, on the west side of the large circular building that houses the ruling council of Tuledare, in the center of the city on what's been a cold autumn morning. 

"He'll be fine" says Dalinvardèl Tanith the elven spy with barely a glance at the groaning sir Percavelle Le Dic who is nearby, and is trying to sit up. 

Saanea the witch, who like the spy Tanith has stepped out into the hallway, glances over at the large, heavily armoured knight to see if he's okay. 

And she nods in agreement with the assessment from the elven spy who is a commander in the Armies of Farque. 

Then the attractive looking spellcaster who hails from the Maldin Hills, looks down the long hallway and releases the spell she's just cast. 

A pair of the mercenaries in the act of attacking Dorc da Orc, are flung backwards after they're hit by wooden stakes that have suddenly appeared in front of them, moving at speed. 

The large ork who was about to spin around to attack the pair, grunts when he sees them on the floor, dead with the wooden stakes through them. 

Instead, the ork warleader throws the axe he's holding, which slams into the face of another of the mercenaries. 

That particular individual's head explodes from the force of the thrown axe. And his headless body drops to the floor. 

As it does, a growling Dorc da Orc grabs another of the mercenaries, and with one hand, throws the man at another of the mercenaries, here at this end of the long hallway. 

The big burly ork from the southern polar region of the world yells "Get some ya cunts!". As this time he takes a hammer, from the myriad of weapons he has on his harness and belts. 

Stepping out around the corner behind his lover Saanea the witch, Tamric Drubine the field commander looks down to the other end, and grunts at what he sees. 

Then he spares a glance at sir Percavelle Le Dic, who has sat up, flipped open the faceplate of his full helm, and is sitting there in the middle of the floor, breathing heavily. 

"He going to be okay?" asks Tamric Drubine the field commander meaning sir Percavelle Le Dic, or Percy as he's more commonly called by those in the group who travel together. 

"Fine" replies Saanea the witch who is internally debating if she should cast another spell at the mercenaries at the other end of the hallway. 

For the simple reason, Dorc da Orc is handling the remaining mercenaries fairly easily on his own. Cutting them down if they get too close. Or killing them if they try to flee through the now open doorway, as the doors themselves have basically been destroyed. 

Dalinvardèl Tanith or Dalin as he's more commonly called by those who know him well, shoots off another quarrel from his crossbow. 

This time the bolt thuds into the back of one the mercenaries, who has turned and was fleeing through the open doorway at the other end of the long hallway. 

As that particular mercenary drops to the floor, the elven spy originally from the principality of Alínlae, where he once served in one of the more prominent noble houses of his homeland. 

Reloads his weapon and says to the young field commander who is in charge of the Phamalian forces in the war against the city-state of Tuledare "Probably best if we get down there". 

The spy Tanith continues with "Don't want Dorc entering those rooms and start killing those we're actually here to see". 

"Good idea" says Tamric Drubine or Tam as more often than not he's called by those who know him well. 

Then the young field commander who is originally from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin, turns and says to his staff and the others "Let's go". 

He follows that with "And someone see to Percy" as he gestures at the former paladin, the commander of the Fifth Army of Farque continues with "Get him to his feet". 

Dalinvardèl Tanith along with Saanea the witch and Tamric Drubine start making their way down the long hallway. 

They're followed by Beldane the cleric, after the fighting cleric helps sir Percavelle Le Dic up off the floor. 

And though the large heavily armoured knight who is a member of the order of The Knights of Saint Mar-che is a little unsteady on his feet. 

He accompanies Shur Kee the monk down the long hallway. 

Followed by the rest of field commander Drubine's staff, and the infiltration squad led by Maiya Garney the lead scout. 

Meanwhile at the other end of the long hallway, Dorc da Orc is battling the last of the mercenary company. 

Those brave enough to actually fight him. As no one really wants to fight a seven and a half foot tall ork, who weighs in excess of seven hundred and fifty pounds. 

Dorkindle grabs one of the remaining mercenaries by the throat, and picks him up, and lifts him up, before driving him head first into the floor. 

Smashing his skull apart, splattering brains everywhere as the mercenary's head is driven into the floor. 

Not that the mercenary wasn't already dead, as his throat was already crushed when the ork warleader picked him up. 

Then with an underhand throw, the big burly ork who is a general in the Armies of Farque, flings the hammer he's holding in one hand. 

It slams into the back of a fleeing mercenary, breaking the man's spine. Who falls forward, screaming in pain. Knocking over another of the mercenary company, who was attempting to flee through the open doorway. 

Dorkindle picks up his axe he threw earlier, and grunts as he glances over his shoulder, and spots the others heading this way. 

The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, scowls when he spots his bitter rival sir Percavelle Le Dic is up, and with the others heading this way. 

Though the former paladin does look to be a little unsteady on his feet, after going flying back through the air when the now dead sorcerer hit the shield of Saint Mar-che with a destructive spell. 

Dorc da Orc looks ahead again, then moves forward, and stomps on the back of one of the mercenaries, who is injured and trying to crawl away. 

"Got ya cunt" growls the large ork who was named warleader of his race a number of years ago by Lord Farque. 

Then he frowns as he realizes that he sounds a little muffled as he speaks. And it's not until he stands there, and Tamric Drubine walks up to him from behind, and comes to a stop next to him and points at his face and says "In your face there Dorc". 

That the big burly ork from the southern polar region of the world remembers that he has a crossbow bolt sticking out of the side of his face. 

Dorc da Orc briefly hisses in pain after he bites the steel bolt in half, then pulls out the back half of the bolt from his face, which is followed by the front half, which he spits out of his mouth with a fair bit of blood. 

In mere moments the advantages of Dorkindle's race kicks in. And the wound in his face begins to heal. As his naturally fast healing abilities take effect. 

The hole in the side of his face will be completely closed later in the day, in the early evening. And by tomorrow at around this time in the morning, there'll hardly be a scar on the right cheek of the ork warleader. And by tomorrow night, there'll be no scar at all. And you wouldn't even know the large ork had been shot in the face by a crossbow bolt this morning. 

Dorc da Orc looks down at Tamric Drubine who says "In we go" as he gestures at the open doorway in front of them. 

The large ork who is about to move forward, grunts and stays put, when the young field commander says "Not you first Dorc". 

The young noble originally from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin, then says "Dalin and Beldane will lead the way" . . . . . .