The City Of Vexil.
"Leave them" says Lord Farque when they turn into a narrow street in the north quarter of the city of Vexil.
"I said leave them" adds the undead warlord who briefly pauses, then reaches out and grabs Dorc da Orc by the back of the large ork's weapon harness, and hauls him back to be beside Beldane the cleric and the lord and ruler of the Lands Farque.
The ork warleader scowls as he's nearly yanked off his feet, he scowls again as he sees the pair of halflings he was just about to go after.
Head into a nearby lane, where they disappear from view. Though the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world can still smell them.
And to his sense of smell, the halflings or hobbits as they're sometimes called, smell disgusting to the ork who is a general in the Armies of Farque.
Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name, despises the halfling race because of the simple fact that they're short.
And all orks are of the opinion that anyone that short can't be trusted, and should be killed. Though a lot of that has to do with the ork race hate of the dwarven race, the mortal enemy of ork kind.
And the fact that hobbits are more or less around the same height as dwarves. Then they should be killed in the opinion of Dorkindle, and for that matter, all orks think this.
The weaponsmith who is from the wolf tribe of orks, sighs as Lord Farque hauls him a bit further down the narrow street before letting him go.
"Can't even kill some fucken hobbitches" mutters Dorc da Orc as he follows the undead warlord and the fighting cleric as they make their way through the streets of this part of the city.
It's around dusk, and the trio who arrived in the city of Vexil after midday, by way of a gateway cast by Beldane the cleric. Are heading to an inn, where they'll be meeting someone.
"Stop your complaining cunt" quietly says the lord and ruler of the Lands Farque to the trailing ork warleader. Who sourly smiles as he looks at the large human in the full suit of plate armour walking in front of him.
The big burly ork from the southern polar region of the world doesn't even get any satisfaction from a group of people who hurry to the other side of the street when they catch sight of him.
He just sighs as he follows behind the lord of the death realm and the cleric who is a member of the church of Glaine.
Lord Farque, who also has the name of Draugodrottin that the people of his lands know him by.
Gestures to a street up ahead, and in the fading light of dusk, on what's a cold and windy day here in the capitol city. Though it's a lot warmer than in the hill country of northern Vexil. Also, it's yet to snow here in the city of Vexil, compared to up in the north of the city-state.
The trio round the corner, and Beldane the cleric quietly says "There it is, up ahead" followed by "On the right there".
The lord and ruler of the Lands Farque, who has the elven name of Des'tier, which translates to The Destroyer, nods his full helmed head as they walk to the inn up ahead.
"Who the fuck we meeting again?" asks Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name, as he suddenly brightens up at the prospect of booze when they get to the inn. Not to mention all the food they've probably got in the establishment.
"Someone" is all that Draugodrottin replies with, which earns a grunt from the weaponsmith who is part of the wolf tribe of orks.
The three of them, the undead warlord, the fighting cleric and the ork warleader enter the inn. Which they see is one of the finer inns to be found, not just in this quarter of the capital city, but also right across the city of Vexil.
And though the innkeeper blanches at the sight of the large ork following the two armed and armoured humans.
He does lead them to a private room when the deathlord of Farque asks for one. Though the pair of private rooms have no doors, and open up to the main dining room. They do offer more than adequate privacy.
The lord and ruler of the Lands Farque and the powerful cleric from the kingdom of Nastell sit at the table, while Dorkindle sits on the floor near Lord Farque. As the chairs are far too small, and weak to hold him.
Then after the trio order, with the large ork ordering pretty much everything there is to eat and drink in the inn.
Des'tier quietly says to the fighting cleric sitting to his right "He'll be here soon" followed by "He's nearing the inn".
After sensing out from the inn, the powerful cleric nods his head as he feels a mage approaching the inn on foot.
"Met him before?" quietly asks Beldane the cleric as he senses the mage they're waiting for getting closer and closer to the inn.
The undead being whose lands are far away to the south, shakes his head no, then quietly says "All of them in the family are pretty easy to get along with".
The lord of the death realm briefly pauses before he continues in a dry tone of voice with "Well, except for his cousin we have to fucking put up with".
The powerful practitioner of magic who hails from the north of the kingdom of Nastell, briefly grins at that.
Then after their drinks arrive, including a large barrel of dark ale for the ork general in the Armies of Farque.
The fighting cleric and the deathlord of Farque sense the mage they're waiting for, enter the inn through the front door.
"Your guest sir" says the innkeeper who stands at the entrance to the private dining room. The undead warlord nods his full helmed head, and the innkeeper steps aside, allowing a man to enter the private room.
After their guest takes a seat opposite the deathlord of Farque and the fighting cleric, the lord of the death realm says in a slightly dry tone of voice "I was expecting someone a bit more dramatic".
Nodding his head in agreement with the lord and ruler of the Lands Farque, Beldane the cleric says "Same" followed by "At least a black cloak of some kind".
"You lot have been hanging out with my cousin for far too long" says the mage with a grin upon his face.
He's in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. And there's a slight resemblance to another member of the group not present at the moment in the city of Vexil. But with the others in the hill country in the north of the city-state.
"Lucky for you lot" dryly adds the mage who was born and raised here in the capitol city of Vexil.
That earns a chuckle from Beldane the cleric, and a brief smile behind the visor of Draugodrottin's full helm.
"You would be Beldane then" says the local spellcaster, who like all mages, is extremely powerful in magic.
After the fighting cleric nods his head, the mage continues with "And you Lord Farque" and with a glance at the ork warleader on the floor, ignoring the conversation at the table, he adds "And Dorc da Orc".
The undead warlord nods his full helmed head, then says "Calmond Reinholt" followed by "We've been expecting you".
The lord of the death realm shakes the offered hand of the mage, one of the younger cousins of Mira Reinholt the mage.
Then after Beldane the cleric shakes the hand of the local Vexilian practitioner of magic, they fall silent as servers enter the room, bringing in food and more drinks, primarily for the ork warleader who has already made a sizeable dent in the barrel of dark ale he's got.
After the servers leave, Des'tier snaps his fingers, and points to a spot right in front of the open doorway.
Dorkindle grunts, then scoots along the floor to the spot the large, heavily armoured deathlord has pointed to.
The big, burly ork does all of this while carrying a large wooden platter of meat, as well as pushing the open barrel he's drinking from.
After the lord and ruler of the Lands Farque says something in orkish to general Dorc, and the large ork replies with something in the same language, though it's muffled as he has a mouthful of food.
Draugodrottin asks the mage Reinholt sitting opposite him "Can you speak elven at all?".
"I can't" is the reply of Calmond Reinholt, who like pretty much all of his extended family, has dark hair, and lean facial features.
And like pretty much all mages, isn't particularly interested in learning other languages.
"Put a silence spell around the room" says lord Farque in the elven language to the fighting cleric sitting beside him .
"And read his mind to see if he's telling the truth or not" adds the large heavily armoured deathlord of Farque in the same language.
The member of the church of Glaine nods, then after he casts the silence spell, the mage Reinholt says to him "Expecting someone listening in?"..
"You can never be too careful" says Beldane the cleric in the common language, who after a slight pause, tells the powerful practitioner of magic on the other side of the table "Sorry about this".
"What?" says Calmond Reinholt, who then sourly smiles as he senses what's been cast by the powerful cleric upon him.
"You know my uncle told me to fully cooperate with you" dryly says the mage Reinholt, who is one of a number of spellcasters in the extended family who are mages.
In fact, the Reinholt family has a proportionally high number of mages. Even for a family as large as theirs.
And though just like a lot of families where magic runs through the bloodlines. The ability to cast skips a generation here and there.
Not this current generation in the extended Reinholt family of Vexil. Starting with Mira Reinholt the oldest of the current generation, who is his forties.
There's a total of five mages in the extended Reinholt family, an unusually high number of mages. Who though the most powerful of the human spellcasters, are also the rarest of the human practitioners of magic.
"Like Beldane said, you can never be too careful" says Lord Farque, after the mage sitting on the opposite side of table nods.
The undead warlord says to mage Reinholt "So your uncle tells me you have an interest in politics?" followed by "Here in Vexil?".
Calmond Reinholt nods his head in reply and says "I do" as he takes a sip of wine from the glass in front of him, he then adds "What of it".
Draugodrottin is silent for a moment or two as he stares at the local spellcaster, then he says "What can you tell me about the members of the mage council of Vexil?" . . . . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment