Wonderful 36.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

"Farque?" says Mira Reinholt the mage who bends down and shakes the armoured right shoulder of the still form of the lord and ruler of the lands Farque. Well he tries to shake it, because the undead warlord doesn't move.
"Farque" repeats the once powerful mage, who attempts to shake the still form of the heavily armoured deathlord again, and again has no such luck "You alive?" adds the Vexilian mage in exile, who instantly realises that if there was even an idiotic question he has even asked in his life, that was it.
A groan comes from large, heavily armoured figure on the ground, then lord Farque dryly says "No" followed by "I'm dead you fucking idiot" Mira Reinholt stands back up, and for some reason, him asking such a stupid question, and the dry humour of the deathlord of Farque's reply, seems extremely funny to the once powerful mage, who bursts out laughing.
"Ah fuck" says the laughing spellcaster who is holding onto his stomach, the mage from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands who feels an intense pressure upon his bladder as he laughs, is able to get out "I need a piss" before he wonders off to take a leak, with tears running down his face from laughing so hard.
After taking a piss, and after finishing laughing, Mira Reinholt returns to where lord Farque is, the undead warlord is sitting up, turning his head from side to side, as he mutters away to himself in another language the exiled Vexilian mage doesn't understand.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster looks down into the valley as he hears a loud roar from down there, and he sees a wide swathe of trees burst into flames, and he spots the dragon rear up over the burning trees and roar out something in it's own language, before dropping back down out of sight.
"Well that dragon is annoyed about something" says the mage Reinholt as he stops beside the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, the spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, then adds in a dry tone "Well, apart from you beating the shit out of it".
"You" says the deathlord of Farque who is also known as Draugadrottin to the people of his lands faraway to the south on the otherside of the equator "Huh?" says the swordmaster Reinholt who then adds "What do you mean me?".
"It doesn't like other practitioners of magic in it's range" says the undead warlord who continues with "The only reason it suffers to have that scholar Neidegratsyn in this part of the principality, is because Neidegratsyn hardly, if ever casts anything" the heavily armoured deathlord then adds "The scholar also happens to be the only elven noble in this part of the mountains too".
Mira Reinholt sourly smiles, then mutters "Great" before continuing to mutter "A jealous dragon, that's all i fucking need in my life". Where he sits upon the ground, the lord of the death realm snorts in mirth, then he tells the mage Reinholt "Relax" followed by "It's not going to be bothering you, or for that matter anyone else for much longer" lord Farque as he stretches his arms out to his side, then up above his full helmed head, mutters "The stinking fucking wyrm".
As the undead warlord gets up off the ground, and is a little wobbly on his feet for a few moments. The highly skilled swordmaster from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands looks down into the valley again where he hears and sees the large black dragon raging in anger and what's obviously pain.
When the mage Reinholt sees the dragon rear up again over the trees, with it's wings outstretched, well as outstretched as they can be as it sprays fire in anger, he says "Don't think it can fly, or it hurts like hell for it do so" the once powerful mage then adds "Looks like you broke it's left wing".
Lord Farque who is twisting his shoulders from side to side, nods his full helmed head in agreement, then he says "It won't be healing it any time soon either". Mira Reinholt nods in understanding, for the dragon, who like all of it's kind, is the most powerful spellcasters in the world with the exception of the Greater Dragons, who created the world of Volunell.
And like all practitioners of magic, are unable to heal themselves by way of spellcraft. Though the Vexilian mage in exile knows that dragons and phenomenal natural healing abilities, where the recover from wounds in mere moments.
But the damage this particular dragon has suffered at the hands of lord Farque, will take some time for it to heal from. Unless it has a potion or an item at it's disposal to heal itself instantaneously, which it doesn't seem to have, or it would of done so already.
"Come on then" says lord Farque who nods for the swordmaster Reinholt to follow him down into the valley, the once powerful mage who would rather do anything else than confront an injured dragon who is in a rage. Follows the undead warlord who seems to be recovered from being whacked square on by the dragon, a blow that would kill any other person or creature, but not the lord of the death realm, since he's already dead.
As they walk beneath the branches of tall trees, and with the dappled sunshine coming through those branches to hit them, lord Farque holds out his left gauntleted hand and says "Give me that longsword you've got". Mira Reinholt hands the weapon he took from the Haldéilv tower to the heavily armoured deathlord, leaving him with only the shortsword he also took from the elven tower where he was being held prisoner.
The undead warlord swings the sword from side to side, then shrugs his broad, armoured shoulders and says "It'll do" then after the two of them hop over a clear mountain stream as they get closer and closer to the injured dragon, who they hear roaring in anger, and calling out in it's own language, the lord and ruler of the lands Farque suddenly stops.
"What's it saying?" asks the Vexilian mage in exile, who then looks at the lord of the death realm, who is just standing there, staring off between the trees, in the direction they're heading.
Finally Draugadrottin murmurs "How interesting" the once powerful mage lifts an eyebrow, then says "What's interesting?" the heavily armoured deathlord who towers over the nearly six foot tall spellcaster, glances at him, and says "Nothing" then lord Farque tells the swordmaster Reinholt "As for what the scaley fucker is ranting about" the undead warlord adds "He wants to kill you in a rather painful manner" after a pause, he adds "And of course he wants to kill me too, which isn't going to happen anytime soon".
Easy for you to say, you're already dead, Mira Reinholt dryly thinks to himself, as they continue on their way through the trees, heading deeper down into the valley. Eventually the mage from south of the equator, spots the dragon through the trees, and he quickly follows lord Farque who gestures to their right. A massive ball of liquid fire, at least fifty feet wide goes tearing through the trees, setting alight everything it touches, as well as passing through where they just were.
"Thanks" quietly says the once powerful mage who knows the undead warlord did that for his benefit, knowing that the lord and ruler of the lands Farque could get hit full on by that massive ball of liquid fire, and nothing would happen to him.
They're behind a pile of boulders, and Draugadrottin is about to tell the swordmaster Reinholt something, when the lord of the death realm suddenly shoves the exiled Vexilian mage to the ground. The mage Reinholt looks up, and finds lord Farque standing over him, holding his left arm outstretched, up above his full helmed head.
An instant later there's a crack of thunder, as a massive bolt of lightning strikes down out of the clear blue summer sky, and hits the undead warlord's upraised gauntleted hand.
"Hell Mira" says lord Farque after the bolt of lightning hits him with no effect "He really doesn't like you" adds the deathlord of Farque who chuckles, while the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster sourly smiles.
"Stay here" says the lord of the death realm "I'm not going anywhere" mutters Mira Reinholt, then lord Farque tells him "Whatever you do, don't touch any them, or let any of them come into contact with you" the heavily armoured deathlord then adds "I can't be fucking around trying to protect you, since I'm going to be too busy dealing with that scaley fuckface over there".
What's that supposed to mean? the once powerful mage Reinholt thinks to himself with a frown upon his face as he watches the lord and ruler of the lands Farque step out to the side of the pile of boulders, take his heavy mace and throw it, a moment later the highly skilled swordmaster hears the dragon roar in pain and anger, then the undead warlord walks from view.
The Vexilian mage in exile pops his head around the side of the boulders after he sees a tree land about fifty feet further back from where he's crouching behind the pile of boulders. The swordmaster Reinholt spots lord Farque about forty yards away, just standing there with a gauntleted hand held out infront of him, as if he's slowly lifting something up, in the clear sunshine the mage Reinholt can clearly see the heavily armoured deathlord glowing blue.
"Fuck" mutters Mira Reinholt as he knows what that means, he ducks back behind the pile of boulders when he sees various patches across the ground moving "Wonderful" sourly mutters the once powerful mage.
As he hears an indignant roar from the injured dragon, and also hear it spraying fire, the exiled Vexilian mage flinches as a dozen feet to his right, a patch of ground bursts upwards, and something comes out of it. The once powerful mage goes completely still as he watches the skeletal figure, fairly tall, in what appears to be ancient elven armour, turn and look at him for a moment, before walking away, towards where lord Farque and the dragon are.
The mage Reinholt sees another such figure further away to his right, though this one much shorter, also glance in his direction before waking away. The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster realises that he's in the site of an ancient battle between elves and dwarves.
"Someone's definitely fucked up now" murmurs Mira Reinholt the mage a few moments later who then adds "As if he wasn't already" as he looks around the boulders infront of him, and sees the dragon getting swarmed by undead elves and dwarves.
They're leaping thirty and forty feet at the large black dragon, which is trying to fling them off him, but more and more of them are coming up out of the ground as it swats them, and sprays fire in all directions trying to destroy them.
The mage Reinholt spots lord Farque upon the snout of the dragon which is being swarmed by hundreds of undead. And as the dragon's head swings to one side, and it shoots fire in an uncontrolled manner, across the top of trees and into the clear sky, the undead warlord takes the longsword the Vexilian mage in exile gave to him, and plunges it into the left eye of the overwhelmed dragon.
Mira Reinholt sits down and leans back against the boulders and waits, knowing that the dragon which lets out an earth shattering roar of pain, will soon be dead . . . . . .

Wonderful 35.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

"Here take the reins" says lord Farque in a loud voice "Why?" shouts Mira Reinholt the mage over the sound of the blustering wind between the mountain peaks "I can't fly it!" adds the once powerful mage.
"Fine, you fight the dragon instead" dryly says the undead warlord in a loud voice, though he says it elven "I'll take the reins" quickly says the Vexilian mage in exile in the same language who almost snatches the reins of the wyvern out of the gauntleted hands of the heavily armoured deathlord, who dryly murmurs "I knew you'd see it my way".
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque after he looks back behind them to the north, calls out a command to the wyvern in the language that the mage Reinholt doesn't understand, the large winged creature starts to drop in altitude as they continue heading to the southwest.
"You might want to get the fuck off soon" says the lord of the death realm who is continuing to speak in the elven language "Eh?" says the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, who then adds in the elven language "What the hell for?" as he hopes to get as much distance between himself and the dragon, which is bound to attack them.
"Because these stupid things" says lord Farque, who to the people of his lands is also known as Draugadrottin, gestures at the wyvern as he says this, then he adds "Instantly obey what's said to them in the language of the dragons, it's what i use to command them".
"Fuck" mutters Mira Reinholt, who then adds "Now you tell me?!" the undead warlord stands up in the saddle, then steps up onto the saddle itself, and says "It'll obey the dragon as much as it does me" the swordmaster Reinholt winces, then he flattens himself down when the lord and ruler of the lands Farque tells him "Get the fuck down".
The once powerful mage hears the heavily armoured deathlord call out another command to the wyvern, and the mage Reinholt feels it increase it's speed as it goes lower and lower in the mid morning sky. Then the spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil feels the undead warlord step over him, and Mira Reinholt realises the undead warlord is standing upright on the back of the dragon.
With reins in hand, feeling utterly useless, the spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, sits back up, and looks quickly back behind him.
The swordmaster Reinholt sees the lord of the death realm slightly pause as he's in a half crouch, then suddenly he's up and he runs along the back of the wyvern, perfectly balanced as the large winged creature is flying as fast as it can, well in excess of a hundred and fifty knots as Mira Reinholt holds on for dear life as it feels like his stomach wants to come up and out of his throat.
The exiled Vexilian mage watches as lord Farque does a running leap off the back of the wyvern, just before the base of it's tail. The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster winces, and murmurs "Fuck me" as at the same time he sees the familiar sight of sky rift, a massive one, appear just behind the wyvern.
The rift forms, and out of it comes a dragon, Mira Reinholt sees the undead warlord in mid air, nearly disappear into a blur of motion as he leaps directly at the maw of  the dragon that has suddenly appeared.
Then the swordmaster Reinholt looks forward and hangs on as tight as he can, muttering "By the shape of fire" as it feels like his guts are trying to escape up through his throat, as the wyvern lurches to one side, as it hears the final shouted command given to it by lord Farque.
Mira Reinholt who is under no illusion that the wyvern can possibly flee from a dragon, that has a wingspan of nearly three hundred feet, more than six times than that of the wyvern.
Flinches as he hears a loud roar from the dragon, he quickly looks back as hears something else, and he sees a massive jet of fire, at least a hundred and eighty feet in length, shooting up into clear summer's sky.
The swordmaster Reinholt looks forward again and he sees that the wyvern is coming down low into a valley at the base of a couple of mountains, rapidly slowing as it does so.
Fuck me, i might have to jump off, the Vexilian mage in exile thinks to himself, and that's exactly what he does, as he hears a loud indignant roar of a dragon, followed by one that's obviously surprise and pain, quite a bit behind the fleeing wyvern.
With the wyvern coming to almost a sudden stop, with wings flapping backwards, and it's tail skimming across a large patch of grassy ground, the mage Reinholt sees his opportunity, and jumps out of the saddle, hitting earth with a thud, as he falls a dozen feet to the ground.
The highly skilled swordmaster rolls to a stop, and gets up as quickly as he can. And finds that he jumped at the right time, for the wyvern who is gaining in altitude again, is circling around, looking like it's going back the way it came from, after it hears a loud shout in the dragon language.
Mira Reinholt runs towards a few trees, looking up as he does so, he spots the massive form of the dragon closer to one of the nearby mountains, it's vigorously shaking it's head from side to side, as it more or less heads in this direction.
The swordmaster Reinholt runs between a pair of trees, and jumps, he goes down a drop of about six feet, and he stumbles to a stop, below him, to the south, is a valley, the once powerful mage barely looks at it, as he's already turned around, and scrambling up the slight incline he just jumped down.
The exiled Vexilian mage pops his head up over the fairly flat ground between two trees, then he winces and mutters "Fuck me" as he sees what's going on above in the sky.
The mage Reinholt sees the much smaller wyvern approaching the massive black dragon at speed, then it suddenly veers away with a squawk, and takes off as fast as it can, after the dragon's head goes sharply to one side, and it lets out an ear shattering roar, that's a mix of anger and pain.
The highly skilled swordmaster quickly looks at the two nearby peaks, checking to see if the dragon's roars don't set of an avalanche from the snow and ice towards the top of the mountains.
"Come on Mira, what the fuck are you doing?" the once powerful mage mutters to himself, who gets out his newly acquired brass, cylindrical eyepiece, and looks through that. It's difficult for him to keep up with what's happening, but after he sees a massive jet of flame shoot from the mouth of the dragon, he spots lord Farque upon it's snout, where he whacks the dragon with his heavy mace.
There's a roar of anger from the dragon, who Mira Reinholt figures the massive naturally magical creature has never experienced pain before in it's life, until now, when it had the unfortunate chance to encounter the undead warlord.
The swordmaster from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands, who has known a couple of dragons in his life, one of whom was one of his instructors at the mage collage of Vexil. Takes the eyepiece away from his face, and mutters "Shit" as he sees the dragon is dropping down out of the sky, flying without flapping it's massive wings moving, as the giant drakes tend to do, as it heads in this direction.
Putting the leather wrapped cylindrical eyepiece away, the mage Reinholt ducks back down beneath the flat ground, then he murmurs "I need a piss" as he suddenly feels the need to take a leak, the once powerful mage quietly chuckles, then dryly murmurs "I knew i shouldn't of drunk that water before we took off".
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, who feels absolutely helpless without his magic at the moment, not that he could be a lot of help anyway, as dragons are immune to magic, and he would only be able to attack it, with the indirect, or the effects of magic, and then only to deplete it's powerful wards.
Knows that the deathlord of Farque has no such restraints, for he is also immune to magic, and only has to worry about the physical attacks of the massive drake.
The Vexilian mage in exile knows that the undead warlord won't even care about that, for Mira Reinholt has seen him attack a Greater Dragon, one of the creators of the world of Volunell by himself, which he killed.
So an ordinary dragon, a couple of which the lord and ruler of the lands Farque has killed in the twelve years or so that the swordmaster Reinholt has known him, he couldn't care less about.
The mage Reinholt flinches as hears, and feels a loud thud through the ground, he quickly pops his head up, and sees the dragon on the grassy area between the two slopes, where the once powerful mage jumped from the wyvern which has well and truly fled, and can't be seen anywhere nearby.
"Good luck with that" dryly murmurs Mira Reinholt as a giant ball of lightning appears in the right front claw of the dragon, which it flings away out from it, the swordmaster Reinholt spots lord Farque on the ground, running at the dragon, which appears to have a damaged left wing.
As the heavily armoured deathlord runs through the more than thirty foot wide ball of lightning, the dragon looks sharply in the direction of Mira Reinholt.
"Fuck" mutters the once powerful mage between clenched teeth, who ducks down, and pushes himself down the slight incline, and he covers his head and flinches. A moment later and a jet of flame passes overheard, barely a dozen feet above the Vexilian mage in exile who is as flat to the ground beneath him as possible. The scorching heat suddenly disappears, as Mira Reinholt hears a roar of anger from the dragon.
The spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, scrambles back up the slight incline to see what's happening.
The swordmaster Reinholt sees that the trees that were just infront of him have been burnt away, and the ground infront of him is scorched black. The exiled Vexilian mage sees and definitely hears, the dragon shout something in it's own language, and lord Farque respond to it in the same language.
"I guess that wasn't a friendly hello" wryly murmurs Mira Reinholt as the black dragon hisses in anger, and a gout of flame shoots from both it's mouth and nostrils. The undead warlord jumps forward through the scorching flames, and punches the maw of the dragon, who roars, as it's head goes back.
The swordmaster Reinholt watches as the lord and ruler of the lands Farque becomes a blur of movement, appearing every so often, where he strikes and hits the massive winged creature, with either his heavy mace, or by punching and kicking the dragon.
The once powerful mage who is pretty sure the jaw of the dragon is damaged after he sees lord Farque appear, back flipping in mid air, connecting with an overhead kick to the underside of the dragon's maw.
Watches as the naturally magical creature struggles to get airborne, as it does, it swipes it's right front claw, on which a number of it's talons are shattered and broken.
It gets in a lucky strike, and hits lord Farque square on when he becomes clearly visible to the eye of the mage Reinholt, who mutters "Fucking hell" as the heavily armoured deathlord comes flying through the air in this direction.
As the dragon with a damaged left wing gets into the air, and it roars in a mix of anger and pain as it struggles to fly down into the valley below, Mira Reinholt turns and runs down to his left, where the lord and rluer of the lands Farque has landed about forty feet away, where he's lying there on the ground, not moving . . . . . .

Wonderful 34.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

Mira Reinholt the mage wakes up and yawns, the once powerful mage pushes the blankets, the tops of which are up over his face, down. He sits up in the early morning sunshine, and looks around.
The Vexilian mage in exile looks down to the right, where about thirty yards away, the wyvern lies sleeping. The mage Reinholt then looks behind him, and up, where about fifty yards away, is the snow line on this particular mountain. Wherever the spellcaster, who is also a highly skilled swordmaster looks, he sees no sign of lord Farque, who left in the middle of the night, just after they landed here.
Mira Reinholt is in the mountains in the west of the principality of Maladimbáh, the exiled Vexilian mage who is on the north facing side of a mountain, yawns again and stands up, then stretches in the morning sunlight, on what's a cool, but clear, summer's day here in the mountainous elven principality.
The swordmaster Reinholt bends down and picks up the water bag lying next to his blankets, the once powerful mage as he has done a lot over the last few of days, drinks a fair bit of water, as he continues to purge the toxins out of his body, after being forced to drink a potion for over a month, that's blocked him from his magic.
The spellcaster from south of the equator, who is still unable to tap his meager stores of magical power. Knows that it's only time before he gets his powers back. And if his calculations are correct, he expects them back sometime today, or maybe tomorrow at the latest.
After drinking a lot of what, the inevitable happens, the mage Reinholt needs to take a piss. Over the last three days, the exiled Vexilian mage has never pissed so much in his life.
The highly skilled swordmaster with eyes closed sighs in relief as he urinates, then he opens his eyes as he continues to wee, and sees the wyvern wake, open a large eyelid and stare at him, then let out a squawk.
"Wonderful" dryly murmurs Mira Reinholt the mage as he stands there feeling totally vulnerable in the morning sunshine, cock in hand, taking a piss that feels like it will never end, while a rather annoyed looking wyvern stares at him, at what can only be described as indignation.
The once powerful mage finally stops pissing, much to his relief. He does up his breeches, then mutters in the elven language "Someone should stick a bloody big spear in you" as he looks at the wyvern, who again squawks at him.
The wyvern like all of it's kind, is temperamental, and it being tame, like all tame one's, makes it more temperamental in comparison to it's wild cousins.
The large winged creature barely tolerates the mage Reinholt, though it's more than well behaved around lord Farque.
Infact the spellcaster who also happens to be a highly skilled swordmaster has never seen a wyvern so well behaved, than this one is around the undead warlord, who speaks to it in a language Mira Reinholt has no idea what it is.
The mage, who was once the youngest member of the mage council of Vexil, in the history of that large city-state in the Southlands. Can barely tolerate the wyvern himself, though it's proven useful over the last few days in their travels across the principality of Maladimbáh.
The swordmaster Reinholt shakes his head as he looks at the wyvern for a few more moments, then the once powerful mage sets about making himself some breakfast from their supplies.
Well his supplies really, since lord Farque doesn't eat or drink anything unless he wants to. And the wyvern only hunts when the undead warlord lets it, usually when he and the mage Reinholt are upon it, and the lord of the death realm has total control over it.
After eating, Mira Reinholt packs up his things, then sits down upon the grassy ground more than halfway up the mountain he's on, the Vexilian mage in exile ignores the wyvern that's stretching in the sunshine, flapping it's wings, before finally settling back down again.
Instead the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, closes his eyes, and starts on a number of mental exercises that help him with his spellcraft. The mage may not have access to his powers at the moment, but he can do other things that aid him in his calling.
With eyes closed, Mira Reinholt basically falls into a trance, he's close to dozing in the morning sunlight, and is oblivious to pretty much everything around him as he starts with a counting exercise, and goes on from there.
The mage Reinholt is that state for a fair amount a time during the morning, until his concentration is finally broken by a loud squawk from the wyvern.
The swordmaster Reinholt sourly smiles, then opens his eyes, looks at the wyvern and mutters "Shut up you overgrown flying lizard" in the elven language which the large winged creature doesn't understand, unlike the common language, and the language which lord Farque speaks to it in, which it does understand.
The exiled Vexilian mage sees that the wyvern is up slightly on it's back haunches, and is looking off to the west, the highly skilled swordmaster looks away in that direction too.
It's sometime before the once powerful mage spots what the wyvern is looking at, Mira Reinholt stands up as he watches lord Farque walking in this direction.
Once the undead warlord rejoins the mage Reinholt, he hands something to the spellcaster, who like himself, is from south of the equator. "Where did you get this?" asks the swordmaster Reinholt in surprise as he looks at the cylindrical brass eyepiece that he's now holding "There's a hermit, a scholar, nobleborn too, who is living in a hut i spotted from the air last night" says lord Farque, who then adds "I got it from him" the heavily armored deathlord says "Here" and hands the Vexilian mage in exile a cloth bag containing bread and fruit.
After the swordmaster Reinholt packs away the new supplies, he examines the cylindrical eyepiece, as the deathlord of Farque, who is also known as Draugadrottin to the people of his lands, explains to him "He's studying the local wildlife here in this area of the principality, has done for last century or so".
Mira Reinholt who sees that the cylindrical eyepiece is better than the one that he used to have, which was taken from him when was first taken prisoner in the coastal city-state of Renoa in the north of the Southlands. Who already wants to change the leather wrapped around it, to a plain black or brown leather wrapping, instead of the brown leather with elven motifs currently wrapped around it, says to the undead warlord "You didn't, you know".
"I didn't what?" asks the tall, heavily armoured figure of the lord of the death realm who stares at the once powerful mage, who clears his throat, and after a brief pause, asks "Didn't kill him for it did you?" as he holds up the leather wrapped, cylindrical brass eyepiece.
"Of course not" says lord Farque, who then adds "What kind of stupid fucking question is that?" the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, says "Well, considering". "Considering what?" says the undead warlord in a flat tone as he interrupts the mage Reinholt, who clears his throat once more, and looks away as the large, heavily armoured deathlord stares down at him, then he says "Never mind" the once powerful mage then silently adds in a dry tone, considering you tend to kill everyone you run across.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque who informs the Vexilian mage in exile, that he bought the supplies and the eyepiece, which was a spare of the scholars, then says to Mira Reinholt "Neidegratsyn is his name, he sensed her early last night" Draugadrottin continues with "She was teleporting away to the south and west".
"Probably too tired to cast a rift" says the exiled Vexilian mage, who then adds "If she got any kind of decent rest during the night, she will more than likely be able to cast a rift this morning" lord Farque nods his full helmed head in agreement, then says "So i figured" he nods and says "Most likely" in response to the mage Reinholt saying "Fleeing westward to Belinswae, and the coast there, to that city of Falnic?".
The undead warlord gestures to the nearby wyvern and says to the highly skilled swordmaster "Let's go" the Vexilian mage in exile picks up his pack, and along with lord of the death realm, makes his way down to the waiting wyvern.
Switching to the elven language as they walk towards the wyvern, lord Farque says "That elven scholar Neidegratsyn says that dragon we've heard about, is somewhere in this part of the mountains".
"Can you sense it?" asks Mira Reinholt in the same language as he knows the lord and ruler of the lands Farque can sense anything living or dead, quite a long way away, even dragons, who are unable to be sensed by other spellcasters, like the mage, that's even if he had his powers at the moment.
"No" says the heavily armoured deathlord, who continues with "So it's not within twenty miles of us" the swordmaster Reinholt murmurs "That's a relief" the undead warlord nods in agreement, then as he looks at the wyvern, he silently adds in a dry tone, a good thing too, as it might be a bit of a problem if it turned up.
They get up into the saddle on the wyvern, though after the mage Reinholt has another drink of water, before he sits behind the large figure of lord Farque. They're quickly into the air, and the wyvern is winging away to the south and west across the mountains as they continue their pursuit of the person they're after.
A bit later in the morning, as the large winged creature is flying between peaks, lord Farque, who Mira Reinholt knows is looking everywhere with his incredible eyesight, that allows him to see vast distances, as well ad continually sensing, is just able to hear the undead warlord mutter "Fuck" over the wind that's blowing by them as they fly to the southwest.
The once powerful mage calls out "What is it?" the deathlord of Farque replies with one word, and it's in the elven language "Dragon" . . . . . .

Wonderful 33.

The Nomads Plains...

"Where is it?" asks Halatai "Who knows" replies Amagin as the two of them look around in the darkness, they can see quite clearly as all three moons are in the night sky tonight. "Probably smell it before we see it" dryly says Amagin, which causes his cousin Halatai to chuckle.
The cousins are on herd watch, with the goats and sheep in the corrals in the ground behind them at the moment, after the boys returned them from grazing in the scrubby patches of bushes and tough, straw coloured grass that is occasionally found throughout the dry, arid plains of the nomads.
"Call for it" says Amagin, Halatai mutters "You call it" his cousin, who is holding their small lamp, which they haven't needed to light so far, shakes his head, then quietly says in a dry tone "I'd rather not". "Chicken" says Halatai, who like his cousin, and for that matter, most nomads of the plains, has never seen a chicken before in their lives, the son of the tribe's leader then adds "I'll do it, since you won't" Amagin is okay with that, as he doesn't particularly want to.
"Monster" calls out Halatai in a voice that's only slightly louder than what the two boys have been talking in, then he repeats it "Monster" though this time in the townsmen's language, the common language, which their uncle Saladén the far hunter, has been teaching the boys various words and phrases in.
After getting no response, Halatai then calls out "Dorc" this time they hear a grunt in the distance, followed by a word in a deep growling voice. The two cousins glance at one another, they both shrug, and Halatai quietly says "Might as well" then the two boys set off into the night, heading towards where they've heard the monster named Dorc.
Both boys walk with a staff, as well as their bows over their shoulders, not to mention daggers on their belts. They feel fairly safe in the night, knowing that nothing of note will threaten them, for anything dangerous that usually roams near the tribe's camp and grazing grounds, are no longer a threat.
For as Flalil, Amagin's little sister is want to say. There's no more monsters in the night, because the big green stinky monster on two legs has killed them all.
The two boys occasionally glance up at the night sky, for the only thing they really have to worry about, is passing wyverns, though the large winged creatures prefer not fly at night, though once in a while you might see and hear them flying in night sky.
"Dorc" says Halatai again, which is rewarded with another grunt, followed by a word in the nomads dialect, which causes both cousins to sourly smile because they've just been called cunts.
Amagin nudges his cousin walking beside him, and quietly says in their dialect "To the right" Halatai looks that way, and in the moonlight he sees a large figure standing about forty feet away. The two boys cross the flat ground to it, once they stand next to it, though not too close, as it fair reeks, Halatai says "Hey Dorc" in the language of the townsmen.
"Hey cunts" replies Dorc da Orc in the same language as he glances down at the two human children, one of whom says something he can't understand in the dialect of their people, as they don't speak the common language that well, nor does he really.
The ork warleader grunts as he hears the translation provided to him by lord Farque's sword which is across his back at the moment, the large ork then points to the ground a bit further infront of them, and he says "Foods" in the common language, and he makes an eating gesture.
The two boys lift their eyebrows at that, for they know the word food in the townsmen's language, but in no way do they see anything resembling it. They follow the monster, who they've learned is an ork, whatever that is. To where he's pointed, there he kneels down on the sandy ground, puts his face right down and starts sniffing.
In the light provided by the three moons in the night sky, the cousins Halatai and Amagin glance at one another and shrug, for they know the monster has an incredible sense of smell. Not to mention the other senses, as he can see in the night like it's the day, as well as see far distances, not to mention he has hearing that can pick up things from miles away.
The cousins, along with other members of tribe have learnt to communicate with the monster, speaking in a mix of their own dialect, as well as the language of the hated townsmen. Also with gesturing, and acting out things, which Halatai, Amagin and the other children of the tribe are particularly adept at, which the large, green, monster always seems to find amusing.
As he's down on all fours, Dorc da Orc grunts in satisfaction, the large ork then gets up, he takes a heavy sledge from his weapons harness, and he starts whacking the ground with the large hammer.
Halatai and Amagin back up a bit when the monster starts swinging it's massive hammer at the ground. With each strike they feel the ground slightly shake beneath their feet, they know Dorc must be hitting the ground extremely hard if they're to feel even just the slightest of movement beneath them.
"What's he doing?" asks Amagin in the dialect of the plains nomads "He's hitting the ground with that big bloody hammer" says Halatai who is the son of the tribe's leader "I know that" says Amagin in an exasperated tone of voice, who then goes onto add "Why's he doing it?". "I don't know" says the slightly older of the two cousins, who shrugs his shoulders before continuing on in a dry tone of voice with "Why the hell does it do most things?" Amagin is quiet for a moment, then he says "True".
For they, along with everybody else in the tribe, have learnt that the monster, the ork, Dorc, does the strangest of things, for the oddest of reasons. Though that's a fair understatement if there was ever one.
Dorc da Orc grunts as hears a loud crack in the ground beneath him, he hits the ground a few more times with the heavy sledge he's swinging. Then he grunts once more, then hurriedly jumps back after hearing a shouted warning in his mind from lord Farque's sword. The large ork waves the two children back too after he growls at them to "Get the fuck back" in the common language, which they vaguely understand thanks to his gesture to move back.
Dorkindle swings the heavy sledge again, reaching out in a long arc to do so, he hops back quickly as the ground gives way, and a decent sized hole falls in. Then after returning the sledge to his weapons harness, then not even bothering to look, the warleader of the ork race takes a couple of running steps forward, and jumps down through the hole in the ground.
"By Awdhîn, what the hell?" murmurs Halatai in a surprised tone after seeing what the monster just did, the two cousins glance at one another, then they edge forward to have a look down into the hole in the ground that Dorc has just jumped into.
There's not a good angle of moonlight shining down through the hole that's over eight feet wide, so Halatai quietly says to his cousin "Light the lamp" Amagin has already crouched down and is taking out his flint and striker, to light the lamp.
And as Amagin light the lamp, Halatai is certain he smells something down in the hole that isn't the monster, then all of a sudden they hear it say something, it sounds vaguely familiar, like catch, but slightly different, then something lands on the ground just a few yards away to the right from the two boys as they hear Dorc down in the hole, chuckling to himself.
With the lamp lit, and Amagin opening up the canvas hole, so that a beam of light comes from the lamp, he shines it away to their right, at the ground.
"Fuck" yelps Halatai who sees it first, the son of the tribe's leader takes his staff and whacks the deadly sand viper on the head as it slithers towards them in sluggish manner, he hits it a couple of more times just to make sure it's dead, then he looks at his cousin Amagin who mutters "Shit" in a stunned of voice.
The two boys share a look, then they move forward, and Amagin opens the hole in the leather covering on the lamp wider, and shines the light down through the hole in the ground.
They see it's a cave, and they spot the monster Dorc, who is rubbing the back of the head, they also see the floor of the cave is moving. As Amagin shines the light directly down, they see that the floor of the cave is covered with snakes, for the cave is a viper pit, containing hundreds if not thousands of the deadly creatures.
"Fuck, you didn't have to do that" mutters Dorc da Orc as he rubs the back of his head where the hilt of lord Farque's sword has just whacked him for throwing the snake up at the two boys above.
The ork weaponsmith who mutters "Silly snakes" as he's bitten multiple times in the legs by the sand vipers, knows that food out here in the nomads plains isn't exactly plentiful for the nomads. And having eaten snakes with them, which they cook over hot coals after rubbing a spice mix on the snakes that they catch and cut open length wise, the large ork who rather enjoys them cooked like that, knows that the snakes here in this underground cave will be a welcome bounty for the nomads of the tribe he's been living alongside for the last week or so.
Both Halatai and Amagin who are amazed the monster isn't dead as they see it getting bitten over and over again by the deadly vipers, both the more common brown, sandy coloured one, as well as the smaller, and rarer iridescent blue, almost black coloured one. As they know a single bite from either viper will kill a grown man, in mere moments in the case of the smaller rarer snake.
They back up when they hear the monster, say what they think is catch again, this time a bunch of snakes are thrown up through the hole in the ground and land near them, though this time none of them are moving.
To be on the safe side, both Halatai and Amagin whack each snake with their staffs, to make doubly sure that every viper is indeed dead.
Then the two boys start stuffing the dead snakes into the carry sack that Halatai has, all the while, more dead snakes continue to be thrown up through the hole in the ground.
Dorkindle grabs handful after handful of snakes and squeezes them, killing them as they bite him. The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks then throws them up out of the hole above him, as he stomps around, squashing dead any of the other vipers who happen to be caught under his large boots. All the while murmuring "Silly snakes" and "Silly fucken snakes" then making hissing sounds at them in reply to the hisses directed at him by the deadly vipers, many of which are in a slightly torpid state, for it's the middle of the night and it's quite cool, not exactly the most active time for any snake.
Quickly Halatai's carry sack is full of dead vipers, and he runs back to the tribe's camp with it, to get more sacks, and other tribe members to help collect the dead snakes which are an unexpected bounty of food found for them by the monster named Dorc.
Amagin remains at the edge of the hole in the ground, whacking the dead snakes that get thrown up from the cave below by the monster, the ork, Dorc.
Soon Halatai returns with a half a dozen others of the tribe, including his father Chanük, and the boy's uncle, Saladén the far hunter. The new arrivals have all brought their staffs with their regular weapons, along with multiple carry sacks after Halatai has informed them at what is happening.
The brothers Chanük and Saldean look down into the hole, and see what's in the cave below "Damn" murmurs a surprised Saldean, who then has to duck quickly out of the way, as he's nearly hit by a bunch of dead snakes that are thrown up out of the hole in the ground.
The work into the night, filling all of the carry sacks they've bought, then after Chanük the tribe leader says to his brother "Tell him that's enough for now" which Saladén repeats in fluent common to the monster down in the cave below.
Dorc da Orc grunts, then stuffs some of the snakes he's just grabbed and killed, into his mouth and starts eating them, the large ork then mumbles around a mouthful of dead snakes "How the fuck me gonna get out of this cunt hole?" as he didn't exactly think of that when he jumped down into the cave.
After much grunting and swearing, where he hauls over a large rock, after he kicks away snakes that get in his way. Dorc da Orc stands upon the large rock, then jumps up and grabs the edge of the hole above.
Then after more grunting, growling and swearing in more than one language, and much exertion, the large ork pulls himself up and out of the hole in the ground.
Lying there on his back, breathing heavily Dorkindle just grunts in response to both Chanük and Saladén who thank him for what he's just done, after they thank him once more, the ork warleader waves a meaty, skillet sized hand, and tells them in the common language "No worries cunts" . . . . . .

Wonderful 32.

Belinswae. The City Of Falnic...

Lisell Maera sits out on the balcony of their rooms, with her eyes closed as much as she watches what's going at the port and in the harbour. At times like this, the orphan teenager from the city-state of Brattonbury wishes she had someone to talk to.
In the past, she would of spoken to Caerik Alsair the air sailor, who she thought of as a surrogate older brother. But with Caerik living in the lands Farque, where he's now a second officer on a warship in lord Farque's air fleet. Destined to become someone of even greater rank. Lis is unable to speak to him about her problems.
Nor is she able to speak with the person she got to know well, and confide in while the group spent extended periods of time in the lands Farque. That being one of her teachers and instructors, the elemental blademaster, Sephiryn Van Der Linden nee Vaitrelle.
The orphan girl from Brattonbury in the Southlands lets out a sigh as she sits in the late afternoon sun, she opens her eyes when someone else joins her out on the balcony.
"You started on this one?" asks Tamric Drubine who sits on the outdoor bench to the right of the one Lis is sitting on. The nobleborn youngster from the kingdom of Sarcrin holds up the book he's got, showing the front cover to the teenager who was brought up in one of the poorer areas of the coastal city of Brattonbury in the Southlands.
"Looks entertaining" dryly says Lisell Maera as she sees it's a military book on the logistics of maintaining an army "I haven't" says the orphan teenager who continues with "One of Dalin's?" as the elven spy has been reading similar books, tomes, and scrolls ever since joining the group three years ago.
"It is" says the son of the former knight of castle Drubine, who has been given the book to read by Helbe the elven thief "Hopefully i don't have to read it" says Lis "Good luck with that" says Tam with a grin upon his face, who then sighs, opens the book to where he's up to, sits back, and starts reading it.
Lisell Maera isn't at all surprised the nobleborn youngster from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin is reading such a book. He's been tasked to read all military books that comes into their possession, as well as various other books. While Lis for the main part, only has to read specific books on warfare, though when she's got any spare time, she has to read those volumes that are similar to the one that Tam is ploughing his way through at the moment.
The two youngsters, with all their training, lessons and what they have to read, know that they're being prepared for certain roles. The two of them even basically know what it is, and where.
For like their friend Caerik Alsair who is no longer part of the group, they're being trained for positions in lord Farque's forces. With Tamric being a commanding officer, while Lisell a scout officer in the deathlord's army. The two of them are correct in that. But they don't know to what extent their positions will be. For they're being trained to go further than what they believe they'll one day be.
The two of them, though close, will never be the greatest of friends. Not just because of the nearly three year age gap, but because of their differing personalities. Are always comfortable around one other, even though they're in those awkward adolescent years of life.
They sit in comfortable silence on the long balcony to the group's suite hear in the White Gull inn, with Tam silently reading the book in his hands. While Lis, when she isn't sitting there with her eyes closed, watches the goings on down in the port and harbour, as the two of them wait for the others to return.
The orphan teen from the city-state of Brattonbury, and the nobleborn youngster from the kingdom of Sarcrin, have been put on a tight leash since their little escaped a couple of weeks ago outside the walls of the city of Falnic. Which ended up with them being far to the southeast of the city, near the nomads plains, where Lis was taken by road bandits and raped.
The teenager from Brattonbury in the Southlands, who so badly wants to talk to someone about her ordeal when she was abducted. Thinks she hears something out in the hallway, the she sourly smiles as she's certain she hears a familiar voice "They're back" says Lis "I know" says Tam who then adds in a dry tone of voice "I can hear him" the nobleborn youngster then adds "Only Dorc is noisier" the orphan teenager faintly smiles at the mention of the missing ork warleader.
They hear the door to the suite open, and the loud and overbearing voice of sir Percavelle Lé Dic say "I tell you, that knave deserved what he got, the filthy deck scrubber is lucky i didn't pummel him back to his poor excuse for a ship" the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che continues with "All because the drunken sot, and drunk in the morning i might add, took affront to my pleasant greeting of the day" there's a pause from the the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic before he adds "Someone has to teach such rapscallions a lesson for disrespecting their betters, so i did, for the greater good of the people of this dullard of a city of course".
"Someone caused a bit of a fracas again" dryly says Tamric Drubine in a quiet tone of voice, Lisell Maera nods her head in agreement, then she quietly says "Sounds like it" as they continue to hear sir Percavelle the paladin, talking to Shur Kee the monk and Dalinvardél Tanith.
A few moments later as the conversation continues on inside, Riley Hait the mercenary ranger walks out onto the balcony and says "Here you two are" the ranger Hait along with Lis and Tam look up, and briefly watch a pair of wyverns fly by, heading north along the coast in the late afternoon sunshine, then Tamric Drubine gestures to back inside, and he says in the elven language "What did he do this time?".
"Punched a sailor in the guts who didn't take too kindly to the lunatic wishing him a good morning" wryly says the ranger Hait in the same language, the mercenary ranger who is in actual fact really a hordes outrider, whose soul just happens to occupy the body of Riley Hait, continues with "Just up the street from here".
"At least he won't get into trouble for that" says the son of the former knight of castle Drubine "True" says Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman, who then adds "Nor for the scuffle he got into earlier this afternoon with a bunch of warehouse workers who came stumbling out of a tavern drunk, with one of them bumping into him" the mercenary ranger who was brought up and trained in the elven principality of Envadarlen then says "Surprised he didn't kill any of them, considering he's in his armour and pretty much got most of his weapons on him today".
Both Lis and Tam get up, and look back in through the balcony doors, and see that sir Percavelle Lé Dic is fully armed and armoured, after sitting back down on their respective benches, the nobleborn youngster from the kingdom of Sarcrin says "Surprising indeed" the orphan teen from the city-state of Brattonbury nods her head in agreement for they both know the heavily armoured knight can turn particularly violent, fairly quickly too if he thinks there's been a slight against him.
"You two been here all day?" asks Riley Hait "After we went out with Helbe this morning, he sent us back around mid morning" says Lis, the ranger Hait looks at her and Tam, assessing if they're telling the truth or not. Under the scrutiny of the mercenary ranger, the orphan teenager from the coastal city of Brattonbury in the Southlands, quietly tells him "He sent Narladene with us to make sure we came straight back".
Riley aka Zubutai Timaginson satisfied with that, nods his head, then seeing that Tamric Drubine is holding a book, the elven trained human ranger says to him "A little bit of light reading there before dinner?". "Something like that" sourly says the nobleborn youngster from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin, who then shows the cover of the book to the mercenary ranger and tells him "You can read it if you want".
"No thanks, i would rather spend the day in the company of sir talks a lot, than read something like that" says the ranger Hait who then continues with "I'll leave that up to you to read" Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman who has read similar tomes during his stays in the lands Farque, silently adds, besides I'm not the one being trained to be a general of an army like you.
The mercenary ranger then glances at Lis who has been fairly quiet, as she has been quite a lot lately, Riley Hait who puts it down to her being a moody teenager at times, quietly says to the orphan from Brattonbury "What you thinking about there Lis?".
Lisell Maera who definitely doesn't want to mention what she's actually thinking about at the moment, says something else that's been at the back of her mind, which all of them have been thinking about lately "I was just wondering when he's going to make a decision to leave".
The ranger Hait nods his head, then he says "I think we're all wondering that Lis" the mercenary ranger after glancing inside at sir Percavelle who is still talking to Shur Kee and Dalinvardél Tanith, then tells the two youngsters "Hopefully he decides soon" Riley aka Zubutai Timaginson silently adds, before that damn knight starts killing people in broad daylight . . . . . .

Wonderful 31.

Belinswae. The City Of Falnic...

"There's definitely something more going on" says Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy who continues with "There's increased travel between here and Maladimbáh". "That justifier who went out last week?" says Riley Hait the mercenary ranger who is speaking in the elven language as is the spy from the elven principality of Alínlae in the Southlands.
"That mage Kaellin?" asks the ranger Hait "The very one" says Dalinvardél Tanith who often goes by his abbreviated name of Dalin, he continues with "This isn't usually a busy time to travel there" the elven spy who was once a member of a household of a noble family from Alínlae, then adds "Only the winter time when they don't travel there at all, is more quiet than the middle of summer".
The mercenary ranger who is in actual fact a hordes outrider from the southern tundra nods his head in agreement. As they've learnt that travel, either by wyvern or on horseback, to the elven principality of Maladimbáh, where you have to pass through part of the nomads plains.
Is busiest at the start of spring through to the beginning of summer, then again during the early autumn, till the middle of that season.
The height of summer as it was a few weeks ago, it's just too hot to travel across the nomads plains. While the winter time is just out of the question, for Maladimbáh is apparently quite a mountainous principality, and traveling through there then is very dangerous indeed.
The two of them are walking through the streets of the city, moving further away from the port as it's another warm, clear, sunny morning in Falnic. And though it's warm, it's no where near as hot as it was in the coastal city as it was a few weeks ago during the height of summer.
The elven spy and the mercenary ranger garner stares from many of those on the streets for the simple fact that they're foreigners, especially Dalinvardél who is a non human, as they're not exactly prominent in a predominantly human city.
After they wait for a street hawker, who is shouting his wares, in this case fruit and vegetables, to go by with his horse drawn cart. The spy Tanith and the ranger Hait cross a street, and make their way onto a bridge. There the two of them stop, and continue their conversation that they're having in the language of the elves.
As Riley Hait and Dalinvardél Tanith lean back up against one of the waist high walls that run along the sides of the bridge, the elven spy quietly says "They've definitely increased their raiding into the plains" the elf who was an assistant to the quartermaster of the Ollinsállé family in the elven principality of Alínlae, then adds "Pretty much all of the justifiers, especially here in Falnic, have guards of theirs, conducting raids out into the plains".
"Fucking townsmen" mutters Riley Hait, who in actual fact Zubutai Timaginson, is a barbarian hordesman of the southern tundra. Who has a lot in common with the nomads of the plains that stretch for hundreds of miles east of the region of Belinswae.
Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman, whose ancient ancestors, were originally from the nomads plains. Until they left and traveled thousands of miles away to the south, to the southern tundra, which is about as far south you can go before you hit the southern polar region, where the Ork Range is located, says to the elven spy "So he's looking into that?".
"He is" quietly says Dalin, the he they're referring to, is the nominal leader of their group of adventurers, Helbe the elven thief. "From what i overheard yesterday from some of those guards, it's fairly obvious they're up to more" says the elf who like the human ranger, is from south of the equator.
The elven spy, then goes onto tell the mercenary ranger "There's a good chance that justifier Kaellin is there to sign a treaty so that he can be able to base some of his guards in Maladimbáh" Dalinvardél Tanith continues with "From there it's a hell of a lot easier to raid into the north and east of the plains as it is from here" the elven spy then adds "They'll be able to do it for much of the year too, unlike from here, especially if they get some mild winter weather".
"Shit" mutters Riley Hait, who after a pause, once again mutters "Fucking townsmen" the elf from Alínlae nods his head in agreement with the mercenary ranger, as he shares the same sentiments with him concerning the treatment of the nomads of the arid and dry plains to the east by the justifiers of Belinswae, even though they're here to do something entirely different. Though they, like the rest of the group, wouldn't be surprised if the two are connected in some way. For the missing trio they're looking for, always seem to be get caught up in local conflicts in some way or another.
As he looks out at the port and harbour, and beyond that the open ocean, the ranger Hait shakes his head, then he's about to mention something, when the elven spy quietly says "Hang on, what's going on here?".
"What is it?" asks Riley Hait, Dalinvardél Tanith dryly responds with "Sir talks too much" the mercenary ranger looks to where the elf who is a few inches taller than his six feet, points to, the ranger who was raised and trained in the elven principality of Envadarlen, looks north, to near where the inn they're staying at, the White Gull, is near the base of a hill.
"What's he doing?" asks Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman "Making a scene" dryly says the spy Tanith "I know that" sourly says the ranger Hait, who then says "Wait, is he wearing his armour?" knowing that the elf from Alínlae can see far more clearly than he can at what's happening.
"He is" is the quiet reply of Dalin, Riley slightly grimaces then mutters "Bloody hell" the elven spy nods in agreement, with good reason too.
The subject of their current conversation, sir Percavelle Lé Dic, has been a bit rambunctious of late. He's got into a few confrontations in the last couple of weeks, where he's ended up smacking a few people around, and in one case breaking the arms of a merchant who he thought was cheating him on the payment of something.
The knight in the order of Saint Mar-che has got away with it for the simple reason that those he's given a beating, have been primarily amongst the criminal underclass here in the city of Falnic. And the Justifiers turn a blind eye to that.
Though the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic in the Southlands nearly got into trouble with the incident with the merchant, who was innocent. A justifier looked into that, but the earl of Lé Dic in Druvic got away with because Helbe the elven thief made it so the paladin looked innocent in the incident when the justifier, a sorceress read the mind of sir Percavelle to see what actually happened.
"There's Shur Kee with him" quietly says Dalinvardél Tanith, Riley Hait nods as he spots the short statured monk standing a bit further behind the large, heavily armoured knight who is confronting a trio of people, who the elven spy has told the mercenary ranger, seem to be sailors.
"Can you hear what they're saying?" asks Riley aka Zubutai Timaginson, Dalinvardél Tanith gestures at the nearby port, then says "Too noisy from there, to hear what's happening with them". "Well if that blow hard draws a weapon and starts killing people in broad daylight, that's going to be a hell of a lot different than him cracking the heads of a few street criminals" says the ranger Hait "I agree" quietly says the elven spy.
Then the two of them slightly wince as they see sir Percavelle, with a gauntleted fist, punch one of the men he's confronted, in the stomach. The sailor drops to the ground, where he's obviously dry heaving, while the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che, whose visor of his helm is up, stands there with hands on hips, talking to, though most likely, taking down to the trio of sailors.
They watch as the two other sailors help their friend up, and hurry him away, then eventually Shur Kee the monk convinces sir Percavelle Lé Dic to move on as well. And about time too, as a pair of justifier guards come into view on that street, totally unaware of what's just happened.
After a few moments, the ranger Hait shrugs his shoulders, then he says to the elven spy "Come on, let's get going" the mercenary ranger who in reality is actually a hordes outrider from the southern tundra, dryly adds "I'm sure we'll find out what just happened there, since sir windbag is bound to tell us all about it" Dalinvardél Tanith softly chuckles.
Then the two of them continue on their way, hoping to find out any information about the three missing group members, as well as anything else about what the justifiers, the rulers of Falnic are up to concerning recent activity into the nomad plains, and what they're doing traveling to the elven principality of Maladimbáh so often at this time of the year . . . . . .

Wonderful 30.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

Kaldeàlil Haldéilv casts teleport when she sees the undead being move, the attractive elven maid winces as she briefly sees the large heavily armoured figure almost disappear, and him move so quickly it's hard to see as she waits, in what feels like a lifetime to her, for her spell to be completed.
The elven magic user breathes a sigh of relief when the familiar blackness of teleportation envelopes her, then she reappears at the far end of the main banquet hall, behind the high table.
Lord Farque gets to the table where Kaldeàlil Haldéilv was, just after she disappears, the undead warlord sourly smiles behind the visor of his full helm. Then as he turns to look at the far end of the banquet hall to where she's teleported to, the heavily armoured deathlord, grabs the elf, a hunter from his garb, who swings a sword at him.
"Thanks" sourly mutters Mira Reinholt the mage when the lord and ruler of the lands Farque streaks away in a blur of motion, leaving him behind. The once powerful mage swings the sword he has, at an elven house guard, one of a handful who rush him.
The sword takes the elf in the face, who goes reeling off to one side screaming in pain. Then a body smashes into the other house guards. The mage Reinholt sees that it's another elf, a forester or hunter by the looks of what he's wearing.
The exiled Vexilian mage looks over to where lord Farque went, and he sees the undead warlord nod his full helmed head to join him.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, who is at one of the open doorways to the main banquet hall here in the tower of the Haldéilv family, rushes into the banquet hall that's erupted into chaos.
Lord Farque looks across to the far side of the banquet hall, to where Kaldeàlil Haldéilv has gone behind the high table. As he does he's hit by an energy bolt, which he ignores as it uselessly bounces off his suit of full, heavy plate armour.
Draugadrottin as he's known by to the people of his lands, senses most of the spellcasters in the banquet hall at or near the high table, including the one that he's after. Then after he backhands an elven house guard across the face, breaking his neck, and sending him tumbling across the floor. And seeing that the mage Reinholt is now heading this way, the undead warlord starts heading towards the high table.
One of the first spellcasters to act is the visiting justifier from the city of Falnic. The mage Kaellin casts a firebeam, that goes directly from the tips of his fingers, to the large, heavily armoured figure that has violently interrupted this evening's dinner in the banquet hall.
"Good luck with that" dryly murmurs Mira Reinholt when he sees the firebeam cast by the mage from the coastal city of Falnic strike lord Farque, who just keeps walking quickly to where the high table is on the far side of the banquet hall.
The once powerful mage like the lord and ruler of the lands Farque has just seen Kaldeàlil Haldéilv run out through a doorway behind the high table. The swordmaster Reinholt jumps over an elf who has tripped up in their attempt to flee. Then the Vexilian mage in exile ducks a sword swung at him, and as he's low, he spins, swinging the sword he's using. Taking the house guard, who just attacked him, across the back of the legs, dropping him to the floor, screaming in pain.
The mage Reinholt picks up the fallen shortsword of that house guard, and now with a weapon in each hand, and feeling more than comfortable with it, the spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands hurries to catch up to the lord of the death realm, who he sees a mageglobe heading towards.
After the firebeam hits him with no effect, lord Farque sees a mageglobe heading towards him, the undead warlord side kicks an elven magic user, a member of lord Haldéilv's extended family, who suddenly appears out of thin air right next to the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
That elven noble is more than surprised when his wards, a barrier and protection spell fail to stop him from getting kicked so hard in the chest, that his leather armour is torn to shreds across his chest, which shatters apart so violently, that it looks like it explodes.
The elven magic user goes flying backwards with a gaping hole in his chest, with his ribs in pieces, sticking out of his torso, which is open for all to see when he hits the floor, and tumbles to a stop, obviously dead.
After kicking the elven spellcaster, lord Farque grabs the mageglobe out of the air right infront of the visor of his full helm. To say the living piece of magic is more than a little stunned to what's going on, would be an understatement to the extreme.
The heavily armoured deathlord with the confused mageglobe in his gauntleted right hand, leaps towards where the high table is, jumping forwards more than upwards, as he does, he throws the mageglobe at those at and near the high table, who are now all scattering as they realise that what is happening, is more than any of them can handle.
Mira Reinholt doesn't even flinch as there's a loud explosion where the high table is, all was, as the mageglobe comes to a confused end to it's life. The spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, is busy blocking a sword with the shortsword he has in his left hand, then he swings the longsword in his right gloved hand, that takes the house guard attacking him, in the neck, almost decapitating the elf.
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, jumps over the near headless elven house guard on the floor, and rushes to catch up to lord Farque, who has just called out to him to hurry up.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque kicks an injured elven magic user who is crawling along the damaged floor where the high table was before the mageglobe destroyed it. She goes tumbling across the floor after letting out a shout of pain at getting kicked.
The elven spellcaster, another relative of lord Haldéilv, knocks over a couple of others who are trying to flee the carnage, before she finally comes to a stop almost forty feet from where she originally was. Though now her stomach has been torn open from the kick she received, and her guts and entrails are across the floor behind her.
Lord Farque catches a glimpse of the frightened mage from the city of Falnic fleeing through a nearby door, following an equally frightened lord Haldéilv from the main banquet hall in the keep like tower.
The undead warlord makes his way out the doorway that Kaldeàlil Haldéilv fled through, the lord and ruler of the lands Farque who can sense where the illegitimate daughter of lord Haldéilv is going, turns and looks back into the banquet hall and lord Farque once again calls out "Mage hurry up!".
The heavily armoured deathlord glances down at the slightly charred body of an elven house guard who was blasted through the doorway when the mageglobe exploded, the lord and ruler picks up the dead body.
Mira Reinholt does flinch, then ducks as he sees a body come flying out of the doorway that lord Farque went through, a body that's coming right at the Vexilian mage in exile.
It passes over him, and the swordmaster Reinholt hears it smash into whoever it is that's chasing after him, the once powerful mage doesn't look back as he continues running towards the doorway that the lord and ruler of the lands Farque is through.
The mage Reinholt goes through the doorway, and before he can say anything, the undead warlord takes a hold of him at the scruff of his cloak, lifting him up off the floor, then they're moving.
The once powerful mage blinks in surprise as everything becomes a blur, there's streaks of light around him, as he feels he's moving extremely quickly. Then his vision goes back to normal, and he's let down now that they're at the end of the long hallway that they're in, Mira Reinholt realises that it's taken just a couple of moments to get from one end of the hallway to the other, when it should of taken way longer than it did.
By the shape of fire, no wonder he can move so fucking fast at times, the swordmaster Reinholt thinks to himself as he and the tall, heavily armoured figure of lord Farque round a corner, they reach an open doorway, which they both step through at the same time. Then holding their arms out from their sides a bit, indicating they want to go down, the two of them start heading down the wind tower that's in the middle of the tower of the Haldéilv family, that goes down through the escarpment it sits upon.
They're in the magical tower that's been hollowed out of solid rock for just a few moments, when lord Farque mutters "Fuck" Mira Reinholt says "What?" when suddenly the wind that's blowing around them, stops. The mage Reinholt gulps as they both drop without the wind supporting them any more, then the swordmaster from the city-state of Vexil feels the undead warlord grab him by the back of the cloak like he did before, and they come to an instant stop.
The once powerful mage who finds himself dangling there in mid air, looks up, and with just a few lights inside this wind tower, Mira Reinholt can just make out lord Farque, whose right arm is in the rock wall next to them, the undead warlord has punched a hole in the wall, and is holding onto it, so that they don't fall.
"Fucking cow" mutters the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, the swordmaster Reinholt sourly smiles as he knows who the heavily armoured deathlord is referring to, who must of turned off the wind tower once she knew they were in it.
The mage Reinholt looks down, he can't see the bottom of the tower as there's not enough light to see by, the once powerful mage quietly asks "How far to the bottom?" he winces when he hears lord Farque, who can see perfectly clearly to the bottom of the wind tower, murmur "Hmmm" as he looks down.
"That's not very reassuring" mutters Vexilian mage in exile, then the spellcaster who also happens to be a highly skilled swordmaster says in a dry tone of voice "I'm not exactly going to let go am i" after the undead warlord tells him "Hold on".
"Stop whining like a little bitch, you're almost as bad as Dorc at times" says the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, then the mage Reinholt gulps and mutters "Fuck" after the heavily armoured deathlord lets go of the hole in the rock wall he's punched, and pushes then out a bit to the middle of the wind tower and they fall.
Mira Reinholt closes his eyes as they drop in what seems an eternity to him, hoping that he doesn't go splat when they hit the bottom of the wind tower, then the spellcaster who was the youngest member of the mage council of Vexil in the history of his homeland, slightly grunts as they come to a stop, and lord Farque lets him go.
The swordmaster Reinholt opens his eyes as he stands there, and he sees the deathlord of Farque hurrying out of the wind tower saying "To the right" the once powerful mage who is glad to be on solid ground again, hurries out of the wind tower too.
They rush across the entrance hall in the escarpment, there's a number of others in here too, all fleeing as they've heard what's happened up in the tower itself. The undead warlord then the Vexilian mage in exile run out through the open doors, into the night outside.
"Where?" asks Mira Reinholt as they're stopped just outside, lord Farque who is sensing their quarry, says "This way" and heads off to the village, with the swordmaster following behind him. They skirt to one side of the village, and the once powerful mage sees they're heading to the field next to it, he sees in the moonlight what they're approaching.
Though they've never heard it before, they instantly obey what's said to them "Here" says lord Farque in the language of dragons to one of the wyverns, he points at the other, then points up at the top of the tower, where the Haldéilv griffon is squawking in agitation as it's heard what's been happening in the tower "Attack" commands the undead warlord to the other wyvern.
As the second wyvern launches, and heads up to the tower, Draugadrottin who climbs up into the saddle of the first wyvern, which has lowered itself down, explains to the mage Reinholt "A distraction" as he nods to the wyvern that's now attacking the now enraged wyvern on top of the tower.
The Vexilian mage in exile scrambles up into the saddle of the wyvern behind the lord and ruler of the lands Farque who tells him "She's gone through a rift she's cast" Mira Reinholt knows the heavily armoured deathlord will know which direction Kaldeàlil Haldéilv has gone, so he says to him "She's got a range just over a couple hundred miles" he then adds "Way shorter if she had to cast in a hurry".
"She did" says lord Farque who has taken the reins of the wyvern then gives it a command in the dragon language, a moment later it takes off and they head up into the night sky, turning to the northwest, the direction Kaldeàlil Haldéilv has fled . . . . . .