Wonderful 41.

Belinswae...

Kaldeàlil Haldéilv appears near one of the roads that leads to the coastal city of Falnic. The elven magic user yawns after teleporting, then she turns and looks back to the east. And in the fading light of dusk, she can just make out the nomads plains in the distance.
The attractive elven maid looks more to the northeast, in the direction of her homeland, the principality of Maladimbáh. She sourly smiles as she thinks about how she's fled Maladimbáh, though with good reason, as a very powerful undead being, and a not very powerful mage, both from the Southlands, are in pursuit of her.
"Vengeful bastards" mutters Kaldeàlil Haldéilv who hopes over the last handful of days, she has finally lost her pursuers. She hasn't seen them, or sensed the once powerful mage, since a few days ago, in the west of the mountainous elven principality where Kaldeàlil was born and raised.
Figuring that the two who are hell bent on finding her, have lost the wyvern they took from her father's tower, a wyvern belonging to a justifier of Falnic who was visiting lord Haldéilv.
Has a feeling that the two of them will continue to dodge her steps here into Belinswae, if she is unable to lure the person she's after, and finally kill him, before escaping from this region north of the equator.
The elven magic user who wants a certain elven prince from the principality of Laerel dead, stretches to try and get rid of her fatigue, then she turns and starts walking down the road as the sun continues to set in the west.
The attractive elven maid who has been on a mission for the last three years, to exact revenge for her dead lover Xanderlith Karlavilt of Alínlae, who was killed by prince Helbenthril Raendril of Laerel. Knows that there's a number of villages and towns along this road, and if her memory serves her correct, there's a small town not that far from where she just appeared after teleporting, only a couple of miles away at most.
The elven magic user who is feeling tired after a few days of little rest as she often teleported, and created a rift a few times to get here to Belinswae, almost doesn't hear it at first as she's so exhausted. In the fading light, the attractive elven maid briefly slows down as she hears it, she grimaces as her naturally enhanced hearing picks up the quiet conversation form one side of the dusty road, from behind some boulders and light coloured shrubs.
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv refrains from sighing, and though she doesn't want to, as she's tired from casting so often in the past few days, the elven magic user casts a blast spell, followed by an energyball, though the ball of green energy is fairly small, just a couple of feet wide, testament of how tired the attractive elven maid is.
The blast spell smashes into three of the road bandits who come out from behind the boulders and rush the lone traveler on the road. And as they go flying back through the air, the green energyball hits the two men in the ditch on the otherside of the dusty road.
Those two bandits barely get out a scream as the energyball explodes in a shower of green sparks, which go through armour, cloth and flesh, consuming everything that it comes into contact with.
"Thieving bastards" mutters Kaldeàlil Haldéilv in her native language, the illegitimate daughter of an elven lord of Maladimbáh looks over at the three bandits who were hit by her blast spell, she doesn't even look at the other two in the ditch, she knows that they're dead.
The attractive elven maid who until a few years ago, was the lover of a nobleborn elf from the principality of Alínlae in the Southlands, finds that two of the three road bandits who were hit by her blast spell are dead. While the third, who was wearing the strongest, and best quality armour of the three, is still alive, though completely dazed, so much so, that he's only groaning in a quiet voice, even though both of his legs are broken, and he's bleeding from a gash to his forehead.
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv decides to leave him where he is, so that he can die a slow, painful death in the night, as dusk has rapidly become early evening. The elven magic user whose father is lord Haldéilv, and whose mother was a servant at the Haldéilv tower, that her father raped. Continues on her way along the dusty road in what is a warm evening, which isn't surprising as it's summer and not too far from the nomads plains. Which the attractive elven maid knows it can get quite cold there in the middle of the night during the other three seasons of the year, with winter being extremely cold at times on the dry, arid plains of the nomads.
After nearly a mile or so, the elven magic user spots the nearby town in the darkness, and though it's close to a further mile away, she's sure she catches sight of wyvern lying on the outskirts of the small town, the attractive elven maid stops.
"Get it together Kaldeàlil, it can't be them" the illegitimate daughter of lord Haldéilv mutters to herself as she realises that it can't be her pursuers who have got infront of her, and that it must a patrol from the city of Falnic, or the local justifier that the wyvern belongs to. Or that it's a raiding squad, either on it's way to, or returning from the nomads plains.
The attractive elven maid continues on her way to the village, and though she could teleport there now, as she can clearly see it in the night, where one of the moons of Volunell is in the sky, with a second rising, and the third not showing an appearance yet and still beneath the horizon. She's just too tired to cast at the moment, and casting magic while you're tired often leads to mistakes, something you definitely don't want to do when you're casting a spell such as teleportation.
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv reaches the town, which she does know, and she goes to one of the two inn's that are here, the other one isn't worth visiting, let alone staying in.
After entering the inn, the elven magic user gets herself a room, and tells the innkeeper, whose grandfather owned the place when Kaldeàlil last stayed here, to draw her a hot bath. After the attractive elven maid washes the dirt and sand of hard travel off herself, and soaks in the bath until the water turns cool, she dresses again in her clothes that's she's cleaned by expending a little amount of magical power as possible, and she makes her way down to the common room of the inn.
The illegitimate daughter of an elven lord of Maladimbáh attracts a lot of attention in the common room, especially from a group of justifier guards sitting at one of the tables, for the simple reason she's not a human.
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv after ordering dinner, and a drink of ale, a drink she doesn't normally have, but thinks it's appropriate to have after her hard travels out of Maladimbáh, and across the nomads plains. Listens to the guards on the otherside of the common room, whose wyvern it must be just a couple of streets behind the inn, on a large patch of stubby, straw coloured grass at the edge of town.
The elven magic user receives the tankard of ale from the serving woman, she takes a drink, and closes her eyes and savours the taste of the brew that's not just cool but cold, as the storeroom below the inn, has ice in it, thanks to a local herb witch who casts it in return for free meals and drinks whenever she's in town.
The attractive elven maid glances across to where the justifier's guards are, and she sees one of them getting up, and a second one follows him, after getting a nudge from a fellow guard, who quietly murmurs to him to go with the squad leader.
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv watches as the two guards, who she recognises from their tabards as belonging to an army from a justifier in the city of Falnic, make their way over to her table.
"Greetings" says the squad leader in passable elven, he then quickly adds in the common language "Sorry that's all i know in your language, apart from farewell" the elven magic user nods her head and says in common "Greetings" she nods her head again and says "Go ahead" even though she doesn't particularly want company as she eats, when the squad leader asks her "Mind if we sit, and have a chat?".
After the two guards sit down at the table, and Kaldeàlil takes another drink from her tankard of ale, the squad leader asks her "Did you come in from the coast, or from down south?" he doesn't mention the east, as straight out that way, is the nomads plains, which is about twelve miles away.
So he and his fellow guard from the city of Falnic are surprised, when the attractive elven maid tells them "From the east, across the plains" the two guards looked stunned for a few moments, then eventually the leader of the squad, who also happens to be the wyvern rider, says "How was that?".
Knowing what the townsmen is referring to, Kaldeàlil Haldéilv says "No problems whatsoever" she pauses as her meal of sauteed vegetables, and crispy flatbread with soft goats cheese melted across the top of it is delivered by the serving woman, is put down infront of her, then she says "I'm an elf, they don't care about me".
The elven magic user who has been across the hot, arid plains to the east a number of times in her life. Has never had any problems from the nomad tribes who dwell upon the plains. Infact they're quite courteous and hospitable to travelers, always willing to share a meal and drink with you. Just as long as you're not a townsmen from Belinswae, those they kill on sight.
"I've heard about that" quietly says the squad leader as the attractive elven maid starts on her meal, her first proper one in a couple of days, since having lunch at a camp of a nomad tribe in the middle of the plains "Never met anyone it's actually happened to" adds the wyvern rider who leads a squad of half a dozen.
Between bites, the elven spellcaster asks the two guards who are in justifier Parquet El's army "Going out on a raid?".
"We wish" says the guard who until now has remained silent, the squad leader glances at him and sourly smiles, then looking back at the attractive elven maid on the otherside of the table, he says "We're on road duty, stamping out any bandits who might be in the area".
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv wonders if they're legitimately out here doing that, or that they're in cahoots with the bandits, which is often the case with the justifiers of Belinswae.
The elven magic user who knows that justifier Parquet El is a stickler for the laws of Belinswae, quickly uses a bit of power to read the mind of the wyvern leader, and finds out, that indeed, they actually are here hunting down road bandits, even though he and the rest of his squad would rather be raiding out on the nomads plains.
After having some of the flat bread with melted cheese upon it, the illegitimate daughter of lord Haldéilv of Maladimbáh says "Well since you're out after road bandits, there's five of them on the road, a couple of miles south of here, near a pile of boulders" the elven magic user continues with "Four are dead, and the fifth was dying when i left them after they tried to attack me".
The two townsmen frown as they see she has no weapons upon her, apart from a dagger, then it dawns upon the squad leader what the only other option it could be "Sorry for disturbing you m'lady" the other guard blinks in surprise as he too realises what it means, the wyvern rider then adds "We'll just go and check on these bandits you came across".
As the two justifier's guards get up and move away, with the wyvern rider calling out to the rest of the squad, that they're going out to check on something right now. Kaldeàlil Haldéilv faintly smiles, for she knows that the townsmen of Belinswae have a healthy respect, and fear of spellcasters, due to the justifiers who rule the region.
Even weak hedge witches and wizards on the fringes of society, are for the most part shunned unless they can offer something of use to the inhabitants of the villages, and the smaller towns like this one.
Foreign spellcasters, like elven magic users such as Kaldeàlil is, are also avoided because the local populace respect, or to be exact, fear the practitioners of magic, due to how their rulers the justifiers behave.
Best thing about visiting Belinswae, is that you can get a hell of a lot done, if what you're doing doesn't conflict with whatever the hell the justifiers are up to, Kaldeàlil Haldéilv thinks to herself as she continues eating her meal . . . . . .

Wonderful 40.

Belinswae. The City Of Falnic...

"Look over there" says Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy with a nod of his head to the right along the street "What is it?" asks Riley Hait the mercenary ranger who is with the elf from the principality of Alínlae today "Dwarves" replies the elven spy, who is speaking his native language, as the human ranger is doing too.
The ranger Hait turns and looks in the direction Dalin has indicated, and he spots a group of dwarves at the far end of the street that's along the water's edge, here in the north of the city of Falnic.
From their attire, it's obvious the dwarves are not locals, there's very few dwarves in the port city anyway, and these dwarves are definitely not from Falnic, as they're all wearing various types of armour, and each of them are carrying a multitude of weapons.
"Warriors from up north" quietly says Riley Hait in the elven language, Dalinvardél Tanith nods his head in agreement, as they've heard that there's clans of dwarves living in the hill country along the coast about a hundred and twenty miles north of the port city of Falnic.
And though officially that hill country is part of the region of Belinswae, no one has ever bothered to tell the clans who live there about that. And there's no justifier in power anywhere near where the hill dwarves live, infact the nearest one is nearly forty miles southeast of there.
On occasion the hill dwarves from the north along the coast can be seen in Falnic in matters to do with trade, and it seems like this is one such occasion. As the dwarves are leading a cart drawn by a pair of ponies, on the back of which are a few chests.
The elven spy and the human mercenary share a look, as they can pretty much guess what's in the chests the dwarven warriors have in the back of the pony drawn cart. It's either precious metals, or precious gems. Knowing dwarves and their ways, it's more than likely both.
"I doubt road bandits bothered them on their way here" dryly says Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman, the elf from the principality of Alínlae nods in agreement, as the group of dwarves, who number ten, are all bristling with an assortment of weapons.
"They're like miniature Dorc's" murmurs the spy Tanith "Apart from being green, and totally demented" dryly adds the mercenary ranger, who then tells the elf standing next to him "Better not let the big idiot hear you say something like that, or he'll kill you" Dalinvardél Tanith just grins in reply to that.
The dwarves who are heading this way along the waterside street, spot the two of them as they stand near a row of street stalls that lookout over the harbour on the otherside of the street. The dwarves, all ten of them, who have been quietly chatting away to one another in their native tongue, fall silent and stare at the elven spy and the human ranger as they keep heading this way. Something they haven't done to anyone else on the street, or for that matter anyone else in the city they've entered just a short time ago.
Infact they've pretty much ignored everyone on the streets here in the north of the city of Falnic. "Hmmmm they've seen something they don't particularly care for" quietly says the elven spy from the principality of Alínlae in the Southlands, the human ranger who was brought up and trained in another of the Southlands elven principalities, Envadarlen, nods his head in agreement with Dalinvardél Tanith.
Then as the dwarves approach where the two of them are standing, Riley Hait fluently says in the dwarven language "Greetings" the mercenary ranger, well to be precise, Zubutai Timaginson, who once inhabited the body of a dwarven warrior. Infact it was the first body he inhabited after he was originally killed, then adds in the dwarven language, like any language he instantly knows when in a new body, and he retains to successive bodies "May Thaxel and Dovarn guide your journey".
The dwarves stop, some stare in disbelief, while others jaws drop open in surprise, for they've hardly ever met a human who can speak their language, especially here in Falnic. And some of the dwarven warriors are over two hundred years old, and they've been coming to the port city for quite some time, back when it was a far smaller place than it is now.
There comes a bark of an order from one of the older dwarves at the back, who tells the others to stop standing there like bunch of country yokels who have never been to a city before, and to get a move on.
As the dwarves get underway again, and move along with their cart, the older dwarf who spoke, briefly stops with another, a younger warrior, who nudges him and mutters something to him, as he nods in the direction of the mercenary ranger and the elven spy.
"Greetings to you stranger" says the older dwarf in his native language, he continues with the traditional saying that was given to him and the others "And may Thaxel and Dovarn guide you in your travels" the older dwarf never thought he would be invoking the dwarven gods to a human. But as his younger companion beside him, muttered to him that it's only fair to be polite to the human stranger, who greeted them so eloquently and perfectly in their language.
Then because he can't help it, the older dwarf says in the language of his people, in a slightly dry tone tone too "Pity about the company you're keeping" beside him his younger companion grunts in agreement as they both briefly stare at the elf next to the human, stares that are obviously not friendly.
Ah, so that's it, Riley Hait thinks to himself, who immediately identifies that the dwarven warriors don't particularly care for elven kind, the mercenary ranger "Don't worry about him, those pointy ears of his have no idea what we're talking about" the older dwarf grunts, then mutters "Good" then he asks the ranger Hait "You be stranger here in Falnic then lad?".
"Aye" replies Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman, who impresses the two dwarves with his correct pronunciation when it comes to their native language "The two of us are from faraway to the south of here" says the ranger Hait who doesn't mention how far away to the south they're from, then he adds "We're passing through on business".
"Aye, so are we" says the older of the two dwarves, who then adds "This city not be the best of places to visit, but alas we've got business here, so we're here then" then deciding it's time to catch up with the rest of the group he's traveled with from their homeland, the older dwarf says "Fare thee well lad" the younger dwarf beside him nods as Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman says to the two of them "And fare thee well to you".
They continue on their way, and as they catch up to the others and the pony drawn cart as the street rounds a corner and heads inland from the harbour, and goes in the direction of one of the hillside neighbourhoods in the port city. Thane the dwarven warrior says in his native language "By Dovarn's beard uncle!" he continues with "I never thought i would hear a human speak so eloquently in our mother tongue, especially in this piss poor excuse of a city".
"Aye lad" says Baédin the dwarven chieftain, then the older dwarf who spoke to the stranger, sourly grunts when his sister's son mutters "Pity the lad was hanging out with that pointy eared devil" Thane, the nephew of the clan chieftain then adds "I guess no one's perfect then".
Baédin grunts again, then the chieftain of clan Kraelin after running a hand through his silver speckled beard, says "Well you heard the lad, they be from the south somewhere, so at least that carrot muncher isn't from that shithole Maladimbáh".
The younger of the two dwarven warriors sourly smiles at the mention of the elven principality away to the east of Belinswae. Which the eastern area of the mountainous principality, before it was even a principality, was once the ancestral homeland of the dwarven clans of the Stone Hills, on the coast in the north of Belinswae.
"Still a bloody elf" mutters Thane, whose ancestors like all the ancestors of the Stone Hills clans, were driven out of their original homeland in the eastern mountains of what's now Maladimbáh, over fifteen hundred years ago during a war that lasted on and off, for nearly a hundred years.
Baédin the clan chieftain sighs as they follow the others up a hillside street, he shares his nephew's feelings, and the feelings of everyone else in the Stone Hills about the elves of Maladimbáh. But deep down he knows it's a waste of time to hold a grudge about something that happened before the time of his grandfather's, grandfather.
The chieftain of the Kraelin clan of the Stone Hills figures there's not even an elf of noble birth alive now who was in the war that drove the dwarves out of their mountain strongholds. And that most elves of the principality of Maladimbáh couldn't even care less about what happened all those years ago.
Still, the clan chieftain who is four decades over two hundred years old, doesn't exactly like elven kind, especially those from Maladimbáh.
"Ah well lad, at least we don't have to deal with any stinking elves here" says Baédin, who like his father before him, and his grandfather before that, is a hammermaster, the clan chieftain then dryly adds "Just the stinking justifiers of this arse backwards excuse for a port city".
Thane the dwarven warrior grunts, as he can't decide who is worst, elven kind, or the justifiers of Belinswae, in particular the justifiers of Falnic. He finally comes to the conclusion that elves are worse. But like his uncle said, they don't have to deal with any elves while here in Falnic on business, it's with some of the justifiers they have to deal with. And the dwarves of the Stone Hills know that the majority of the justifiers of Falnic are pretty much the worst of human kind you would expect to find anywhere.
"What was that all about?" asks Dalinvardél Tanith in the elven language as they watch the party of dwarves round a corner, and head up the street that makes it's way up towards one of the hillside neighbourhoods here in the north of the city.
"Oh just a friendly hello" is the reply of Riley Hait in the same language "Didn't exactly look friendly to me" dryly says the elven spy who clearly saw the hostile stares directed at him by the group of dwarven warriors, he is pretty sure that even their ponies gave him an unfriendly look or two when they briefly stopped.
The mercenary ranger who was raised and trained by elven warders in the principality of Envadarlen in the Southlands, shrugs his shoulders, then says to his traveling companion "I wouldn't worry about it, they just don't like elves for some reason".
Dalin rolls his eyes, then sourly says "Probably a war or something that happened way before i, or any of them were ever born". "Probably" says Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman, who continues with "When i told them that we weren't from here, and we're from faraway to the south, it seemed to placate them".
"Well that's something i guess" murmurs the elven spy from the principality of Alínlae in the Southlands, who losses sight of the dwarves heading uphill as they go behind a number of buildings, then Dalin who along with Riley, who have been trying to find out this morning, any information about the missing members of the group, quietly says to the mercenary ranger "Hopefully he's made a decision of what we're to do" the ranger Hait nods his head in agreement to that.
When they return to the White Gull inn at midday to have lunch and to find out if any of the others have found out anything about the missing trio of Mira Reinholt the mage, Dorc da Orc and lord Farque. They get the answer they've been looking for, as Helbe the elven thief informs them and the rest of the group that they're finally leaving the city of Falnic . . . . . .

Wonderful 39.

Belinswae. The City Of Falnic...

"What did you say?" demands the justifier Sammacin "I didn't mean" gets out the prostitute the justifier is strangling as he stands over her on his bed "Yes you did" quietly says the wizard Sammacin as he continues to squeeze the throat of the young prostitute who like him is naked.
The justifier takes one hand off the throat of the kneeling prostitute, who a few moments ago was pleasuring his manhood with her mouth. He holds out his free hand, and the prostitute is able to gasp in a bit of air.
A rope that's coiled up on a nearby bed stand, shoots across to the bed, and into the free hand of the wizard, who is one of the rulers of the city of Falnic. Sammacin quickly wraps some of the rope around dark haired prostitute's neck, and with a thought similar to the one that sent the rope to him, he sends it upwards to the ring in the ceiling he put in specifically for this purpose.
The young prostitute who can't be more than fifteen years old gasps in pain and fright as she realises what's happening. By spellcraft she's hauled up off her knees then off her feet as the rope through the ring in the ceiling, lifts her up in the air, and as she's hanged, the wizard Sammacin quietly says to her "Know one says that to me, especially not a nameless whore from the docks".
The city ruler holds out his right hand, and a long silver dagger on a nearby table flies into the palm of his open hand. Gripping the handle of the dagger, Sammacin with a dispassionate look upon his face, plunges the dagger into the stomach of the struggling prostitute whose legs are kicking about as she's hanged.
The justifier hops back out of the way so that blood doesn't get on him after he wrenches the dagger down, and rips it out of the belly of the young prostitute. The wizard looks at the dying prostitute for a moment, then smiles as he sees the look of despair and loss in her eyes as she's strangled to death by the rope around her neck, while her entrails slip from her stomach.
Justifier Sammacin drops the silver dagger then gets off his bed, the city ruler takes a robe from the back of a chair and puts it on, he then walks across his bed chamber and out the massive open balcony doors, he steps out onto the terraced balcony. And from his hilltop mansion, he looks down upon the harbour below of the city he helps to rule.
The wizard, a fairly young one at just twenty years old, who also happens to be one of the youngest justifiers not just in the city of Falnic, but all of the region of Belinswae. Shakes his head at having to kill another prostitute, as he didn't particularly want to kill this one, as he quite liked the look of her. That was until she opened her mouth and spoke to him, when he specifically told her not to say a single word, and the only thing she was to use her mouth for, was to pleasure him.
The Justifier Sammacin who has been in a sour mood since yesterday morning when he found out the squad of his guards who he had sent out to raid into the nomads plains last week. Came under attack when they returned to the city through the main east gate yesterday morning,
Five of his guards who were bringing in a group of nomad prisoners were killed. Four by an unknown assassin who was using a crossbow of some kind, and the fifth who fell from a rooftop when they were searching for said assassin, who escaped without being seen by any of his guards. Or by the guards of justifier Kaellin, who were on duty at that gate yesterday morning.
The young wizard sourly smiles to himself, then mutters "Damn nomads" as he can only think that there must be a nomad hiding in the city somewhere, as the chance of a nomad sympathizer amongst the local population is pretty much nill.
That leaves only one of the visitors to Falnic who could be responsible for what happened yesterday morning at the main east gate of the city. Justifier Sammacin has some of his guards looking into that, as they also search the city for any hidden nomad.
The young wizard, who didn't even get any pleasure or satisfaction in the public executions of the nomad prisoners yesterday afternoon, which he personally oversaw, which he normally doesn't do. Shakes his head again as he looks down at the harbour below, and all the activity on the water, and down in the docks.
The city ruler mutters "Damn nomads" again then after a moment's pause as he thinks about things, he murmurs "And where the hell is Kaellin?" for the justifier he's closest to, has yet to return from his trip to the elven principality of Maladimbáh.
The young wizard knows that his fellow justifier, the mage Kaellin has gone to Maladimbáh, to see if he can get permission to have some of his guards be stationed there, so that they can easily raid down into the nomads plains.
Hopes his colleague hasn't bitten off more than he can chew, and pissed off an elven lord or two, who would take it as an insult at such a suggestion from one of the rulers of Belinswae.
The wizard Sammacin knows that justifier Kaellin may be the most powerful justifier in terms of magic, for the simple fact he's a mage, the least common, and on average the most powerful of all the human spellcasters. But when it comes to the long lived elves, and their magic using nobles. How powerful one is, doesn't necessarily mean all that much, compared to the skill and experience of someone who has lived for centuries, or even a millennia. If there has been an altercation of some kind in justifier Kaellin's attempts to get permission for his plan.
The young wizard, who is one of the justifiers in Falnic who wants his colleague Kaellin to succeed, while others couldn't care less, while even others hope he fails. For the simple fact they didn't think to go ahead and try it, even though it's been talked about for generations here in the port city of Falnic.
Turns around and walks back into his bed chamber, and calls out "Guards!" the justifier has to call out again, this time augmenting his voice with a spell so that he can be heard, as the nearest of his guards are outside his large suite, that takes up a lot of the top floor of his mansion.
A short while later, and quartet of his guards enter the bed chamber, none of them are surprised at what they see, it's a fairly common occurrence, and they've all seen it before. "Get rid of her" orders the young wizard who waves a hand at the dead prostitute hanging there, slowly twisting around above the bed, with her entrails dangling out of her ripped guts. "And have the chambermaids clean up the mess the dead whore has made of my bed".
As the guards set about doing what he's told them to do, the wizard Sammacin goes into another room and gets dressed, once dressed and he makes his way back through his bed chamber, which is now minus the dead prostitute, who has been taken away, the city ruler heads out of his suite, and makes his way downstairs.
He breakfasts in the small dining hall next to the kitchens, he eats with his aunt Beralyn, he's spotted his mother Helmala out the dining hall windows, working in the back gardens. She doesn't have to, but the young wizard knows that his mother is happiest when she's potting about in the gardens on the mansion's grounds.
The justifier after eating, wishes his aunt Beralyn a pleasant day, then he heads outside, to a side courtyard, the one where the guards on duty here at his mansion, are garrisoned in the barracks. When their main barracks of the wizard Sammacin personal army is in the north of the city.
Waiting outside the barracks is the young wizards older cousin Galbin, who commands the army of the city ruler, there's a decade between the two cousins, but that means nothing when it comes to a justifier of Belinswae, who rule their part of the region, in this instance Falnic, with impunity.
Fortunately the two cousins are close, and have always got along, with the older Galbin teaching his cousin the wizard when he was younger, the way of warfare, in particular the type of warfare found here in Falnic and much of Belinswae, the raids into the nomad plains, against the mortal enemies of the townsmen of Belinswae.
"Any word on a hidden nomad in the city?" asks justifier Sammacin as they stand infront of the barracks in the morning sunshine on what promises to be a warm summer's day "Nothing during the night" replies commander Galbin who like his younger cousin, stands around five foot, nine inches tall. And while the young wizard is slim, the older cousin is more muscular, though both cousins have the same colouring. Dark hair and tan coloured skin, as the majority of the people here in Falnic have.
"Word has got out, and the other justifiers have their guards searching for a hidden nomad assassin too" says Galbin who then adds "They're also checking on the visitors to the city, to see if one of them was involved in what happened yesterday" the young wizard nods his head at that, then the justifier says "It's to be expected".
Sammacin knows that his fellow city rulers reveal in the fact when something goes wrong for one of them. But when it comes to any of their guards getting killed within the city walls, and that nomad prisoners were involved in any such incident. They will all want the culprit or culprits apprehended, and duly executed.
The two cousins briefly fall silent as they look away to their left, as a horse drawn wagon, in the back of which is the wrapped body of the dead prostitute that Sammacin killed earlier, leaves the courtyard.
Then commander Galbin who knows what happened in his cousins suite earlier, because it's happened before, often. And that the guards who are taking away the body, informed him of it. Says to his younger cousin "I find it hard to believe that there's a nomad hiding here in the city" the commander of justifier Sammacin's personal army continues with "I reckon even the damn half breeds in the city would rat out any gods forsaken nomad scum" Galbin then adds "My guess, is that a visitor, a foreigner did this".
So do i, the city ruler thinks to himself, for as much as the young wizard wants it to be a nomad assassin who was responsible for what happened yesterday at the main east gates of the city, it's extremely unlikely that a nomad, free within the city, was the one who did it.
Justifier Sammacin like his older cousin Galbin knows that the person most likely to be responsible for killing some of his guards as they brought in a group nomad prisoners yesterday morning, is a visitor to the city of Falnic. Which there are a number of them in the city at the moment, as is usual for the summer time in the port city.
"So" says the young wizard, who having made up his mind, makes s decision, and he tells his older cousin Galbin "I guess we check up on all the usual haunts of the foreigners" then as one of the wyverns in the far courtyard on the otherside of the large mansion's can be heard screeching about something, justifier Sammacin continues with "Gather a squad, and let's get going" . . . . . .

Wonderful 38.

Belinswae. The City Of Falnic...

On the city wall, near the gate that looks out directly to the east, Tamric Drubine says "You see that?" next to him, with a hand shading her eyes, Lisell Maera nods her head, then says "I do".
Although the road out this particular city gate goes east for a bit, then goes north, a lot of those leaving the city and entering it via this gate, cross the open ground further to the east of the road. And on that open ground, the two youngsters from south of the equator, see figures approaching the city, and above them in the sky, is a tame wyvern, that's slowly flying in circles, easily keeping pace with those on the ground who are making their way to Falnic.
"Where's Riley this morning?" quietly asks the nobleborn boy from the kingdom of Sarcrin "Down at the docks with sir Percy" replies the orphan teenager from the city-state of Brattonbury who after a pause, asks "Why?". "Prisoners" is the quiet word from the former heir to castle Drubine in the kingdom of Sarcrin, with a wince upon her face, Lisell Maera mutters "Damn" for in the distance there looks to be children amongst the group who are approaching the city from the east.
The two youngsters who are from south of the equator, are silent as they watch the people in the distance, and the circling wyvern that's overhead, get closer and closer to the city. Eventually the wyvern, and those upon it's back, fly directly to the city, passing a hundred feet above the wall that both Tam and Lis are sitting on.
The nobleborn youngster and the orphan teen soon see that the group consists of about a dozen justifier guards, who have twenty prisoners with them. All nomads from the hot, arid plains further to the east, about a dozen adults, mostly women, and the rest youngsters and children. The three adult males are all older men. There's no men in their middle years or younger.
"Must be from a tribe on the edge of the plains" quietly says Tamric Drubine who finally breaks the silence between the two of them, Lisell Maera nods her head in agreement, and does so again when the son of the former knight of castle Drubine adds "Near the farmlands out away to the east".
The orphan teen, who grew up in some of the poorer areas of one of the largest city's in the Southlands, looks down off the wall, then quietly says in a sour tone of voice "A welcoming party below" Tam lifts a questioning eyebrow, and Lis tells him "A mob forming" the nobleborn youngster winces, then he too looks down off the wall.
"Shit" mutters Tamric Drubine, who then quietly says in the elven language "Fucking townsmen" Lisell Maera nods her head in agreement, but refrains from saying anything about it.
Below, on either side of the open gates, people are gathering as the party approaching the city from the east have been spotted. The two youngsters from south of the equator see people have stones and rocks in their hands, as well as clumps of dirt, and rotten fruit. The justifier guards on duty at this particular gate, and those dotted along the top of the wall, which Tam and Lis are sitting on. Couldn't care less about the gathering mob, and are doing nothing to disband them, even though they know what's about to happen.
"I don't particularly want to watch this" quietly says Tamric Drubine who stands up "Nor do i" says Lisell Maera, who also stands up, the two of them then walk along the wall, heading to the nearest set of steps, that lead down into the city.
For the teenager from the city-state of Brattonbury, who finds what's about to happen, particularly disgusting. Knows that it must be extremely galling for Tam not to do anything about it.
Lis has learnt that her friend and traveling companion, with his noble birth, is expected to stand up to what they think is an injustice. The orphan teen from the coastal city of Brattonbury knows that not all born of nobility are like that, infact most aren't, but Tam is.
She knows that he must be in a rage that he's been told not to create any kind of incident, especially after their unannounced sojourn out of the city a few weeks ago.
For Lis herself, who would like to do something against what's about to happen to the prisoners nearing the east gate, she just tries to block out what's about to happen. It's something she's having a lot of practice with lately, after her ordeal where she was captured by road bandits, who raped her.
Once down off the steps, and moving away from the city wall, the two youngsters as they cross a street, spot Dalinvardél Tanith making his way out of a nearby shop, they walk over to the elven spy, who stops when he sees the two of them.
"You two are supposed to be up on the wall, watching those approaching the city" quietly says Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy who is in charge of the two youngsters today, Dalin who is speaking in his native language, is about to add something, when he frowns, and he looks to the left along the street they're on, where at the end of it, you can see the wide street just before the nearby city gate.
"What's going on there?" quietly asks the elf from the principality of Alínlae in the Southlands "It's why we're not up on the wall at the moment" says Tamric Drubine, who continues with "We're taking a break" the nobleborn boy who is also talking in the elven language, then adds "Guards are bringing in a group of nomad prisoners, mostly women and children" Tam pauses for a moment, then he says "There's a mob forming to greet them".
The elven spy winces, then mutters "Shit" followed by "Fucking townsmen" Tamric Drubine sourly smiles as that's exactly the same thing he said a little earlier when he was on top of the city wall. Dalinvardél Tanith looks at the two youngsters, and can easily imagine what they're feeling, then the elf who was once a member of the household of Ollinsállé noble family in the principality of Alínlae, asks the two of them "Which justifier's guards are bringing them in?".
"Sammacin's" replies Lisell Maera who recognized the tabards of the guards with the prisoners "Hmmmmm" murmurs Dalin as he thinks about something, then the elven spy says "Justifier Kaellin's guards on are on gate duty here aren't they?". "They are" is the answer from the orphan teenager from the city-state of Brattonbury, a brief smile flashes across the face of the fairly young elf, who then says "Come on you two, you can help me out with something" the elven spy turns to the left, the direction of the nearby city gates, as he does, he quietly says to the two youngsters "Don't tell the prince about what's going to happen here".
Behind the elf from the principality of Alínlae, the nobleborn youngster from the kingdom of Sarcrin, and orphan teen from the city-state of Brattonbury share a look, and they both grin.
Dalin leads Tam and Lis onto the street infront of the city gates, through them they can see a commotion, as the gathered crowd are already pelting the prisoners, who are being brought into the city. The justifier's guards in charge of them aren't doing anything to stop what's happening, infact they're getting out of the way, so that they don't get hit by the stones, clumps of dirt and rotten fruit.
Nor are the other justifier guards who are on gate duty, doing anything to stop what's happening. Many of them are actually encouraging the mob, that's if they're not laughing and jeering at the nomad prisoners. While on this side of the open gate, others who have gathered, are waiting for their turn to pelt the nomad prisoners who are being brought into the city.
This is a fairly common occurrence when the prisoners of a raid into the nomads plains are brought into Falnic. The justifiers and their guards allow it to happen, to appease their fellow townsmen who hate the nomads of the plains just as much as they do. And because there's a fairly good chance that a number of the prisoners, usually the very youngest, or the elderly, will be killed by a mob. So that there's less to kill when it comes to the time of the nomads public executions, making the job of the justifier's guards a little bit more easier.
Turning left, away from the Falnic's main east gates, Dalinvardél Tanith walks infront of a couple of buildings, then stops at the front of a shop after he looks to either side of the building it's in. The elven spy quietly says in his native language, to the two youngsters, who like him are from south of the equator "Give them a misdirection when it happens".
"We know what to do" is the quiet reply of Lisell Maera in the same language, the elf from the principality of Alínlae in the Southlands, nods then makes his way around to the side of the building where he spotted a set of stairs that lead up to the roof above.
As people along this street that runs directly to the city gates, turn to watch what's happening nearby, and others come out from the buildings and shops, or look out windows and doors, as they've heard the commotion that's familiar to them, so that they can watch what's happening.
Tam and Lis watch as the prisoners with their guards, come through the opens gates, while those in the gathered mob continue to pelt the nomads from the hot, arid plains to the east.
The nobleborn boy from the kingdom of Sarcrin winces as he sees one of the prisoners, a little boy hit by a stone in the head, who drops to the street unconscious. As his mother, by the looks of it, tries to grab and pick him up, one of the justifier's guards takes a hold of her, and hauls her forward with the rest of the prisoners.
The unconscious child is pelted with stones, rocks, and anything else the gathered mob can get a hold of. If he isn't dead, he certainly is when one of the other justifier's guards, who are on gate duty, yells at the mob to step back or else. They reluctantly do, and the guard on gate duty moves forward, and shoves his spear into the back of the small nomad child lying still in the street, much to the delight of the gathered mob, and those watching further down the street.
Lisell Maera grimaces as an older woman amongst the prisoners, stumbles to her knees when she's hit in the face by a clump of dirt. One of the other nomad prisoners goes to help her up, but she's whacked across the rear end by the flat of the blade of a guards sword.
Who himself grabs an arm of the older prisoner who has fallen, yanking it as he hauls her up off the ground. He goes to shove her forward, but the older woman, with a surprising amount of speed, spins and whacks the guard in the side of the face, breaking his jaw, and felling him, thanks to the rock she's holding, which she picked up off the ground when she stumbled to her knees.
Another of the justifier's guards yells in anger, and he draws his sword, and goes to swing it as he advances on the older prisoner, who just knocked out, and broke the jaw of one of his fellow guards.
The justifier's guard barely swings his sword back when suddenly the side of his skull shatters apart, and he drops to the ground dead. There's a moment of silence from the prisoners, guards, gathered mob, and those watching, then people start yelling and shouting.
"He really is good with that little crossbow of his" quietly says Lisell Maera in the elven language "That he is" says Tamric Drubine in the same language, as they watch another of justifier's guards who are bringing in the prisoners, drop to the ground with a crossbow bolt through his neck. Straight after that another one, who looks to be the squad commander, also drops to the ground dead, when the front of his face shatters apart when a bolt goes into his head.
A moment after that, one of the justifier guards on gate duty, on this side of the gates, stumbles around, blood frothing from his mouth, clutching at the crossbow bolt that's sticking through in his throat.
Panic sets in, and people start running, while others are screaming and shouting, and the justifier's guards, from both squads are yelling and shouting. Then as another of the guards who have brought in the nomads prisoners, drops to the ground howling in pain as there's a crossbow bolt in his groin, Lisell Maera asks in the elven language "Been long enough?". "I would say so" says Tamric Drubine in the same language.
The teenager from the city-state of Brattonbury nods, then she yells out in the common language "Up there!" as she points to a roof of a building on the otherside of the street, a building that's closer to the city gates.
"There!" shouts the nobleborn boy in the same language who points to the same rooftop, then the two youngsters are surprised, when a goblin a bit further down the street from them, one of the few you're likely to see in this part of the city, as goblins are more likely to be found in and around the docks in the port, also shouts "Up there!" in common and points at the same rooftop that Lis and Tam just pointed at.
The two youngsters look at the goblin, and Tamric Drubine slightly nods to him, the goblin nods back and grins, then shuffle away with the whicker basket it's carrying, nearly tripping over as it does so.
As justifier's guards run to the building that they think the crossbowman is on top of, and others drag away the nomad prisoners, as pretty much most of the gathered mob has fled, or are fleeing. Dalinvardél Tanith rejoins the two youngsters standing infront of the shop.
"Huh?" says Dalin, who then adds "I wonder what's happened there?" as he looks to the result of what's happened near the city gates, Tamric Drubine shrugs his shoulders, then says "We have no idea" then the three of them from the Southlands, turn and walk away, and head further into the city of Falnic on this clear summer's day . . . . . .

Wonderful 37.

The Principality Of Maladimbáh...

Mira Reinholt the mage is pretty sure when he knows when the dragon dies, he hears what he can only describe as it's death throes, followed by a loud crashing sound as it falls to the ground, sounding like it took a few trees down with it as well.
The once powerful mage doesn't have to wait long, when out of the corner of his eye, he sees the same skeletal figure of a dead elf he saw earlier, come into view. Though this time it's holding it's own left arm in it's right hand, while it's skull is now at a bit of a jaunty angle.
The Vexilian mage in exile looks straight ahead as the long dead elven warrior looks at him, before dropping back down into the hole into the ground it crawled out of, then it covers itself with dirt again.
A few moments later and the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, glances the same way, and a bit further away, he spots the skeletal form of the dwarven warrior he saw earlier.
The mage Reinholt slightly shakes his head, as he sees that the ancient dwarf, who has been dead for how many years, the exiled Vexilian mage has no idea. Is now headless, and is carrying it's own skull in both of it's hands. A skull it's trying to put back on the rest of it's frame, when it falls back down into the hole in the ground it crawled up out of.
The swordmaster Reinholt faintly winces as the skull, which didn't drop back down into the hole, starts hoping on it's own accord, towards the hole in the ground the rest of it's body is in.
Then a skeletal arm pops up out of that hole, and the hand starts groping around for the skull, which it eventually finds, and pulls down into the hole, then both arms, can briefly be seen, pulling dirt down, to close the hole in the ground up.
"Fucking wonderful" murmurs Mira Reinholt the mage, who hasn't seen lord Farque raise the dead in years, and like every time he's seen it, it's more than a little unsettling to say the least.
The mage from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands gets up off the ground when he hears someone approaching "I take it, it's dead?" asks the once powerful mage "It is" replies lord Farque who has just walked around the pile of boulders.
The swordmaster Reinholt gestures to the disturbed earth nearby, and asks "Was that necessary?" the undead warlord shrugs his broad, heavily armoured shoulders and says "Not really" he continues with "But they made it a fucking hell of lot easier to kill it" the deathlord of Farque then adds "You know how tough the fucking wyrms can be to kill".
The Vexilian mage in exile nods his head to that, for indeed he does know how hard it is to kill a dragon. For he killed one a number of years ago with lord Farque and Dorc da Orc, when it was just the three of them traveling throughout the Southlands.
Then a handful of years after that, the mage Reinholt fought another dragon, who he considered a colleague during his time in the kingdom of Druvic in the Southlands. A dragon that briefly killed Mira Reinholt, who lucky for him, was brought back to life, and into his own body too, by lord Farque, who then took down the same dragon, essentially killing it, before Helbe the elven thief along with Sephiryn the elemental finished it off in one of the main squares in the city of Leeabra, the capital of Druvic.
"Here" says the heavily armoured deathlord "Thanks" dryly says the spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil as he looks at the longsword he gave to lord Farque. The weapon is at a complete right angle about halfway along the length of the blade. A blade that's no longer the dull steel colour it was before, but is now a scorched black.
"That's real useful now" dryly says the swordmaster Reinholt who takes it from the undead warlord "It is" says lord and ruler of the lands Farque who is also known as Draugadrottin by the people of his lands, he continues with "It's fire hardened by dragon flame" the lord of the death realm then adds "It's basically magical now".
"Oh?" says the mage Reinholt who then adds "What's it's magical properties?" the undead warlord tells him "It can't be broken". "It can't?" asks the once powerful mage, the heavily armoured deathlord nods his full helmed head, then the spellcaster from south of the equator, takes the bent longsword, and whacks it against one of the boulders next to them.
By the shape of fire, Mira Reinholt thinks to himself in surprise, who then quietly says "Would you look at that" as he doesn't find a single scratch or mark upon the black blade he's just whacked on one of the boulders.
"Still, it's no good being bent like that" says the mage who was once the youngest member ever of the mage council of Vexil his homeland, who then holds the weapon out to the lord and ruler of the lands Farque and asks him "Can you fix it?".
Draugadrottin takes the weapon, and taking hold of the blade, he bends it back so that it's straight again and no longer at a ninety degree angle. "Thanks" says Mira Reinholt who takes the longsword back from the heavily armoured deathlord who tells him "If you don't end up using it all the time, you can give it to that fat fuck Dorc" the undead warlord continues in a dry tone of voice with "He's been annoying as fuck for the last two and half years ever since i made him give back that magical sword to that idiot knight Percavelle".
At the mention of the large ork and the knight in the order of Saint Mar-che, the swordmaster Reinholt sourly smiles, as the two of them, if they're not constantly arguing, are trying their best to kill one another. Which they try to do whenever lord Farque or anyone else, as in Mira himself, and Helbe the elven thief, who with magical means, aren't there to break the two of them up.
"Lucky those two geniuses aren't together at the moment" dryly says the Vexilian mage in exile, who thanks to the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, knows that Dorc da Orc is somewhere out on the nomads plains. The undead warlord just grunts to that, then he makes his way around the pile of boulders, followed by the mage Reinholt who returns the newly blackened sword, to it's scabbard.
The spellcaster who was more powerful than any other mage of his generation in the Southlands, sees the disturbed earth everywhere, where the heavily armoured deathlord raised the dead, and as he spots the dead dragon away to the right, lying over a number of fallen trees, he asks "How'd you kill it?".
"With that sword you've got" replies lord Farque who pays no attention to the dead drake as he continues with "In it's maw as it was spraying fire all over the place, slammed that sword up through it's gullet, into the underside of it's thick fucking skull" the undead warlord then adds in a wry tone "It's how i bent the blade like that".
Hell, no wonder it got burnt black like that, the mage Reinholt thinks to himself, he knows that the sword he now possess would normally be burnt to a puddle of liquid metal by the dragon's fire, but with lord of the death realm holding it at the time, it remained intact, though ending up completely altered.
As for lord Farque, who really wished he had his own sword when he dealt to the dragon, as it would of made matters a hell of lot easier for him, says "It was" in reply to the swordmaster Reinholt asking him "Some ancient battlefield?" as he waves a hand around them, indicating the now churned up earth.
"Must of been some dwarven mountain clans living in the area ages ago" explains Draugadrottin, who continues with "Must of been driven out by the elves, most likely before they created the actual principality".
"Hmmmmm about eighteen hundred years ago" says Mira Reinholt, who then adds "Maladimbáh is about that old, learnt that when i was in that tower" the deathlord of Farque shrugs his broad, heavily armoured shoulders, then says "The dwarves are probably the one's who i heard live in the hill country along the coast in the north of Belinswae" the undead warlord adds "The only non humans who have a decent sized community in the region".
"Strange place" murmurs the exiled Vexilian mage, who has been in a lot of strange places in his three decades of life, but for some reason, he finds the region of Belinswae to the west, which he was only in for a short amount of time, to be one of the strangest places of all.
"Of course you'd find it strange" dryly says lord Farque who points the way to go, the heavily armoured deathlord who is also known as Des'tier to an older generation of elves, who may know him, continues with "It's the lack of magic, well i should say, the lack of practitioners of magic in Belinswae that makes it so strange to you".
Probably, the once powerful mage thinks to himself, who then finds himself nodding in agreement with the undead warlord who says "And with those in the position of authority there, you've got yourself a bunch of tyrants in control of everything" the heavily armoured deathlord then adds "When you've got that, other communities tend not thrive in that type of society".
That's a bit rich coming from you, since you're the very definition of an all powerful tyrant, Mira Reinholt thinks to himself, though he must admit, lord Farque's lands, is just as diverse as anywhere else in the Southlands that has a decent sized population. And that two of the rarest races to be found anywhere in the world, water elementals and the krean are found in his lands, with it being the only place to find the winged krean.
While during his brief time in Belinswae, the Vexilian mage, who was even in the city of Falnic for a couple of days. Hardly saw goblins, who besides humans, are the most abundant people to be found anywhere in the populated areas of the world of Volunell.
As they head down through the valley as the late morning sun beats down upon the treetops and the surrounding mountains on this clear summer's day, the heavily armoured deathlord says "From what i found out in the towns and villages i stopped at in Belinswae on my way here, even a larger place like Falnic, doesn't have the same population as a city of comparable size in the Southlands, even in a smaller, backwards feudal kingdom, like Sarcrin".
The spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil frowns as he remembers his time in the port city of Falnic, then he nods his head and says "You're right" the once powerful mage nods again, when the lord and ruler of the lands Farque says "Population control to keep those in power, staying in power".
"Hmmmmm wonder how they're doing that?" murmurs Mira Reinholt "Pretty easy if you think about it" says lord Farque who follows that up with "A bet a shitload of them, especially the men, are killed with their raids into the nomads plains" he continues with "Those in power, those justifiers, have their own little armies, i would say as many of their guards die as they kill nomads, every time they raid into the plains" the undead warlord then adds "They probably only get the upper hand when they catch a tribe unawares, or the nomads get caught close to Belinswae".
Hell, that's probably true, Mira Reinholt thinks to himself after blinking in surprise, and as they cross a mountain meadow, and the highly skilled swordmaster sees that they're heading directly south, he asks "Where we going?" the lord of the death realm replies with "South, into the plains". "We're not going after her?" asks the Vexilian mage in exile, who knows that Kaldeàlil Haldéilv is heading west more than south "Eventually" says Draugadrottin, who then adds "We're going to get someone first".
The once powerful mage sourly smiles as he knows who they're going to get out on the nomads plains, then Mira Reinholt genuinely smiles when lord Farque, after glancing at him, says "I think you'll be able to cast again soon".
"When?" asks the swordmaster Reinholt who keeps his excitement under control, the undead warlord after looking up at the sun and it's position in the sky, says "I'd say after midday".
By the shape of fire, thank fuck for that, Mira Reinholt thinks to himself in relief . . . . . .

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 . . . . . .