Wonderful

Three Years Later...

Dorc da Orc is in the prison. This isn't exactly a new experience for the large ork, for over the years he's been in numerous, not to mention, all types of prisons.
The ork weaponsmith has been in every type of cell you can think of. From small damp cells in tiny border towns, to large open communal cells in the towers of certain city watches.
He's been in dungeons beneath run down keeps of pauper knights in the remotest of kingdoms, to the worst dungeons you can think of, beneath the most opulent of palaces you'll likely ever to see.
The ork warleader has even been held in holes in the ground. On two continents too. One in some foothills far way away to the south, where he was held by a clan of hill dwarves, until he was found and rescued by the individual who named him the warleader of his race.
To a hole in a maze on another continent, a maze of cells that ended up in various fighting pits in a section of a floating city, that years after he was a prisoner there, he would help to destroy.
But Dorkindle, as Dorc da Orc's given name is, has never been in a prison like the prison he's in at the moment. It's not magical and lethal as some prisons he's been in are. And though it's fairly basic, it's far from the most poorest and despicable prison that he's ever had the presence to grace.
But what it is, is the most secure prison in the world, well for an ork it is, because Dorc da Orc is in a small boat, in the middle of an ocean.

Dorc da Orc scowls as he lifts his head up over the starboard side gunnels, the large ork feels like muttering a few choice swear words, but he can't be bothered as all he sees in is blue water away to his right.
Sunshine is bouncing off the surface of the water, and though it doesn't effect his eyesight, he finds it extremely annoying, for the simple fact that there's water that surrounds him on all sides, and that the sun, on this clear day, is once again hot, so hot that the ork weaponsmith can't cope with it, as he finds the heat on a hot day problematic to begin with.
Dorkindle of the wolf tribe of orks lays his head back down, and covers his face with an arm, as he basically pants as he tries to cool himself down this hot day, which is another hot day, following another, and another, so many, that the large ork has lost count of how many days he's been held prisoner in his unique cell.
The ork warleader like all of his kind, despises water more than anything else in life, especially large quantities of the stuff, like say an ocean. Thinks about having another drink of his own pee, which has been just about the only thing, along with his own shit, that's really given him any sustenance since he's been a prisoner.
Dorc da Orc forgoes drinking any of his own piss now, he'll wait until night time, when it's cooler and he's able to urinate with a little more ease, not to mention comfort as he squirts his own piss into his mouth.
The ork warleader thinks about dozing again, as it's what he's done most often during his confinement on the small boat. The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks can usually keep himself amused in his time in a prison, but here in the middle of the ocean, even he's devoid of ideas, for shitting, pissing and masturbating can only keep you entertained for so long, even for a demented ork like himself.
Dorkindle yawns as he tries not to think about things, many things that have changed his life over the last few years, instead he listens to the sounds around him as he lies there in the bottom of the boat with a forearm covering his face.
First and foremost the large ork hears the sound of the water all around him, lapping against the boat that's floating gently in the warm water of the ocean. The ork weaponsmith who can't get the disgusting smell, well to him it's disgusting, of the salt water out of his nose, hears the sounds of sea birds in the distance.
This gets his attention, as he hasn't heard any of them in a few days, and when you combine that with the slight sound of the wind picking up, the warleader of the ork race figures things are going to change again.
A short time later and Dorc da Orc grunts as his prison starts slowly moving again, the large ork debates in his mind, which is no easy thing when you've got hundreds of voices yelling at one another in your mind, if he should have a look at what's happening, curiosity gets the better of him and he decides to have a look.
Dorkindle lifts his head up and looks forward beyond the bow of his small boat, he sees the chain lifting up out of the water and slowly go a bit more taunt and the boat moves forward as the ship it's connected to gets underway again after being becalmed as it has often been over the last few days.
Dorc da Orc scowls at the twin masted sailing ship and his captors onboard it just a hundred and fifty feet away, he sees the crew members with bows, crossbows, and a fixed ballista in the stern, all looking his way, seeing if he'll try anything again. The large ork will bide his time as he waits for another opportunity to escape. So for now he just watches them and scowls.
The ork weaponsmith sniffs deeply, and again, as it's been for the last week or so, there's only one other member of the group onboard the ship of their captors, the warleader of the ork race grunts as he's relieved that at least one of the others is still around and alive, even though they, like him, is being held a prisoner. Well to be fair, there's also another member of the group onboard the twin masted sailing ship, but no way would Dorkindle normally think that they're actually a part of the group, and to be honest, they're definitely not a prisoner, they're just along for the ride really.
As his moving cell, well moves, slowly through the water, Dorc da Orc, who at least knows they're still going north, thinks about who came onboard to help rescue him and the other prisoner. The large ork who isn't normally one for reflection, screws up his face, as he thinks of what happened, or what he has an inkling of what happened, since he was stuck here in his floating prison, and didn't exactly see what transpired, all he did, was hear and smell what happened.
Dorkindle turns his head and looks southwards, the direction they've come from, and like it is to the north, east and west, it's all just blue sea one can see, the large ork slightly shakes his head as he knows that someone will be extremely fucked off once they catch up. That they'll eventually catch up is a certainty to the ork warleader, he believes that in the fullest as he believes in his god Krom, he knows that nothing can stop that individual, absolutely nothing.
The large ork from the southern polar region known as The Ork Range, an extremely inhospitable and sparsely populated region at the bottom of the world, since he's in such a rare reflective mood, thinks about a few other things. Even though he doesn't particularly want to think about some of them.
As his prison moves forward through the warm water at a fairly slow speed, Dorc da Orc drops his head back down beneath the level of the gunnels, with the hot sun beating down upon him, he thinks about his army of goblin mercenaries, who he hasn't seen in over a year, and who are no longer mercenaries as such.
The warleader of the ork race briefly grins in a rare moment of pride as he knows that his army, well those that survived their long arduous journey, are far away to the south, being trained by members of the finest fighting force that Dorkindle has ever encountered.
The large ork as he's often want to do when he feels proud about something, thinks about someone else who for a number of years was his best friend. The feeling of pride instantly turns to sadness, and in the bottom of the boat that is his prison, Dorc da Orc turns his head as tears come unbidden to his eyes.
In one of those rare moments, all of the voices in his head fall silent as the ork weaponsmith thinks of his pet pig, Piggy who has been dead for the past year or so.
Dorkindle lies there in his prison, not caring about where he is or the predicament he's in, or anything else that he and the others in the group have recently gone through, all he can think of is now dead pet pig Piggy, sir Piggy of the Pork, Knight of the Ham.
"Poor Piggy" murmurs Dorc da Orc with a catch in his voice as he lies there on his side at the bottom of the boat that is his prison, softly crying to himself as the hot sun beats down upon the ocean that he's stuck in the middle of . . . . . .

The Princeling 236.

Tamric Drubine sits upon the bottom step of a set of stairs that leads up to the top of the airdock where their airship is docked. Sitting nearby is the heavily armoured pig Piggy, who is unable to climb the stairs to the top of the straight dock.
The nobleborn boy from the kingdom of Sarcrin yawns as he waits while dappled sunlight comes down through the branches of the tall trees that surround the dock, on this cool, but clear winter's day.
Lord Farque has just gone up the stairs a short time ago, and when he passed Tamric and Piggy, the lord and ruler of the lands Farque told the former heir to castle Drubine in the north of the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin to keep waiting where he is.
Tam knows the heavily armoured ruler of the lands Farque could of carried Piggy up to the top of the dock, but there was no way in hell the nobleborn boy was going to ask him to do that. So the son of the former knight of castle Drubine continues to wait, with the large pink pig sitting close by,
Not long afterwards and Piggy stands up, the large heavily armoured pig looks away to their right through the trees and oinks. Tam looks that way too, and he soon sees what the large, pink domesticated pig has spotted. It's Dorc da Orc who is making his way through the trees towards this particular airdock.
"Hey Dorc" says Tamric Drubine in greeting when the large ork walks up to the foot of the stairs, the ork warleader just grunts in return, then looks up at the dock above, then picks up his pet pig Piggy. Though not before Tam notices the ork weaponsmith rubs one of his large meaty hands across his face, and sniffs a few times. For a moment there, the nobleborn boy thinks the large ork is going to cry, Tamric Drubine shakes his head and thinks he's imagining things, as Dorc would never do that.
Dorkindle heads up the stairs while carrying his pet pig Piggy, who he usually tucks under an arm when he's carrying him around. But not this time, for the warleader of the ork race is cradling the heavily armoured pet pig, who weighs well over three hundred pounds, in both arms infront of him, as if he was a mother carrying her child.
Even Piggy is a little confused by this, as he leans his head over the broad right shoulder of the large ork, and looks back at Tam who is following them up the stairs. Not too close though, as the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks fear reeks this morning.
The big, pink, domesticated pig is softly oinking away as he looks back at Tamric Drubine, as if he's asking the nobleborn boy, what's going on? The former heir to castle Drubine in the kingdom of Sarcrin, just shrugs his shoulders as he looks at the large, heavily armoured pet pig, who is watching him.
Fifty feet above the ground, and they're on the dock, Dorc da Orc spots their airship, it's the closest one to this end of the dock, and it's one of only three vessels moored at this particular dock.
"What the fuck they dong here?" asks Dorc da Orc who looks back at the following nobleborn boy after he spots a squad of guards, both royal and from house Aelvilth, who are essentially guarding the single masted airship that the large ork, along with Tamric Drubine, Lisell Maera, Caerik Alsair, Riley Hait the mercenary ranger and Mira Reinholt the mage used to travel from the hills and mountains just across the southern border of Alínlae, to here it's capital, Parlindellè,
"They're just here so that nothing untowards happens, and that we get safely away" says Tam in response to the large ork's question, the ork warleader grunts, then with Piggy still cradled in arms, he heads towards the small, single masted vessel.
"We've still got to wait for Helbe" quietly says the nobleborn boy from the kingdom of Sarcrin "He fucken here" says Dorkindle with a nod of his head at their airship, as he has caught the scent of the young elven noble from the principality of Laerel, along with Narladene the ground pixie onboard the small, singlemasted airship.
"Outta the way cunts" says the warleader of the ork race to some of the guards positioned near the gangplank to the small airship, they part for the large ork, who walks onto the wooden plank to the vessel.
Tamric Drubine waits a moment as the gangplank creaks alarmingly under the combined weight of Dorc da Orc and his pet pig Piggy. Though no more loudly than the creak of every step of the stairs that Dorkindle just went up. The ork weaponsmith and his pet pig make it onto the airship, and the son of the former knight of castle Drubine follows them across the gangplank and onto the small airship.
Once Dorc da Orc, his pet pig Piggy, and Tamric Drubine are onboard, lord Farque has a final word with the squad leader of guards as he stands at the port rail, and the elven squad leader is on the dock. The guard from house Aelvilth farewells the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, who does so in kind, before turning aft and giving the order to Caerik Alsair who is at the wheel, to get underway.
The undead warlord heads below deck to the cabin to have a private word with Helbe the elven thief who is already there, while Tamric Drubine, Liselle Maera, Riley Hait and Mira Reinholt, and the newest member of the group Dalinvardél Tanith, help out the elven crew from a couple of the villages just south of the border, to get the small airship underway, while Dorc da Orc sits on the small foredeck with Piggy straddling his legs, and the large ork just looking away to the south at nothing really.
Soon the lines are brought in, and the airship is away, moving away from the straight dock, and gaining a bit of altitude as Caerik Alsair pulls slightly back on the wheel to clear the tall trees that are in and around the airdocks. They leave the airdocks and the small single masted airship is heading south over the city of Parlindellè.
Away to the east, those onboard, well at least those on deck looking that way, spot a griffon flying their way. After a few moments, those that know it, recognise it as the Aelvilth family griffon Flashstrike, and upon her back is Halvelnín Aelvilth.
The heir to house Aelvilth comes up so that Flashstrike is just fifty yards off the port side, the nobleborn elf lifts an arm in farewell, before he circles away after both the mage Reinholt and Caerik Alsair lift an arm in response.
"I guess they don't know you killed a member of their household earlier this morning" quietly says Mira Reinholt the mage to Riley Hait the mercenary ranger who is standing beside him, the ranger Hair nods his head, but doesn't say anything, as they watch the griffon and it's rider fly away.
The once powerful mage from the city-state of Vexil looks around and sees that Caerik Alsair has got everything in hand, and under control, so he heads to the ladder and goes below deck. The swordmaster Reinholt knocks on the cabin door, and waits a moment, until he hears lord Farque on the otherside of the door say "Enter".
"Anything?" asks the Vexilian mage in exile once he's in the cabin and closed the door behind him, and he looks at the princeling sitting on one of the two chairs in the cabin "Doesn't exactly work like that" says Helbe the elven thief in response to the mage Reinholt's question.
"You mean it hardly works at all" dryly says lord Farque who is seated on the other chair, the spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, nods his uncovered head in agreement as he leans back against the closed door.
"It'll happen" says Helbenthril Raendril who pauses for a moment, before he continues with "Eventually" as he knows his power of forethought is highly inconsistent, not to mention erratic, happening when it likes, wherever it likes. Though it is always right, and has proven to be completely accurate when it does work.
"So where are we going then, after we drop the crew off across the border?" asks the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, who along with the elven magic user, and Narladene the ground pixie who is on the small table in the cabin, look at lord Farque for an answer.
The undead warlord shrugs his broad, heavily armoured shoulders, then says in answer to the mage Reinholt's question "Wherever" followed by "As i have no idea yet" as he is waiting for what the power of forethought that the elven princeling possesses, tells them who to find next, and where to find them.
Late in the morning, and as the airship is about twenty miles south of the southern outskirts of the city of Parlindellè, lord Farque briefly takes over the helm of the small airship. The lord and ruler of the lands Farque calls out orders to trim the sheets, and luff the main sail, he then dives the small airship down to the trees below, eventually levelling out, flying quickly through the upper canopy of the vast forest that dominates most of the southern region of the principality of Alínlae.
The heavily armoured deathlord moves slightly the airship to port, then dryly mutters "Idiot" and an instant later the top third of a tall tree, which is already swaying from side to side, snaps and breaks away, and a large black shape comes flying through the air from it, over the port rail, to land with a heavy thud on the deck.
As lord Farque pulls back on the wheel, and the airship starts gaining in altitude to get well above the treetops, Dalinvardél Tanith backs up against the starboard rail to get well away from the undead wardog Axe who has just jumped aboard.
"Don't worry, he won't harm you" says Lisell Maera as she passes the elf who was once in service to house Ollinsállé, who is the only one onboard not to encounter Axe before, the orphan girl from the city-state of Brattonbury continues with "Just make sure not to touch him, then he will harm you".
Dalinvardél Tanith just nods his head as he watches the massive animal, that stands six and half foot at the shoulder, and easily weighs over fifteen hundred pounds, follow lord Farque, who has given the helm back to Caerik Alsair, forward to the foredeck.
As Dorc da Orc and his pet pig Piggy shuffle out of the way of Axe, who plops himself down in the middle of the foredeck, lord Farque stands at the bow, looking southwards in the direction they're flying in the clear, late morning winter's air, wondering where they'll go to next.

*Authors Note - Here ends The Princeling. The main storyline will return in Wonderful.

The Princeling 235.

"How did it go?" asks Helbe the elven thief once they meet up "Pretty much as predicted" replies Narladene the ground pixie who lands upon the right shoulder of the young elven noble "A lot were surprised at that Halvelnín being named advisor to the new ruling prince".
"I bet they were" quietly murmurs the elven princeling in a dry tone of voice as he makes his way through the large park in the center of the city of Parlindellè, the blured and shielded elven magic user glances at the tiny winged creature sitting on his right shoulder, who asks him "Where are they going?" Narladene hops off his shoulder and goes by a tree to their right, which she briefly touches before returning to the right shoulder of the nobleborn elf from the principality of Laerel, who tells her "To the airdocks, we're leaving".
"Well Dorc isn't" says the naturally magical creature who is originally from the Sunreach Mountains, Narladene who sensed down the tree she briefly touched continues with "He's heading a bit south of there" she pauses then adds "Farque is following him". "Going to say goodbye to those goblins of his" says Helbenthril Raendril, the grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel continues with "Who knows when he'll, or if he'll see them again" the ground pixie nods her head in understanding, then the elven masterthief shift a hundred yards or so as he heads westward through the large park on his way to the airdocks of the city of Parlindellè.
Dorc da Orc murmurs in the language of the orks "Dorc's cunts" then chortles as a number of the goblins who see him pass by the inn they're in, start cheering and hollering in excitement at seeing their general.
The large ork looks back, then laughs and says in the common language "Ya silly fucken gob-a-lin cunt" as one goblin mercenary, a little too enthusiastic at seeing his general, falls out the second storey window he was half out of and shouting at the ork warleader, and hits the ground with a thud, and groans after the fifteen foot fall.
Dorkindle shakes his head, then briefly pauses as he spots the familiar, large, heavily armoured figure of lord Farque walk around the corner at the far end of the street. The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks has smelled the lord and ruler of the lands Farque following him after he told him he was going to see the goblin army he's the general of, before they left the city of Parlindellè.
Dorc da Orc grunts, then turns back around and continues on his way, the large ork is heading for one of the other inn's the goblins are staying at, though he does tell the goblin mercenaries he's just encountered, that their squad leaders are to follow him to the other inn that's nearby, which he's heading to.
As he makes his way along a street just to the southeast of the city airdocks, Lord Farque watches as Dorc da Orc heads towards the far end of the street, followed by a number of the goblins who have been staying in the inn on the right hand side of this street.
The undead warlord is giving the ork warleader a bit of space, as well as time as Dorkindle farewells the goblin mercenaries who he's the general of. The heavily armoured deathlord who is also known as Des'tier to an older generation of elven kind, will speak to the goblins too, for he has something of importance for them, infact two things that are important. But for now, he'll wait to allow the large ork to speak to the army of goblin mercenaries.
"Yeah cunts, it's me" says Dorc da Orc as he enters an inn around the corner from the first one he walked by "Your fucken general Dorc" adds the warleader of the ork race, who also happens to be the general of an army of goblin mercenaries.
Goblins shout and cheer at the appearance of their general, and though a fair few of them died during the night, especially when they attacked the Karlavilt family townhouse, those who survived the night are all glad to be more or less in one piece this morning, and more importantly that their general is alive and well.
The ork warleader who still has a bit of a sore leg from last night, but is no longer walking with a limp after his encounter with the abbot of the church of Galavin, makes his way over to a table as the goblins clear a space for him, the large ork sits on the stone bench that's been brought inside for him on such visits.
Teabagger the Goblin Cunt grins as he sits next to his general, even being in close proximity to general Dorc, who fear reeks, so much so if you get a good whiff of him, it's liable you'll throw up. Can't put off the fact that the small, bright green goblin, like all the other goblin mercenaries, is more than pleased that Dorc da Orc is amongst them.
As they give their general mugs of ale, and bottles of wine to drink, and cooked joints of beef, legs of lamb and stuffed chickens, and slices of ham along with large wedges of cheese to eat.
The goblins in the mercenary army tell him of their exploits during the battle last night, Short Cunt talks about nearly getting caught by the Karlavilt family griffon that plagued them throughout the night. While Poohead the Second talks about nearly falling out of not one, but two windows in the Karlavilt family townhouse. Meanwhile Double Dumbass mentions he did fall out of a window there, that's why he's got a broken arm in a splint and sling, not that anyone apart from him cares.
As Teabagger, the leader of the goblin mercenaries listens to everything, he watches his general, who he has noticed, doesn't have his armoured pig with him at the moment. Then as the ork general is busy shoving some roast beef in his mouth after downing half a dozen mugs of ale in a row, Teabagger hears what he fears.
"Me gotta fucken go" says Dorc da Orc after he swallows a joint of beef without really chewing on it, the goblins in the common room of the inn fall silent, and the warleader of the ork race briefly sniffles, and rubs at his eyes, before clearing his throat, then picking up another mug of ale, sculling it, followed by a slab of ham which he stuffs in his mouth with a wedge of white, blue vein cheese which causes him to grimace as it's so strong, even for his tastes.
"When will we see you again general?" asks Teabagger the Goblin Cunt who breaks the silence that's descended upon the inn's common room, he's answered with a grunt from the large ork, who truth be told doesn't want to talk about it anymore. Deciding to tell his army he's leaving by his own volition was difficult enough as it is. Telling them he's got no idea if he'll ever see them again, is something he definitely doesn't want to discuss,
As the goblins all look at one another, they turn and look at the front door of the inn, which opens and a large, familiar figure walks in through it. The goblin mercenaries part, and the large heavily armoured figure makes his way across the common room to where the ork general is sitting at a table.
Lord Farque looks at Dorc da Orc and nods his full helmed head upstairs as he snaps his fingers and points to the nearby stairs, the undead warlord then looks at Teabagger and speaks to him in the goblin language. The small bright green goblin vigorously nods his head after hearing what the large human has to say, and he heads to the stairs as general Dorc is doing, after the ork weaponsmith grabs a few bottles of wine, a leg of lamb, and round of smoked cheese.
In a room upstairs is lord Farque, Dorc da Orc, Teabagger the Goblin Cunt, and a handful of other goblins who have been with the mercenary army since its inception in the kingdom of Melaurn over three years ago.
"Here, this is for you" says lord Farque in the goblin language as he hands a rolled piece of parchment to the small, bright lurid green goblin who leads the army of mercenary goblins "What the fuck is that?" asks Dorkindle in the ork language from where he sits on the floor.
"Their fucking pay" says the heavily armoured deathlord in the same language, the undead warlord who has just handed Teabagger a note of credit from lord Alvarillé Aelvilth, continues in the ork language with "We know you weren't going to fucking pay them you fat fucking fatty".
The ork weaponsmith scowls at being called that, he's about to say something in response until he sees the look directed at him by the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, so instead the large ork stuffs the whole round of smoked cheese in his mouth, and washes it down with a bottle of strong red wine.
Teabagger who grins after reading the piece of parchment, and who is also rather pleased to be speaking his native language to someone who isn't a goblin, glances over at where his general is sitting, then he looks at the large, heavily armoured human standing infront of him, and asks "Ah big boss, when will we see the general again?".
"Who knows?" is the reply of lord Farque who shrugs his broad, heavily armoured shoulders, then the deathlord of Farque adds "You might never see him again" Draugadrottin as he's also known as to the people of his lands pauses for a moment, before continuing with "Or you might see him sooner than you think".
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque takes another rolled parchment that's tucked in his belt, this one written by him this time, and hands it to Teabagger the Goblin Cunt and says to him "This is for you too" the small bright green goblin asks "What's this big boss?" lord Farque answers with "A letter of invitation" he looks at the small group of goblins in the room and says to them in their own language "Listen up" the undead warlord then explains something to them.
As Dorc da Orc sits there scowling as he has absolutely no idea what the lord and ruler of the lands Farque is saying to the goblin mercenaries gathered in the room. The heavily armoured deathlord tells the goblins that if they ever return to the far south of the Southlands again, they'll be welcomed to his own lands, where they'll be trained by his people.
That's if any of them live that long, the undead warlord dryly thinks to himself after he explains to the goblins what the letter of invitation he's just given to Teabagger means, lord Farque then looks over at Dorkindle and says to him in the ork language "Come on cunt, we're going".
The heavily armoured deathlord farewells the goblins, turns around and makes his way out of the room, and heads for the stairs as Dorc da Orc grunts and gets up off the floor.
The large ork looks at the goblins who all look at him expectantly, he gulps then says "Me see you cunts later" then with one final look at Teabagger the Goblin Cunt, the ork warleader says to the goblin mercenaries "You silly fucken gob-a-lins don't get killed while your general is gone, cause if you fucken do, me will find you and fucken kill ya again" Dorc da Orc then hurries out of the room.
It's as though the large ork has been kicked in the guts, that's what it feels like to him as he rushes downstairs and through the common room of the inn. There the goblins call out, and shout and holler his name, their general's name. Dorkindle doesn't trust himself to speak, he just nods and grins as me makes his way through them to get outside.
Once he's out of the inn, Dorc da Orc gulps again, then turns to follow where lord Farque has gone, as he does the ork warleader sniffs and screws up his face a bit, then murmurs with a catch in his voice "Fucken gob-a-lins" . . . . . .

The Princeling 234.

They've returned to the Palace of the Prince, and again after finding out what happened last night, prince Salílvel Avendelthíl is a little taken aback as they enter the main throne room of the palace, and he looks at the throne. Which until last night was his father's, and before that his grandfather's, and now it's his, something that he's finding is a little hard to get accustomed to.
Again the young prince slightly winces at the thought of his father Ralivandil, as well as his brother Dasaevallé who also died during the battle last night, Salílvel Avendelthíl softly sighs as he thinks about how his older brother and father are no longer here.
The now head of the royal family shakes his head no to the chamberlain who briefly gestures to the throne, instead the nobleborn elf heads to an antechamber to the right, and enters those, forcing the others to follow him into the smaller room. Lord Alvarillé Aelvilth slightly nods his head in approval of what prince Salílvel Avendelthíl just did there as he and the others enter the smaller antechamber. The head of house Aelvilth knows the young prince won't officially take the throne until they have the ceremony of death for the prince's Ralivandil and Dasaevallé.
Lord Aelvilth looks at his daughter Lelalwynn beside him, to see how she fares. Though she's hiding it, the head of house Aelvilth can see that his daughter is suffering for the loss of her cousin and closest friend, Ullendéllé Aelvilth. The elven lord refrains from sighing as his sister Gilenthél is inconsolable at the death of her daughter, and had to remain at the family townhouse instead of coming here to the palace with the rest of them.
The nobleborn elf who was the staunchest ally of the royal family during the conflict over the throne, looks over at his cousin the Master of Swords Nalathinéllé Aelvilth, and the others from the swordmaster of swordmasters fortress who came to the capital city at his behest. Lord Aelvilth quietly suggests to his daughter Lelalwynn that she should join her second cousin Darmarheíld and the others with the Master of Swords, as he has to attend to the young prince.
As his daughter makes her way over to her cousins, the head of house Aelvilth makes his way to the table that prince Salílvel Avendelthíl is making his way around to one side, the side that faces out to the rest of the chamber.
As he does, lord Aelvilth looks around, searching for his son and heir Halvelnín, the elven lord who was once the general of the armies of Alínlae frowns as he can't see his son anywhere, then he senses for Halvelnín Aelvilth, and eventually finds his oldest child, just now entering the Palace of the Prince.
The nobleborn elf as he makes his way around to stand beside the young prince, slightly shakes his head at the tardiness of his son, though deep down he isn't surprised at that, and hopes that both he and prince Salílvel Avendelthíl haven't made a mistake in the position that Halvelnín Aelvilth will have in the new reign.
Prince Salílvel Avendelthíl stands in silence as he waits, which forces the others in the antechamber to remain silent, the now head of the royal family looks at the closed doors that he and the others came in through. He slightly frowns as they continue to wait, then the doors eventually open and Halvelnín Aelvilth enters the chambers, the young prince hears a sigh of relief from lord Aelvilth beside him at the appearance of his son and heir. And the frown on the face of the royal family member disappears when the heir to house Aelvilth looks this way and nods his head as he slightly grins.
"We're all here then, good" says Prince Avendelthíl who doesn't signal the chamberlain to get things underway, feeling that it's best that he get proceedings started himself, which admittedly was suggested he should do by lord Aelvilth a bit earlier, the young prince adds "There's a few things to deal with before we go off and send my father and brother to their final resting place".
The nobleborn elf who is the new ruler of the principality of Alínlae briefly pauses as he thinks of how the bodies of his father and brother will be taken to the wooded hills a half dozen miles east of the capital city, where they'll be laid in the open beneath the trees, as is the custom of all elven kind, who don't bury or entomb their dead.
After his brief pause, Prince Avendelthíl continues with "Though I've yet to officially take the throne, i do have all power as ruling prince and all that position is entitled" he glances at lord Aelvilth standing to his right behind the table, then over at the royal archivist, both of whom nod in agreement with the head of the royal family.
"So first thing first, concerning the usurpers" says the new ruling prince of Alínlae "House Karlavilt is no more, those cousins of lord Karlavilt still alive are no longer of the nobility of the principality and will live out the rest of their lives as one of the normal citizens of Alínlae" adds Prince Avendelthíl who continues with "The lands of house Karlavilt are annexed and will become part of the principality as a whole" which brings it under direct control of the throne, unlike the lands of the noble houses, which are semi governed by their respective noble families.
What the young prince has decreed is expected, as is what he says next "Those who allied themselves with the usurpers the Karlavilt's, will be forced to recompense those whose lands they effected during the conflict, including the areas of the principality the throne directly controls, such as here, the capital city" there's nods of agreement at this, as the conflict raged across the lands of more than a few of the nobles present in the chamber.
As he stands in silence beside Prince Avendelthíl as the young prince goes through a number of decrees, lord Alvarillé Aelvilth looks at those who have gathered here in the antechamber off to one side of throne room in the Palace of the Prince.
There's allies to the royal family, who put their lot in with the Avendelthíl's, when so many did not as lord Tarvenillé Karlavilt challenged for the throne after his son Xanderlith Karlavilt had the previous Prince Avendelthíl, Salílvel Avendelthíl's grandfather assassinated. There's others who were neutral in the conflict, but secretly supported the royal family and their cause, by giving them supplies and funds. While there's even more, the vast majority in the antechamber who were completely neutral during the conflict, who took neither side in the fight for the throne of Alínlae.
The head of house Aelvilth knows that if there's going to be any problems from those who have gathered here this morning, it will be from amongst this last group, as they all listen to what the new ruling prince has to decree, and in all likelihood with the final thing that the young prince will announce, which lord Aelvilth has somewhat of a part in.
As he continues to listen to Prince Avendelthíl, lord Aelvilth looks to members of his own family who are in the chamber, he sees that his son and heir Halvelnín has joined them, and is standing next to his younger sister Lelalwynn, to one side of Alvarillé's cousin the Master of Swords Nalathinéllé Aelvilth. The head of house Aelvilth is pretty certain that they're going to be more than a little surprised about something, as are others in the chamber, about something that only he and Prince Avendelthíl have discussed this morning.
The head of the royal family after declaring a number of decrees, goes on to appoint a number of positions in the royal household that will be part of his reign, for how ever long it lasts. Most of the appointments are fairly predictable, though a few are a bit of surprise. As in when he names lord Aladellnil has the new exchequer to the throne, due the previous one being killed in the battle last night. And he names lord Aladellnil's nephew, Ellindisél Aladellnil, who was Halvelnín Aelvilth's second in the army the heir to house Aelvilth led in the conflict, as one of the new generals of the royal armies.
There's some surprised murmurs at those two announcements, though lord Alvarillé Aelvilth knows there will be more of a reaction with what the young prince will finally announce, the head of house Aelvilth who knows they've made the right decision, especially after the early morning conversation he had with his old commander lord Farque.
Still, it's not his final decision to make, though he was a little surprised the head of the royal family agreed to it when he suggested it.
After making a series of appointments, Prince Avendelthíl comes to the final one, he takes a steady breath even though he wants to gulp in a lung full of air as he's a little nervous with what he's about to say.
The young prince glances at the fire pixie Solvand sitting on his right shoulder, invisible to everyone else in the antechamber apart from the Master of Swords sprite Galamon, and a ground pixie whose head is slightly sticking out the wall away to the right, who the other two naturally magical creatures haven't noticed.
Seeing Solvand smile in encouragement at him, and having the solid presence of lord Alvarillé Aelvilth standing beside him in a comfortable silence, the young prince appoints the final position this morning, the most important one.
"Finally i name a new advisor to the throne of the ruling prince" says Prince Avendelthíl, there's a quick buzz of murmuring from those in the chamber at that, which turns to silence as they wait for the young prince to continue on.
The position of an official advisor to a ruling prince or princess, isn't one that's been held in Alínlae for many years. Salílvel Avendelthíl's grandfather didn't have one in the nearly five centuries he ruled Alínlae. Nor did Salílvel's father Ralivandil in his short half year reign. Though lord Aelvilth advised, and was prince Ralivandil Avendelthíl's closest confidant, he was never officially the advisor to the ruling prince, as prince Ralivandil never was the ruling prince due to the challenge to the throne by lord Tarvenillé Karlavilt.
For a few moments all eyes are on the elven lord beside the young prince as he's the obvious choice to be the advisor to the ruling prince, which he turns out to be, kind of. "I name lord Alvarillé Aelvilth as interim advisor to the throne". There's a brief moments of confusion at that, and there's a smattering of murmuring as many wonder what the young prince means. "He will be interim advisor, until his son Halvelnín Aelvilth becomes my official advisor" declares Prince Ralivandil.
"Well that did it" dryly murmurs lord Alvarillé Aelvilth to the ruling prince beside him, after a stunned moment of silence in the antechamber, followed by an eruption of chatter, quite a fair bit of it disapproving in some quarters, while the reaction from others are completely different.
The young prince and the elven lord beside him, see the Master of Swords Nalathinéllé Aelvilth clearly biting the inside of his mouth as he tries not to burst out in laughter, while his son Darmarheíld has put a hand over his mouth, to stop himself from laughing after he snorts in surprise.
Not suppressing what she feels is Lelalwynn Aelvilth, who genuinely grins for the first time since last night when her cousin Ullendéllé Aelvilth died, infact the attractive elven maid giggles as she stands there amongst her family members.
As for the person in question himself, Halvelnín Aelvilth as he stands beside his sister Lelalwynn, stands there completely stunned with the announcement from Prince Avendelthíl. Halvelnín knows he's a bit of a hot head, but even more so a bit of a daring individual, who wouldn't necessarily think he's capable of being the advisor to the throne, especially to a young prince who has got a bit of a temper himself.
By the forest gods, fucking hell! Halvelnín Aelvilth thinks to himself in shock as he looks at his father and the ruling prince, who seem to be the only ones in the antechamber who seem to be completely comfortable with that final decree from Prince Avendelthíl . . . . . .

The Princeling 233.

Deacon Polisa finds himself in charge, a little odd considering amongst the small group of them who survived the night, he's the second lowest ranking church member, only a surviving lay priest is of lower rank.
The members of the church of Galavin, who until last night were hunting down the person who attacked their headquarters in the city-state of Brattonbury, when they unfortunately ran into an ork and a band of goblins who were hell bent on killing them all.
Are at the city airdocks this morning, where they've found that the airship they hired in the city-state of Vexil, has taken off during the night. Their hired vessel isn't the only one to do so, a number of other airships took off when the battle towards the center of Parlindellè grew in intensity.
The traveling deacon from the city-state of Vexil sighs as he looks out across the tall trees that are in and around the city airdocks, then he nods his head to the airdock official he's been talking to, and he thanks the official.
Deacon Polisa, and the priestess Salmaril, who is infact the most senior church member amongst the small group who survived, turn and make their way along the straight dock they're on that's well over sixty feet above the ground.
The traveling deacon nods his head when the priestess Salmaril quietly says in a disappointed tone of voice "One of the first one's to go" she shakes her head, and sourly smiles, before she continues with "Still some of them are returning this morning, maybe our one will come back too". "Let's hope so, Galavin willing" quietly says deacon Polisa who figures the captain of their airship took off during the battle to keep safe as a number of other vessels in dock had done, and as they look away to the right and see one such airship returning to the airdocks as it passes over the surrounding trees, the deacon can only hope that their hired vessel returns too.
"If it doesn't come back, we might have to look at hiring another one to get out of here" quietly says the priestess as they walk out onto a bridge between two of the airdocks, the deacon nods his head in agreement, for they've got enough funds to do so, since the now deceased abbot Hildavah traveled with a number of letters of credit, which were in his room at the temple complex they were staying at, which the traveling deacon took possession of before they made their way to the airdocks this morning.
There's been no talk of trying to find the individual who was responsible for the attack on their church headquarters in Brattonbury during the summertime, the only thing they've discussed is leaving the city of Parlindellè and the principality of Alínlae. Any thought of finding the unholy being who attacked the church of Galavin headquarters, has been pushed firmly to the back of their minds, considering there's only half a dozen of them left after what happened last night.
Walking beneath the top of some trees as they traverse the bridge between airdocks, and going from the shade to the early morning sunshine once they come out from beneath the tops of some of the taller trees, deacon Polisa quietly says to his fellow church member "Seems whatever that battle was during the night, hasn't affected the comings and goings here in the docks".
"Looks like it hasn't" says the priestess Salmaril as they approach where some of the others are waiting on an airdock, one of the circular airdocks here in the capital city of the principality of Alínlae, and when they rejoin the others they find out from a couple of them, who have wandered around the airdocks, asking about what actually took place during the night.
Deacon Polisa nods his head as he listens to an under cleric explain that the forces of the usurpers led by house Karlavilt, have efficiently been defeated by the royal forces, and that lord Tarvenillé Karlavilt, his heir Xanderlith Karlavilt and his closest relatives, mainly his brother the axemaster Balindörl Karlavilt, his nephew Galdéan Karlavilt, and niece Jalveènd Karlavilt are all dead.
Well that's that sorry mess all sorted out then, the traveling deacon thinks to himself, who out of those who arrived here last week, was the only one to previously visit the principality of Alínlae and it's capital city Parlindellè. And on that previous visit about five years ago, Polisa could easily tell that their was a division in the ranks of the elven nobility here, with a few of the minor noble houses not particularly happy with the rule of the royal family,
The traveling deacon's eyebrows lift in surprise when the under cleric mentions that prince Ralivandil Avendelthíl, and his oldest son and heir, Dasaevallé are also dead, and that young prince Salílvel Avendelthíl looks like he'll be confirmed as the new ruling prince of Alínlae.
"Hopefully the young prince makes a better ruler than his father and grandfather did" quietly says deacon Polisa once the under cleric explains what he and another of the church members were able to find out, then the traveling deacon changes the topic of conversation and says "We might have to hire passage on one of the merchant vessels here in dock if our one doesn't return" he then tells the others "Spread out and see if any of them are taking on passengers".
Deacon Polisa along with the priestess Salmaril head off around to the left, they get about twenty five yards where they meet the two other members of the church of Galavin who survived the night, one of whom is the last cleric in the group. The traveling deacon tells them what he wants done, to find a vessel taking on passengers just incase their one doesn't return to the airdocks anytime soon.
After talking to a couple of ship's captains and not getting the answer they were hoping for, deacon Polisa and priestess Salmaril make their way onto another of the docks, this one another of the straight docks, which is fairly quiet, with just a trio of vessels tied up to it. One of which, a small single masted airship, which from the looks of it, has had some recent repairs, and seems to be crewed by an all elven crew, from what the two members of the church Galavin can see as it's tied up to the far end of the dock from where they're standing.
"Might as well try that small one down the end there" quietly says the traveling deacon who continues with "Look like these two larger merchant vessels here are just in, probably looking for cargo to ship out" as he gestures at the pair of large twin masted vessels that are closer to them at this end of the airdock.
The two members of the church of Galavin are just about to make their way to the far end of the dock, when up the stairs at that end of the straight airdock, walks a squad of guards, they're a mix of royal guards, and from one of the minor houses of the nobility here in Alínlae, one that deacon Polisa recognises as house Aelvilth, who the churchman knows are the closest ally to the royal family.
"Maybe not" murmurs deacon Polisa as the leader of the squad of combined guards go onboard the small vessel with two of the guards, while the rest of the squad position themselves on the airdock, making it clearly obvious that no one is to approach the small vessel. The deacon and the priestess see that the squad leader is speaking to what it seems is the captain of the small airship, the discussion seems to be convivial, as they laugh at something the squad leader and one of the house guards with him say. The squad leader and the captain shake hands, then the leader and the pair of guards with him, make their way back down the gangplank and join the rest of the squad stationed at that end of the dock.
"Not that one then" dryly says the priestess Salmaril "I guess not" says deacon Polisa who nods his head in agreement with his fellow church member, the two of them turn around and go in search of another airship moored here in the airdocks of Parlindellè that's taking on passengers this fine, clear winter's day.
Also here in the airdocks of the capital city is Kaldeàlil Haldéilv, the elven magic user from beyond the Southlands stands at one end of one of the straight docks, completely and utterly devoid of any feeling as she's at a complete loss at what's happened to her life.
The attractive elven maid tries not to think about her dead lover Xanderlith Karlavilt, but it's impossible for her not to do so. She's always seeing within her mind, the lifeless body of Xanderlith Karlavilt floating face down in shallow water in the lane next to the building he was washed off over the side after he was killed.
The elven magic user who is neither noble, or from the Southlands, is just glad she's completely numb to her feelings at the moment, as she believes she would mentally snap if she had any feelings at the moment. She doesn't know it, she has mentally snap as she's been unable to deal with the immediate grief of seeing her lover, the swordmaster Karlavilt being killed.
What makes matters worse is that Kaldeàlil Haldéilv hasn't seen or heard from Simmealle the water pixie since the middle of last night. In the more than seventy years that Simmealle has been attached to Kaldeàlil, she has always turned up at dawn of every single day of those more than seventy years no matter where she's been, or what she's been up to, but not this day.
The empty feeling that the attractive elven maid feels at the death of Xanderlith Karlavilt, is just a whole lot worse with the water pixie Simmealle not showing up. The tiny winged creature has told the elven magic user that there's only one thing that would keep her away from her, death. Which is passing strange in this instance, as Simmealle is barely over six hundred years old, and like all pixies and sprites she could live to be three thousand years old, and that they're all very much unkillable.
Though Kaldeàlil Haldéilv slightly winces as she knows that pixies and sprites can kill one another, and with the amount of elven nobility who were around and involved in the battle last night, there's a good chance that at least one, or even a few, had their own naturally magical creature who is attached to them.
The attractive elven maid who is in search of an airship that's leaving the city of Parlindellè, which is willing to take her on as a passenger, sighs at the thought of Simmealle being killed by another tiny winged creature, she hopes that isn't the case. Infact the water pixies death was far more violent and brutal than if another pixie or sprite killed her, for she died in the jaws of a massive undead wardog which ate her.
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv who is shielded thanks to the amulet she wears on a silver chain around her neck, turns around and spots an airship approaching the airdocks from the south. As it makes it's way over the trees, the elven magic user glances away to the right where she spots a pair of humans, who seem to belong to a temple or church from the clothing they wear, have also seen the approaching airship from the south, which seems to of peeked their interest from the excited way they're talking.
As the attractive elven maid watches the man and the woman, she suddenly gets the image of the individual who killed her lover Xanderlith Karlavilt. Certain feelings start to kindle within the chest of the elven magic user, the feelings of rage and vengeance as she thinks of the individual who killed the swordmaster Karlavilt, an individual she got a brief glimpse of.
Kaldeàlil Haldéilv heads to the bridge that connects this airdock to the one away to her right, she has heard the two humans from a religious order over there, discussing that it's their airship that's making it's way towards the airdocks, the attractive elven maid wonders if they'll take her on as a passenger, she'll go over and find out . . . . . .

The Princeling 232.

After they leave the townhouse of the Aelvilth family, a couple of times Dalinvardél Tanith tries to start a conversation but lord Farque doesn't say anything in response to him. It's only when they turn off the long narrow street that runs along the east side of lord Aelvilth's residence here in the city of Parlindellè, that the lord and ruler of the lands Farque actually says something.
"What is it?" asks Dalinvardél Tanith when the large, heavily armoured figure beside him briefly stops when they round a corner, after a moment lord Farque responds with "Nothing" and he gets underway again, with him gesturing the way to go. They turn left on another street, which they walk along for about thirty yards, until turning right into a lane.
There they see the others standing at the entrance of a yard next to a building that houses what appears to be a smae tavern, the others all turn and look at the two of them as they approach, with the exception of Riley Hait the mercenary ranger who is the yard, and Dorc da Orc who is busy gulping from a barrel of ale.
As they get near the others, Dalinvardél Tanith sees a body lying in the yard near a hitching post for horses, and the mercenary ranger named Riley standing nearby cleaning a small punch dagger with a piece of cloth. The elf who in the conflict over the throne of Alínlae, was working as a secret agent for lord Alvarillé Aelvilth and the royal forces sees that the dead person appears to be an elf, and is wearing what looks like to be a tabard of house Aelvilth on them. He can't recognize who it is as the head is turned away from him as it lies in a slowly expanding pool of blood, but if he did see the face, he would recognise the dead elf as swordmaster Lothalis Miladelè, a senior member of lord Aelvilth's household staff.
"Get rid of that body Mira" orders lord Farque, Mira Reinholt the mage nods his hooded head and makes his way into the yard, passing Riley Hait the mercenary ranger on his way to the body lying in an ever increasing pool of blood.
"Don't look at the light" warns Mira Reinholt the mage to the others, who all obey him with the exception of the lord and ruler of the lands Farque and Dorc da Orc, who has put down his near empty barrel of ale to watch what the once powerful mage does.
The Vexilian mage in exile rolls his eyes as he sees that the large ork is watching, the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster shrugs his shoulders and figures the eyes of the ork warleader will protect his sight from the spell he's about to cast.
There's an intense white light and brief flash of heat, and the dead body of the elven swordmaster burns away in an instant, with just a smattering of ashes on the ground in the yard, ashes that will blow away with the slight breeze there is this cool, clear winter's morning in the capital city of the principality of Alínlae.
While Dorc da Orc grunts in disappointment as he briefly smelled burning flesh before the dead body of the warder Miladelè vanished, Mira Reinholt says "Anyone want this?" as he holds up the longsword of Lothalis Miladelè that he's picked up from where it was lying nearby.
"Ooohhhh me" says Dorc da Orc as he recalls that the mage Reinholt said the weapon in question is magical "Me killer" adds the large ork who continues with "Dorc have that magicky fucken sword"
With a roll of his eyes, and a sour muttering "Fuck no" in the language of the Greater Dragons, lord Farque shakes his full helmed head then says in the common language to weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks "No".
Ignoring the glare directed at him by the large ork he named the warleader of that particular race, the undead warlord briefly glances at Caerik Alsair, then Tamric Drubine, just a moment longer at the nobleborn boy from the kingdom of Sarcrin compared to the former air sailor from the city-state of Tuledare. Then turning to the once powerful mage, the heavily armoured deathlord says to the mage Reinholt "Keep it for now mage" Draugadrottin as he's also known by those people who populate his lands, adds "Until someone else is ready for it".
The exiled Vexilian mage who saw the undead warlord briefly look at Caerik Alsair and Tamric Drubine before speaking to him, nods his hooded head in understanding. Mira Reinholt figures that in time one of them will be given the magical sword of protection, and in his opinion, he thinks young Tam will likely receive the weapon, for the boy even at his age, is highly skilled with a sword in hand.
"Let's go" says lord Farque after he briefly glances at Riley Hait the mercenary ranger, the deathlord of Farque walks away, heading through the lane, going by the small tavern as he does so, the others follow, with the mage Reinholt leading the way, and Dorc da Orc bringing up the rear with his pet pig Piggy trotting along beside him.
With the ork weaponsmith biffing away the barrel once he drinks what remains in it, and briefly stopping at the tables infront of the small tavern, where he gobbles up the fried eggs, bacon, and a small round loaf of bread that's the ranger Hait's breakfast, which he hardly touched before the elven swordmaster Lothalis Miladelè showed up.
The mage Reinholt catches up to the large figure in the dark blue/black heavy plate armour, the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster settles the magical weapon that belonged to the warder Miladelè, in his weapon belt, it feels a bit strange to him there, as his own sword, is strapped across his back.
The exiled Vexilian mage glances back at Dalinvardél Tanith who is walking with Caerik Alsair and Lisell Maera, while Tamric Drubine is following behind them, between the three of them and the dwadling Dorc da Orc who is at the back with his pet pig beside him.
"How did it go?" asks Mira Reinholt, knowing no matter how quietly he speaks, the following elf will be able to hear what he says to the lord and ruler of the lands Farque "Fine" says the undead warlord in reply, he continues with "He'll be coming with us".
I see that, the once powerful mage dryly thinks to himself, the swordmaster Reinholt then silently adds in the same dry tone, not as though he wouldn't be coming along with us anyway.
The mage Reinholt then quietly asks the undead being who an older generation of elves also know him by the name of Des'tier "So where exactly are we going?" knowing that the deathlord of Farque might answer that literally, the youngest spellcaster to be a part of the mage council of Vexil, quickly adds "When we leave the city?". "Who the fuck knows" is the response of lord Farque who shrugs his broad, heavily armoured shoulders as they cross a street.
Figuring out that the undead warlord hasn't decided yet where they're going, is because a certain someone hasn't yet worked out where the lord and ruler of the lands Farque will want to go, Mira Reinholt quietly asks "Where's the" the exiled Vexilian mage briefly pauses as he was about to say where's the elf, which is bit redundant now as there's now two elves in the group, so he continues on with "Thief?".
"Checking up on something" says lord Farque in response to the mage Reinholt's question, the undead warlord is sensing out to where the person in question is, who left the Aelvilth family townhouse a bit before he and Dalinvardél Tanith left it.
Helbe the elven thief looks down, and watches a squad of combined guards from the palace and a few noble houses who are their allies, go by on the street below. The elven princeling looks northward in the direction he's come from, back across the large park that dominates the center of the city of Parlindellè, to where the townhouse of Aelvilth family is located. The young elven noble from the principality of Laerel briefly thinks about Lelalwynn Aelvilth, then he looks back down at the street below.
Helbenthril Raendril, the youngest member of the royal family that rules the island principality of Laerel, is on a rooftop in the area of the city just south of the large park, where the battle took place last night, the elven masterthief who is blured and shielded, takes a deep breath of the cool morning air, then he shifts away again.
The grandson of Prince Raendril of Laerel is now on the roof of the long, and badly damaged building, where a particular fierce magical battle, which he was amongst, took place during the night. The elven master assassin as he stands on the east side of the roof, looks down into the long lane below, a few moments later and Narladene the ground pixie appears next to him, and settles upon his right shoulder.
"They've found him, and they're bringing him out" quietly murmurs Narladene the ground pixie, the young elven noble nods his hooded head as he looks down at those in the lane. There's a number of prominent members of the royal forces in the lane below, including the new ruling prince of Alínlae, Salílvel Avendelthíl.
Helbe the elven thief slightly shakes his hooded head, for he didn't think the young prince who is only a little bit older than himself, would be the new ruler of Alínlae so soon, if at all, but with his father Ralivandil and his older brother Dasaevallé getting themselves killed in the battle during the night, prince Salílvel is now the new ruler of the principality of Alínlae.
The elven master archer briefly looks to where the body of Xanderlith Karlavilt the elven swordmaster, who he killed last night, lies on the verge of the grass on the open ground near a tree, with a pair of palace guards standing nearby it. Then Helbenthril Raendril looks to the left, as a number of people come out of the building he's standing on top of, one of whom is Halvelnín Aelvilth, who is followed by a number of palace, royal, and guards from his own household, some of whom are carrying a dead body.
The young elven noble watches as they carry the body of lord Tarvenillé Karlavilt, who he also killed last night in the battle, with the aid of a mageglobe created by Mira Reinholt, across the lane, to where his dead son lies. The body of dead elven lord is placed on the ground next to the dead heir of the now destroyed house Karlavilt, a number of those in the lane walk over to stand nearby and look at the two elven nobles who were their enemy.
Helbe the elven thief listens to the group discuss a number of things, with the Master of Swords Nalathinéllé Aelvilth, Halvelnín Aelvilth and young Prince Avendelthíl being the most vocal out of the lot. The elven princeling nods his hooded head and what he hears, then he glances at the ground pixie who is attached to him, who quietly murmurs "Magic" followed by "A rift".
The young elven noble looks to where Narladene points, and out in the open ground, about forty yards from the lane below, a rift forms, and a number of Aelvilth family house guards walk from the rift, they're followed by lord Alvarillé Aelvilth himself, then finally Lelalwynn Aelvilth, who as the caster of the rift, comes out of it last, before she gets rid of it.
As those who came out of the rift make their way to where the others are in the lane, Helbenthril Raendril has eyes only for the elven maid Lelalwynn Aelvilth, who in all likelihood will be his wife one day. The blured and shielded elven masterthief doesn't watch her for too long just incase Narladene notices him paying too much attention to the daughter of lord Aelvilth.
Instead the elven princeling looks one more time at the dead elven nobles Tarvenillé and Xanderlith Karlavilt, and those in the group nearby who are discussing matters of importance to the principality of Alínlae. Then after a final glance at Lelalwynn Aelvilth, Helbe the elven thief murmurs to Narladene the ground pixie "Let's get back to the others" and he shifts away . . . . . .

The Princeling 231.

Riley Hait the mercenary ranger ducks, if he had waited an instant later, he would of lost his head to the sword that barely passes over him. The human ranger raised and trained by the elven warders of the principality of Envadarlen, spins and thrusts his short sword at one of those very same warders who brought him up.
Lothalis Miladelè the elven swordmaster leaps back to avoid getting a sword thrust in the gut, the elven warder in the service of house Aelvilth takes a few steps back as he eyes his opponent the mercenary ranger, who he helped to train. The elven swordmaster keeps his eyes locked on the torso of the human he wants to kill, who in the intervening three and half years since he's seen him, is a far more accomplished swordsman than he ever was, infact if the warder Miladelè didn't know better, he would think he's fighting a completely different person than Riley Hait.
The lane is quiet apart from the exertions of the two combatants, the owner of the small tavern has closed the front door of his establishment. While no one has said a word apart from Mira Reinholt the mage warning the ranger Hait that his opponent's longsword is a magical sword of protection. And Dorc da Orc has warned the two of them who are fighting, that if either one of them knocks over his barrel of ale, he'll kill the both of them.
They're silent as they watch Riley Hait fight the elven swordmaster Miladelè who they know from their time when they joined the royal army led by Halvelnín Aelvilth. Even then a few days ago, they knew the elven warder wanted to kill the mercenary ranger for a crime Riley Hait committed in the principality of Envadarlen.
The only sounds coming from them are an occasional gasp from Lisell Maera and Tamric Drubine, and the sounds of noisy eating from Dorc da Orc whose meal was delivered to him just before the tavern owner shut the door, noisy eating interspersed with grunts from the ork warleader, grunts which are sometimes echoed by his pet pig Piggy, who has woken up to watch what's happening.
The ranger Hait hasn't yet blocked a sword swing with the hidden rods in the leather armour over his arms, for the simple reason the elven swordmaster is swinging too hard, which could possibly break the mercenary ranger's arms if he was to block them.
Riley Hait knows that the best time to block with his arms, is to do it when he's fairly close to his opponent, when the swing is at the weakest, and the longsword hasn't built up any momentum, though getting fairly close to the elven warder is proving to be quite difficult.
Lothalis Miladelè spares a quick glance at the others in the lane sitting at the two tables infront of the small tavern, he knows them from their time helping out Halvelnín Aelvilth, when the heir of house Aelvilth led an army that helped defeat an army of the usurpers who had occupied the lands of house Ollinsállé.
For now they're keeping to the ranger Hait's word, they're not interfering, and are just watching the two combatants trying to kill one another, though the swordmaster Miladelè does know that the ork will be true to what he said, and will kill both him and mercenary ranger if they accidentally knock over the barrel of ale next to him.
Riley Hait who has also drawn one of his long daggers, which he has in his left hand to parry his opponents weapon, never thought he would spend the morning doing this, especially after the battle that raged throughout last night, a battle where he along with the elven swordmaster who is trying to kill him, fought on the same side.
Lothalis Miladelè is thinking the same thing, he also didn't think he would spend the early morning doing this, but when he caught sight of the mercenary ranger who killed the former warder commander of Envadarlen, he knew it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. The elven swordmaster in the service of house Aelvilth wants revenge for what was done to Gulucéan Salavín the warder commander of Envadarlen who was cut down by Riley Hait in what was an unprovoked attack from behind.
It may of seemed unprovoked to anyone not there, but the ranger Hait had his reasons for killing the former warder commander of Envadarlen, even Helbe the elven thief who despised the mercenary ranger when he first met him and read his mind, eventually relented a bit in his attitude towards the ranger Hait when he delved deeper into his mind at a later time, and found out why he actually killed Gulucéan Salavín.
For Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman he only has faint knowledge of what the person whose body he's taken over, did three and half years ago, killing the then warder commander of the principality of Envadarlen. He doesn't particularly care all that much about what happened then, what he does care about is not getting killed right now, as he doesn't want to be brought back to life and put in another body again anytime soon, because that's worse than getting killed in the first place.
The ranger Hait drives his opponent back with a series of quick thrusts and swipes, the mercenary ranger who was raised and trained in the elven principality of Envadarlen is in lighter armour than the elven swordmaster, so the natural quickness of elven kind isn't really that much of an advantage to the warder Miladelè.
Riley aka Zubutai Timaginson with an underhanded toss, throws the long dagger at the face of Lothalis Miladelè, who blocks it with a bracer as he lifts his left arm, he takes a step back doing so, nearly losing his balance in the process. Seeing the advantage he's created, the ranger Hait quickly advances, and goes to thrust with his shortsword, he's lucky he does so, as he's almost gutted as the elven warder wildly swings his longsword, and the thrust of the mercenary ranger's weapon just blocks it.
Lothalis Miladelè stumbles back a couple of steps, and goes around the corner into the yard next to the small tavern, while Riley Hait after he leaps back after their swords clang against one another, follows the elven warder around the corner.
Tamric Drubine, Lisell Maera and Caerik Alsair all look at one another for a few moments, then they rush up off the benches they're on and move to the front of the yard to continue watching the two combatants. Mira Reinholt the mage has already got up, and has walked over to the front of the yard to see what's happening, while Dorc da Orc grumbles and mutters to himself in the ork language as he stuffs the remains of a roast ham into his mouth. The large ork then gets up, picking up his barrel of ale in the process, and follows after the others to see what's happening, his pet pig Piggy has already trotted over behind the others, and has sat down to continue watching the two combatants.
Riley Hait steps around a hitching post and blocks a swing of the elven swordmaster's weapon with his shortsword, the mercenary ranger kicks out to one side of the hitching post, causing the warder Miladelè to hop back unless he wants to get kicked in the right knee.
Lothalis Miladelè does a standing pivot kick as he swings his longsword at his opponent again, the ranger Hait ducks down to one side of the hitching post, and rolls away with a tumble to avoid his opponent's sword, and kick.
The ranger Hait gets to his feet, and spins to his right as the swordmaster Miladelè advances, swinging his longsword down at the mercenary ranger from Envadarlen, who is in actual fact a hordes outrider from the southern tundra.
The elven warder's sword barely misses to the right of Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman, who is thrusting up with his own weapon, which hits his opponent's blade, sliding up along it, to the right gloved hand and bracer of Lothalis Miladelè, which it's going to hit.
Nothing happens, and Riley Hait briefly pauses in confusion which almost costs him his life as the elven warder swings his longsword back up and to the side, almost taking the ranger Hait across the top of his head.
Seeing what just happened, Mira Reinholt the mage calmly says in a clear voice in the common language "If you try to injure or kill him with a stroke along on or near his sword, it won't work" the once powerful mage continues with "His sword will protect him" the Vexilian mage in exile then says "You'll need a clean strike to kill him" the mage Reinholt as he watches the two combatants then silently adds, even then his sword might protect him.
Riley Hait grimaces as he recalls his opponent's weapon is magical, though it's good to know what he now has to do to defeat his enemy thanks to the explanation given by Mira Reinholt. The ranger Hait shuffles back a few steps as he takes his other long dagger from his belt while keeping an eye on his opponent, who has just glanced back behind him at the mage Reinholt, and glared at the spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands.
The swordmaster Miladelè looks forward and advances again, and once again the mercenary ranger throws a long dagger, this time at the body of Lothalis Miladelè, who twists his body to one side, the long dagger still hits, though it skims harmlessly off the chainmail armoured top the elven warder wears. As the warder Miladelè is hit, the mercenary ranger rushes forward, reaching behind himself to the back of his belt as he does so, while the elven swordmaster swings his weapon around at Riley Hait.
The mercenary ranger gets in close, and for his troubles gets a punch in the face as Lothalis Miladelè jabs with his left hand, while swinging the longsword in his right. The ranger Hait winces in pain as he eats the punch, so to speak, but he doesn't fall back, and instead lifts his left arm, the hand he's holding his shortsword in, and before the longsword of Lothalis Miladelè picks up speed and momentum, the mercenary ranger blocks it with his left arm.
The same time the magical sword of the elven warder hits the hidden iron rods in the leather armour on the ranger Hait's left arm, Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman is bringing his right arm up and around at the slightly startled swordmaster Miladelè who can't believe his weapon didn't just take off the arm of the mercenary ranger.
The punch dagger Riley Hait has in his right hand takes Lothalis Miladelè in the left side of his face, going into his mouth, smashing teeth and slicing his gums and tongue apart. The elven swordmaster drops his weapon and stumbles to one side when the ranger Hait rips the punch dagger out of his face, the mercenary ranger punches the warder Miladelè again as the elven swordmaster lifts a hand to his ruined mouth, this time Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman stabs the punch dagger into the side of Lothalis Miladelè's neck.
The ranger Hait grabs a hold of the swordmaster Miladelè, and gets behind him, then through the traditional black hordes cloth covering the lower half of his face, Riley Hait the mercenary ranger says in the elven language "Fuck your mother" he follows that up by quietly saying a name, then whispering a few brief words to Lothalis Miladelè, before ripping the punch dagger across the throat of the elven warder.
Lothalis Miladelè the elven swordmaster dies with a look of shock in his eyes, not just because he's been bested, but also because the last thing he heard before dying is the reason Riley Hait killed Gulucéan Salavín the warder commander of Envadarlen, and he realises that him wanting to kill Riley Hait has all been a waste of his time, and as it turns out, a waste of his life.
The ranger Hait lets go of the dead body of Lothalis Miladelè which drops to the ground with blood spraying from the wounds in it's throat and neck, no one says anything for a few moments, then breaking the silence Dorc da Orc says "He dead" followed by a peel of laughter from the large ork . . . . . .