You Want A War? You've Got One! 35.

Maladimbáh. Winter...

Riley Hait the mercenary ranger who is looking out a window on an upper floor of lord Walashàele's tower, down at the ground below that was covered in frost earlier, which is now melting.
Turns around and looks at Dorc da Orc who has just grunted.
The large ork makes his way over to the desk in the suite they've been using. There Dorkindle takes a piece of parchment, and a quill, which he dips in the ink well.
The ork warleader with the delicate quill in his ham like fist, writes something on the parchment, which he's covering up with his other hand.
The mercenary ranger from the elven principality of Envadarlen in the Southlands, rolls his eyes and makes his way over to where the ork weaponsmith is.
Dorc da Orc quickly lifts the hand covering the parchment before placing it on top of it again. The ranger Hait nods his head, then the large ork screws up the parchment, and throws it in the nearby fireplace, where a hearty fire is burning this morning.
The warleader of the ork race wrote just one word, pixie. Though it took Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman a moment to figure it out because Dorc actually wrote PyGzeE.
The human ranger who was raised and trained by elven warders in his homeland of Envadarlen glances at the large ork.
And sees the scowling ork looking at something that isn't there. Dorkindle may not see it, but he can definitely smell it. And if he listens carefully, his enhanced hearing can sometimes hear it.
After a little while as the ranger Hait goes back to looking out the window, the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks grunts again, then Dorc da Orc says in his deep, growling voice "It fucken gone now" he then mutters "Fucken pixie cunt".
Nodding, Riley Hait the mercenary ranger asks his traveling companion from south of the equator "You sure?". "Yeah cunt" replies the ork warleader who gestures away to the right and adds "Little shit gone that fucken way" he continues with "Prolly gonna see that fucken lord Wally Shell".
The mercenary ranger who is in actual fact a hordes outrider from the southern tundra, nods his head and quietly says "Probably" then after a moment's pause, the ranger Hait adds "And we finally get to see him today".
Dorkindle sourly grunts then loudly mutters "Bout fucken time" the large ork then adds "Fucken pointy eared dick face".
After traveling through both the lands of house Haldéilv and house Walashàele's, both of which are ruled by lord Walashàele. Where they've hired a number of elven mercenaries.
They've finally been granted an audience with lord Walashàele after spending the last three days here in the tower of house Walashàele, trying to get a meeting with the elven lord.
The most powerful one, not just here in southern Maladimbáh, but the most powerful one, both politically and magically, in all of Maladimbáh.
From a close by table, the ork weaponsmith takes a decanter of wine and a tray of various types of cheese, and slices of beard.
The ranger Hait opens the balcony door as the warleader of the ork race approaches, Dorc da Orc walks outside into the cold blustery wind that's whipping down off the nearby mountains.
While the mercenary ranger closes the door as the large ork sits down on the balcony and looks at the snow topped mountains, and nibbles on the cheese and bread, and sips the wine.
Meanwhile Riley Hait sits down on a divan near the fireplace, the elven trained and raised ranger is soon lying down and starts to doze as they continue to wait. They know they've got an audience today with lord Walashàele, they just don't know when.
Later in the morning and Riley aka Zubutai Timaginson is woken by a knock on the door. It's a servant to inform him that their presence is requested by the head of house Walashàele.
Gathering the ork warleader from out on the balcony, where he's been napping too. Riley Hait and Dorc da Orc follow the elven servant through the tower of house Walashàele.
The tower, like the one of house Haldéilv in a mountain valley further west. The seat of power of lord Walashàele is a tower in name only, because it's basically a palace.
Though unlike the tower of house Haldéilv, it doesn't sit upon a rocky tor that thrusts hundreds of feet out of a thick forest.
The tower of house Walashàele is on more open ground near the foot of the mountain range that runs east to west, here in the south of the principality of Maladimbáh.
And while the tower of house Haldéilv by necessity goes upwards. The house Walashàele tower is spread out, with a lake and river to the east of it. While the large plateau that makes up a lot of house Walashàele's lands, is to the west of the seat of power of Maladimbáh's most influential and powerful lord.
"Dorc remember what we've spoke about?" quietly asks the mercenary ranger "Huh?" grunts the large ork "About magic" mutters Riley Hait "Oh yeah that" says Dorkindle who then adds "Me fucken 'member".
The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks gives a thumbs up. Which doesn't exactly inspire confidence in the ranger Hait, who attempts to refrain from shaking his head, but he's unable to.
"Loud grunt Dorc" murmurs the ranger Hait "Uh huh" says the ork weaponsmith as they turn a corner after crossing an inside bridge that goes through part of the tower as they follow the elven servant who is taking them to their audience with lord Walashàele.
The two from south of the equator are silent the rest of the way they follow the elven servant to their meeting with lord Walashàele.
They end up at a set of large doors on first floor of the tower. There, a pair of house guards open the doors, and the elven servant leads them into a large hall.
House guards line the walls, while others are positioned at each column down the hall, there's two rows of columns, about seventy feet apart, in what must be the single largest room in the tower.
Dorc and Riley follow the servant to the other end of the hall that's at least twice as long as it is wide.
At the far end of the hall is a long table on a raised section of the floor. Behind it are a number of seats that are occupied. While other seats are fanned out to either end of the table, like a curved circle, some of them are occupied too.
All who are seated are elves from house Walashàele. With the head of the house sitting in the centre seat behind the table.
Bloody hell, the lord or that damn elven thief should be hear doing this shit, Riley Hait thinks to himself, who glances sideways at the large ork standing next to him, and refrains from wincing as Dorkindle is standing there scratching his nuts as he looks with curiosity at those sitting on the raised part of the floor watching the two of them.
Probably deciding which one's he wants to kill, the mercenary ranger dryly thinks to himself, which is indeed what Dorc da Orc is thinking. The ranger Hait then glances at what the ork warleader is carrying, strapped to the back of his weapon harness. Riley aka Zubutai Timaginson just hopes they've got enough.
The mercenary ranger who is actually a hordes outrider from the southern tundra, inclines his head when the elf at one end of the table, the chamberlain, stands and in elven introduces the two from south of the equator.
This gets a slight grunt from Dorc da Orc who doesn't understand a single word said, then he like the ranger Hait looks at the head of house Walashàele seated in the middle, who starts talking when the chamberlain sits back down.
"Greetings, i understand you've come with a proposition, and wish to enter negotiations" says lord Walashàele, whose daughter Jalindílth sits to his immediate left, while his cousin Galacithàné sits on his right.
"Please" says Riley Hait in perfect elven who holds up a hand before continuing with "If you could proceed in the common tongue, because my friend here beside me doesn't understand your language" switching to common he adds "I'd appreciate it".
"Of course" says lord Walashàele in the same language "Thank you" says the mercenary ranger from south of the equator, who then adds "And yes indeed, we are here with a proposition for you, and wish to negotiate to you about it".
Beside Riley Hait, Dorc da Orc who has been sniffing, loudly grunts, and the ranger Hait holds up a hand again and quickly says "I would appreciate it, and take it in good faith that you, and others wouldn't cast now as we speak of this proposal, and maybe come to an agreement about it".
Lord Walashàele glances sideways at his cousin Galacithàné and slightly raises a hand, his cousin who was about to read the minds of the two from south of the equator, refrains from doing so.
"It would probably be wise if you didn't do such a thing" says the ranger Hait who gestures at the large ork beside him, and adds "If you were to read the mind of my friend here". "Not your friend cunt" mutters Dorkindle in the ork language "You would regret it" continues the mercenary ranger who ignores whatever the hell the ork warleader just muttered in his incomprehensible language.
The head of house Walashàele lifts a questioning eyebrow, but refrains from saying anything about what was just said, as he looks at the large green creature, that's definitely not a goblin, nor is it a troll.
His chamberlain suggested it might be a mythical ork from the very bottom of the world. Lord Walashàele and others in the household scoffed at that idea. He's not so sure now, because Palamarc the ground pixie who has been observing the two visitors to the tower on and off over the last three days. Has also said that the large green individual, who lord Walashàele can smell from where he sits, an unpleasant smell it is too. That indeed it is an ork.
Aren't orks supposed to be immune to certain types of magic? lord Walashàele thinks to himself, who says "Very well" in response to the mercenary named Riley, who without any spellcasting ability, knew that Galacithàné was going to cast.
"Let's get to the point" says the elven lord who during the summer, defeated his rival lord Haldéilv, he continues with "What is it that you want?".
"My lord Walashàele, it's what do you want is the question" says Riley Hait who knows why he and Dorc da Orc were sent here. Because during the summertime when they were in the tower of house Haldéilv. Where Galacithàné Walashàele was also on the day of the battle where lord Walashàele killed lord Haldéilv.
The two of them weren't seen by the cousin of lord Walashàele, while others in the group were. Specifically lord Farque and Mira Reinholt the mage.
"Dorc" quietly says Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman who gestures to what the ork warleader is carrying on his back.
As the large ork grunts, and undoes what's tied to the back of his weapon harness, the ranger Hait says to the elven lord seated behind the table "I understand that the Justifiers of Belinswae have come to you recently asking to garrison their guards here in your lands, as they did previously with the former lord to your west?" he briefly pauses before adding "And that you weren't exactly happy with the terms".
Lord Walashàele nods his head as this is common knowledge.
"Well what i propose is much more simpler" says the mercenary ranger from the elven principality of Envadarlen as Dorkindle puts down on the floor infront of them, a strongbox.
"For this" says Riley Hait who points at the strongbox and says "I would like the use of your house guards" he continues with "To take to Belinswae, to attack the city of Falnic".
Dorc da Orc opens the strongbox taken from the tower of house Haldéilv during the summertime, revealing a fortune in precious gems.
After a few moments of silence as all the elves seated behind the table, and to the sides of it, stare at what's contained in the strongbox, the ranger Hait breaks the silence by saying "Shall we begin negotiations my lord?" . . . . . .

You Want A War? You've Got One! 34.

Falnic. Belinswae. Winter...

Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy briefly stops and looks down at the harbour to where the dock he burnt down at the beginning of last week, is finally being repaired.
Workers have been hard to find, as many of the day labourers have been pressed into service in the armies of the Justifiers who have invaded the Stone Hills.
Dalinvardél or Dalin as he's more commonly referred to by those who know him, faintly smiles as he sees that at least a couple of dozen goblins have been employed to help repair the dock.
The elven spy from south of the equator knows that unless there's a firm leader in charge of the goblins, someone that they actually respect and listen to. They'll be more of hindrance than help in the repairing of the destroyed dock.
As they're extremely accident prone who are likely to injure or even accidentally kill themselves if no one's around to keep them inline.
The elf from the principality of Alínlae in the Southlands gets underway again, not bothering to look at the large warehouse at the end of a pier, that he burnt down the same night he destroyed the dock.
He's already seen it a number of times since, and it is no where near looking like it's going to be fixed anytime soon. That site has basically been abandoned, with even the functioning part of the pier not being used at the moment.
Dalin is heading across a rooftop in the middle of the day, he looks back to a couple of streets behind him, and sees a squad of Justifier's guards spreading out as they search for him.
Well they're searching for the person who has just killed a fairly well off official in the household of one of the Justifiers of Falnic. That person being the elven spy who is a Southlander.
Dalinvardél Tanith jumps over to another roof, and drops down onto a balcony. He hurries along it, and jumps onto the rail at one end, then leaps over to the next balcony along, which is on the next building.
There he leaps up and grabs the edge of the roof, and pulls himself up. Once on the roof, he rolls on his back, and takes a quick respite to get his breath back.
Lying there in the fairly warm sunshine for a winter's day, Dalinvardél Tanith listens to the city around him. He closes his eyes as he does so. And listens to the conversations down on the streets and in the lanes below.
Like a lot of the chatter these days in the largest city in the region of Belinswae. Talk is of the Justifiers and their war against the dwarven clanholds in the Stone Hills to the north.
Word has finally reached the city of Falnic that three of the Justifiers. The sorcerer Marsille, the sorceress Paelau and the mage Kalsane have all been killed, all within the last few weeks infact.
When previously the invasion of the clanholds in the Stone Hills was going fairly smoothly since it began at the start of Winter.
Dalin who actually heard of the three Justifiers deaths earlier than the residents of the city. When one of the free folk messengers arrived in Falnic with a missive for him from lord Farque.
The elven spy knows that for all the ground that the Justifiers and their armies made at the beginning of the invasion.
They're now bogged down along much of the front, as it's approaching the middle of winter, and conditions are definitely against those from the region of Belinswae.
And that the dwarves of the Stone Hills, are now putting up more of a fight against the invaders led by the rulers of Belinswae.
The spy Tanith knows this is because lord Farque's plans have been taken up, and are now having an effect against the armies of the Justifiers. Who easily outnumber the dwarven warriors who are defending their clanholds.
And if recent events are anything to go by, are now attacking into the heart of Belinswae, here in the port city of Falnic. Well that's what the populace thinks. When it infact it's the elven spy and his contacts within the smuggler's community who have been attacking places and people here in Falnic.
Just as long as they think it's the dwarves of the Stone Hills attacking here in the city, then that's good enough, Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy thinks to himself, the elf from south of the equator knows that within the next two to three weeks that illusion will be broken.
For if he's read between the lines in the latest missive he got from lord Farque. Then Falnic itself will come under serious attack from what's probably likely to be an army.
Though not made up of dwarven warriors from the Stone Hills. Nor will it be coming down from the north. It will come from the east, from the Nomad's Plains is Dalinvardél's best guess.
That's if those two can organise things, Dalin dryly thinks to himself, referring to Dorc da Orc and Riley Hait the mercenary ranger who he knows have been in the east of Belinswae, near the Nomad's Plains.
The elf from the principality of Alínlae, who was once in service of one of the noble houses of his homeland. Has every confidence in the ranger Hait organising an army.
Not so much Dorc da Orc, who he knows can definitely command one in battle, but actually gathering and organising one, you can forget about it.
The Southlander gets up into a crouch when he hears a few of the nearby guards down below calling out to one another.
The elven spy who thought he heard something a little earlier, hears it again somewhere away to his left.
He goes that way across the rooftop, keeping low as he does so.
Dalinvardél Tanith gets over the peak in the middle of the roof, and he stops when he spots something a few buildings away. A large house by the looks of it, that has a rooftop courtyard, for lack of a better term.
Dalin gets up and runs down the roof he's on, and with a running leap, he clears the twenty feet to a roof across the narrow street below.
The elven spy lets out a deep breath, then ducks down, and keeps low as he heads across the flat rooftop he's on. He pushes through some linen that's drying on a line on the roof he's on.
Then he looks at the roof with the courtyard next door. The elf from south of the equator who has the hood of his cloak up on his head at the moment.
Briefly rubs his chin as he contemplates things. Then with a shrug of his shoulders, and a murmured "Might as well". The spy Tanith gets up and runs, and at the edge of the roof he's on, he leaps.
It feels like he's in the air for an exorbitant amount of time. And Dalin has to reach out and use all six foot three inches of his frame to grab the edge of the rooftop he's jumping to.
To stop himself falling the thirty feet to the small square below.
Dalinvardél Tanith softly groans as he hauls himself up and over on the roof with the courtyard on it. The elf from the principality of Alínlae rolls onto his back again as he breathes heavily whilst getting his composure back.
Fuck me, by the forest gods that was close, the spy Tanith thinks to himself, as he knows that was a close thing indeed. He doesn't have the aid of magic like prince Helbenthril Raendril and Mira Reinholt the mage , or the superhuman strength of the undead like lord Farque to achieve such feats.
He's just got naturally ability and skill, combined with a whole lot of luck to achieve things like that.
The Southlander who has his eyes closed as he breathes deeply, cracks an eyelid and turns his head to the left, to look into the courtyard rooftop, where four heads are watching him in curiosity as he's something they don't normally see on their rooftop sanctum.
They're wyverns, yearlings by the looks of it is what Dalinvardél guesses. They're no bigger than horses, the under one year old flying creatures who were busy snapping and shoving one another a few moments ago. Are now on their haunches staring at the elven spy from south of the equator.
Normally they only see their trainer, along with their owner upon the rooftop. So to have someone completely new up here is more than a bit of a novelty for them.
Since the invasion of the Stone Hills by the Justifiers of Belinswae with their armies. The skies above the city of Falnic have been drastically changed.
Normally wyverns are seen everywhere above and in the port city. But not now, as the vast majority of the tame wyverns found here in Falnic, have been drafted into the armies of the Justifiers.
Those that aren't normally in the armies of Belinswae, who are normally owned by merchants, traders, and even shopkeepers and normal residents who can afford to buy one.
Are now in service of the Justifiers, acting as messenger carriers to and from the frontlines. As well as troop and supply transports. Though they haven't been specifically trained to fight in battle like the one's originally in the armies of the Justifiers.
No one in their right mind would willingly attack the large, winged creatures.
Surprisingly wild wyverns can fight in battle, both in the air and on the ground basically after hatching from the egg. Unlike tame one's who instinctively know how to fight, but have to be trained in combat.
The eyebrows of the elven spy go up as he sees two smaller heads look around the bulk of a couple of the yearlings. They're very young wyverns, about the size of large dogs. Dalin figures those two were hatched fairly recently, either in late summer or early autumn.
Must be a breeders house, the spy Tanith thinks to himself, who didn't spot any adult wyverns down in the large yard to the side of the house. Though he knows the large, winged creatures aren't exactly glowing endorsements for parenthood.
The sires have nothing to do with the offspring at all. And the dames are only protective over her clutch of eggs. And once they're hatched, and are fine and healthy, within a day or two she couldn't care less about them.
Either tame or in the wild, wyverns are like that. Unlike the two other large winged creatures. Griffons and dragons. Who are very protective of their young. With both male and female griffons raising their hatchling for a number of years.
While much is not known about the breeding and raring of dragon kind. Apart from seeing smaller, younger dragons in the company of an adult for decades on end, even centuries.
This is believed to be a dame with her offspring when ever two such dragons are spotted. It's not until they're older that dragons become solitary figures.
Dalin hears something down below, he rolls to one side and looks down and back through the small square, and into a lane where he sees one of the Justifiers guards, calling out to any of the others, to keep an eye up on the surrounding rooftops.
"Shit" mutters the elven spy from the principality of Alínlae, who then turns the other way, and looks into the rooftop courtyard through one of the two archways in the four wall yard, where the six wyverns in total are hunkered down on all fours, watching him in interest.
Now how well trained are you lot? Dalinvardél Tanith thinks to himself, the Southlander who has been taught the command words in common for wyverns by lord Farque. Infact the whole group with the exception of Dorc da Orc has been taught them when the undead warlord decided to help out the dwarven clans of the Stone Hills, for a price of course.
The elven spy rolls away from the edge of the roof, then gets up into a crouch before standing and moving a few steps closer to the courtyard on the roof.
"To me" says Dalin in the common language, the four older wyverns lift their heads up and pay more attention to the elven spy, who then adds "Heel".
There's a moments pause, then the wyverns move forward, coming through the archway out of their walled courtyard. Though there's a lot of shoving and battering of wings.
The spy Tanith is just glad that they're not too vocal as they move in his direction.
After a few moments, the two smaller wyverns, not wanting to be left behind, waddle after the four yearlings, who have all stopped a few paces infront of the Southlander.
Seeing that the yearlings have at least been taught the basic commands that all tame wyverns learn. Dalinvardél Tanith glances down over the edge of the roof, and looks down, and sees a trio of Justifier's guards in the square below.
He looks back in the direction he has come from and spots a handful more heading this way.
"Sight" commands the elven spy, who gestures down and over the edge of the roof. The four wyverns shuffle forward, looking at Dalin before they look down off the roof.
One of the two smaller wyverns behind them has rolled onto it's back, and is scratching it's back on the slightly rougher surface of the roof outside it's courtyard.
While the other younger wyvern is crouching low, staring intently at the tail of the yearling infront of it, a tail that's sweeping from side to side.
Dalinvardél Tanith who has crouched down between two of the yearlings as he looks down into the square below, points then says "Strike down" hoping that the yearlings are one's that will be used by Justifiers, and that they've started to be taught the basic battle commands.
Seems that they are, and that they have. For after a slight pause as all four yearlings look quickly at the elven spy, they all look down into the square to where he's just pointed.
Then one, followed by a second, then the third and fourth yearling go over the side of the roof and drop down.
Dalin has to duck spread wings, then he looks to one side, and sees the younger wyvern that was watching the tail of one of the yearlings. Launch itself off the edge of the roof too, dropping down into the square, where shouts of alarm, followed by screams can be heard.
Not wanting to miss out, the last wyvern, that's been scratching it's back, scrambles forward, and after a brief squawk at Dalin, the large dog sized wyvern leaps off the roof too.
It takes a moment for that smaller wyvern to realise it can fly, before it spreads it's wings.
And as the yearlings attack the Justifiers guards below, and the other smaller wyvern has landed on a nearby balcony, and enticed by the smells coming from inside a kitchen, waddled through the balcony door. Eliciting a scream from someone inside the room it's just gone into.
The smaller wyvern that was last off the rooftop is gliding away down above the hillside neighbourhood, heading in the direction of the harbour below.
With a slight grin upon his face, Dalinvardél Tanith turns and moves off as the four yearlings attack the Justifiers guards who have been chasing him . . . . . .

You Want A War? You've Got One! 33.

Northern Belinswae. Winter...

Looking through his brass, cylindrical eyepiece, Mira Reinholt the mage frowns then says "Where exactly are they?" as he looks out across the ocean.
"A bit further south mage" says Varl the swordmaster as the two of them, along with a handful of dwarven warriors from clan Galve who are in the war party that's made their way down into Belinswae, stand within a copse of trees along the coastline. Infront of them is a short cliff, at the bottom of which is a beach that's got more rocks than sand along it.
As the wind comes in off the ocean, the once powerful mage looks further south as he looks out to sea. A few moments later, the mage who is in exile from his homeland, the city-state of Vexil, nods his hooded head when he spots one ship, followed by a second, which is little bit further out to sea.
"They're theirs alright" quietly says the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, who after a slight pause adds "The lead one definitely is, a warship in their navy" the mage Reinholt follows that up with "The larger one is a merchantman by the looks of it".
"Aye, most likely carrying supplies north to their army" says the dwarven swordmaster, one of the few warriors that Mira Reinholt has seen from the Stone Hills, who prefers the sword as his primary weapon, compared to the axe or hammer, that most dwarven warriors favour.
The Southlander takes the eyepiece away from his face, and looks down at Varl, then over at Ompal and Garkil who have been his acting seconds in their war party, which is now traveling with the larger one commanded by Varl, which has also been joined by another war party, that the young warrior Tarong, and old Kalend lead.
The once powerful mage looks over at the handful of others standing nearby, who are all looking at him expectantly.
Then he looks back at Ompal and Garkil who know him best, both raise a bushy eyebrow when he looks at them, and the exiled Vexilian mage faintly smiles.
"Will you be" is what the dwarven swordmaster Varl gets out before the spellcaster from south of the equator interrupts him with "I guess i will be".
The human swordmaster from the Southlands puts the brass cylindrical eyepiece up to his left eye, holding it there with just his left hand. He holds out his gloved right hand to his side, and after a few moments a gray, stone coloured mageglobe appears in his hand.
It's not there for long, because it takes off, going down the face of the cliff, then out across the beach at a height of just a few feet. It then goes out across the water at about the same height as it heads off to the southwest. Then it disappears as it drops down beneath the surface of the water.
Mira Reinholt returns his leather wrapped, brass cylindrical eyepiece to an inner pocket of his winter cloak. Then he turns and walks back through the copse of trees. "Is that it mage?" asks the swordmaster Varl "Yep" says the once powerful mage from south of the equator who doesn't look back. But he hears at least two of the dwarves following him, he knows that it's Ompal and Garkil.
The rest of the dwarven warriors including Varl, who is the military second to their clan chieftain, Lomi Galve. All look at one another, before they go back to looking out to sea.
Where in the distance to the southwest, are a pair of ships, most likely from the city of Falnic. One a navy ship of the Justifiers, and the other a cargo vessel, both of which are heading north.
They watch for a while, until they notice something with the lead vessel, which is noticeably slowing down this cool winter's morning.
What they can't see is that the mageglobe created by Mira Reinholt has smashed into the navy vessel, beneath the waterline. It's gone right through it, and out the otherside.
It's come back further towards a midships, after first striking near the bow.
The living piece of magic smashes holes in the twin masted vessel, on both sides of the hull. A dozen in all, that are all about a foot to a foot and half wide, all below the waterline.
Then as the navy vessel from Falnic starts to sink, the mageglobe created by Mira Reinholt heads further out to sea, and further south, where the cargo ship is about a half a nautical mile away. The living piece of magic goes to sink that vessel in the service of the Justifiers of Belinswae too.
"Think that cargo vessel is sinking too" quietly says one of the warriors who has remained with the dwarven swordmaster Varl "Aye it looks like it" says Varl, as the trailing ship looks to be dead in the water, and starting to founder as it drops into the sea.
The navy vessel from Falnic is definitely sinking, as it's bow is basically beneath the surface, and ship's boats are hastily being put overboard, as the crew are abandoning ship.
Then from further out to sea, there comes a thud, pieces of debris from the stern of the merchantman go flying in all directions, when the living piece of magic created by the mage Reinholt explodes when it comes to the end of it's life.
The larger, triple masted cargo ship is heavily listing to port with a gaping hole in the aft section to go with the multiple holes in its hull beneath the waterline from when the mageglobe went repeatedly through it.
As the two enemy vessels sink, the dwarven swordmaster Varl nods his head back the way they've come from. And he leads the way back through the copse of trees, to where the rest of the war party is waiting.
Shur Kee the monk who has had a quick bite to eat, of some flat bread studded with nuts and berries. One of the few things that the dwarves eat that hasn't got any type of meat in it. He got one as there's plenty to be had, as most of the warriors prefer the flat bread with bits of cheese worked through it.
Looks up and sees Mira Reinholt the mage approaching, the acolyte in the philosophical order of Bru Li, sees the exiled Vexilian mage nod his hooded head for the physical adept to join him.
As ever the once powerful mage is followed by Garkil and Ompal, two of the warriors who were in the war party with the human swordmaster, who have already been attacking targets here in Belinswae before the others joined up with them.
They walk away from the war party who have stopped as a couple of enemy ships were spotted by one of the scouts on the coast a couple of hundred yards away.
"Was it ships?" quietly asks Shur Kee the monk "It was" says Mira Reinholt who continues with "Two of them" then he adds in a quiet tone "I've sunk them".
May Bru Li guide their souls, the short statured monk in the odd, conical shaped hat thinks to himself, as he knows the spellcaster from south of the equator is absolutely thorough when it comes to the destruction of things. And that there's likely to be few survivors from the two enemy vessels that he's just sunk.
The Vexilian mage in exile gestures south, the way they've been heading, and he says "Ompal and Garkil here have told me there's a village not that far away, it's not marked on the maps we've got, but it is there".
Shur Kee looks at the two dwarves, both of whom nod their heads, then Ompal says "Aye small place, near a river that goes out to sea".
The physical adept looks at the mage Reinholt who says "I've sent a few of the scouts ahead to check it out". The acolyte in the order of Bru Li knows that the scouts will be from the war party that were originally with the exiled Vexilian mage, as he trusts them more than the others.
"And what do you plan friend Mira" quietly asks the short statured monk from the far eastern coast of the continent "That it's time to make a statement" is the reply from the highly skilled swordmaster, who then adds "We're going to destroy it".
"You are not going to kill all the people there are you?" asks Shur Kee in alarm "Of course not" says Mira Reinholt in a slightly offended tone of voice, then he continues with "At least give me a little bit of credit".
"Well you would of done so in the past" murmurs the monk which the once powerful mage hears, the spellcaster from the Southlands sourly smiles for Shur Kee is correct. Once, before he went off world by accident, which was when he lost most of his power. He most likely would of killed everyone in the village that's not too far away to the south.
But not now, and he quietly says "Can't go killing everyone" then he adds "If i did, who's going to spread the word that they're under attack here within their own borders".
The monk who is the living incarnation of the founder of his order, the Jade Warrior Bru Li, nods in understanding, then he faintly smiles when the highly skilled swordmaster from the city-state of Vexil in the Southlands dryly says "Besides it's what Farque ordered in that message he sent" the mage Reinholt continues with "Destroy as much as we can, and have them spread the word that their region is under attack".
"Fear and terror is often more destructive than the battle itself" quietly says Shur Kee as he quotes from one of the sayings of the Jade Warrior, the Vexilian mage in exile nods in agreement, then he says "Exactly".
Mira Reinholt looks back to where the war party is waiting to get underway again, and he says "There's Varl and the others" after a brief pause, the highly skilled swordmaster quietly says "Wonder what he'll think of it?".
The two dwarven warriors Ompal and Garkil, along with Shur Kee share looks. For there's a little bit of tension between the two swordmasters, one human and the other dwarven.
True, Varl as clan chief Lomi Galve's second, is in overall command of the war party who number over a hundred and eighty, and have moved south into Belinswae.
But it's Mira Reinholt who is actually devising all the tactics of their incursion into the region ruled by the Justifiers who have invaded the Stone Hills. Something that the dwarven swordmaster isn't exactly enamoured with.
Infact he dislikes it, and he dislikes that the original war party who have been traveling with the Southlander, are extremely loyal to him. Even though he's an outsider and a human at that.
The spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, who at one point could of been only the second battlemage* in over a hundred years. Looks at the two dwarven warriors who have been with him since they first pushed into northern Belinswae, and he quietly asks them "What do you think swordmaster Varl will make of the plan?".
After glancing at Garkil, Ompal says in as neutral tone as possible to the Southlander "I think he'll see the merit of it mage". "Very diplomatic of you Omp" says the highly skilled swordmaster in a slightly dry tone, then the exiled Vexilian mage asks "Now what do you really think?".
Refraining from wincing, Ompal says to the spellcaster from south of the equator "Well, like i say, he'll see the merit of it, and think it be a good idea" he briefly pauses before continuing with "I don't think he'll like that you've come up with the idea though".
"Aye" says Garkil who then adds "Omp's got the right of it laddie" the older of the two dwarven warriors then says "Varl be a prideful fellow, he not be liking you coming up with these ideas mage ".
"It's not really my idea, I'm just carrying out orders too" says the once powerful mage, who then silently adds in a wry tone, don't know how long i can keep using Farque as an excuse for what i do.
The war party are getting underway, and the two humans along with Ompal and Garkil make their way to where swordmaster Varl and others are near the front of the line of march.
There the mage Reinholt informs the dwarven swordmaster what he has planned, adding that he's carrying out orders from lord Farque, who has been hired by the dwarven clans to lead them in the defence of their clanholds in the Stone Hills against the Justifiers of Belinswae.
Behind the spellcaster from south of the equator, the warriors Ompal and Garkil share slightly worried looks, then glance at Shur Kee the monk who is walking beside them, who is looking on with interest.
The Galve clan chieftain's second is silent for a few moments, then Varl eventually says "Good idea" though he sounds neither positive or negative on the idea.
"It's just part of a wider plan against the Justifiers" explains the exiled Vexilian mage, who knows that other parts of the wider plan are taking place elsewhere. That Mira Reinholt knows involve the elven spy Dalinvardél Tanith down in the city of Falnic. As well as Dorc da Orc and Riley Hait the mercenary ranger in eastern Belinswae.
What they're exactly doing he has no idea. But he knows it'll involve the undermining of the Justifiers war effort against the dwarven clans of the Stone Hills.
The highly skilled swordmaster from the Southlands has been around lord Farque long enough, since his late teens infact. To know that the undead warlord sees the bigger picture. And that he plans not just for the immediate battles. But the war as a whole.
After the dwarven swordmaster sends a small number of warriors forward of the war party to join those the mage Reinholt has already sent ahead to scout out the village that's to the south of them.
He says to the near six foot tall human in the black hooded cloak walking beside him "So i take it we're to destroy villages and towns we come across, not just attack their guard squads we find?".
"That's the gist of it" says the Vexilian mage in exile, who has yet to divulge other plans that lord Farque sent to him in the message that Shur Kee delivered. The spellcaster from south of the equator who also happens to be a highly skilled swordmaster continues with "We're to spread terror among the populace, hopefully getting the attention of the Justifiers, who'll have to respond eventually" he then adds "That'll most likely draw some of their forces out of the clanholds, and send them back down here into Belinswae".
"Really good idea" quietly says swordmaster Varl in grudging admiration, who like the rest of the war party, thought they were heading further south into Belinswae, only to attack the Justifier's guards being sent north to the Stone Hills. And the supply lines to the armies invading the dwarven clanholds.
You don't even know the half of it, Mira Reinholt silently thinks to himself, who will not tell Varl or the other dwarves of what other plans lord Farque has for them. Or what their final destination will be. It's not here in northern Belinswae. But further south in the region ruled by the Justifiers.
That's if we live that long to even get there, the mage Reinholt dryly thinks to himself as they continue the march to the nearby village that they'll destroy sometime after midday today . . . . . .

*Authors Note - Battlemage. Also called warmage. And in much earlier times, was also referred to as a house mage.

You Want A War? You've Got One! 32.

The Stone Hills. Winter...

"Aye you pour it in here like, hoping none of the damn stuff gets on you" says Balen the dwarven artificer, who then mutters "By Dovarn you're screwed if it gets on you and you canny not get it off".
Lord Farque nods his full helmed head as he listens to the short dwarf in the leather smock that goes down to the floor of the crafthall here in the Omban mountainhold.
"Then you push it up through like this" says the artificer who demonstrates with the device he's holding, the short dwarf continues with "And with this small lamp box, under the end here, it sets it off and whosh away ye go".
The undead warlord who immediately sees how it works, and has so when it was first found a few days ago in a deep storage room far below the main galleries of the mountainhold. Looks over at the dwarves who are standing nearby, watching what's happening.
Most have slightly puzzled looks upon their faces, while Karne aka the Axe Thrower from clan Kraelin has a more curious look on his weathered face. While Thane Kraelin, is the only one who seems to have a look of understanding on his face.
The heavily armoured deathlord isn't surprised at that, as the nephew of Kraelin clan chief has proven to be fairly intelligent when it comes to things he, and the other dwarves, initially don't comprehend.
"How far does it go?" asks lord Farque as he looks back at the dwarven artificer "Er not exactly sure my lord" says Balen who has to tip his head back to look up at the large, heavily armoured figure standing a couple of paces infront of him. He's never spoken to anyone so tall before, infact he's never met someone as tall, until he was introduced to the undead warlord a few days ago.
"Have you tested it?" asks the lord and ruler of the lands Farque "Well" says Balen, who glances over at a couple of his assistants standing near their workbench, before he adds "We have my lord, but only with water" the dwarven artificer then mutters "Don't want it to go wrong like, and go up like a candle"
Behind the visor of his full helm, the lord of the death realm faintly smiles as he can understand the reluctance of the artificer who is holding the recent discovery, or rediscovery as it has turned out to be.
"Any leaks?" asks lord Farque "None my lord, the old mastercrafters knew what they were doing" is the reply of the artificer who then he gestures to the large workbench his assistants are standing next to, and he adds "Nor has the two that we've made over the last few days".
The undead warlord, who is also know by the name of Draugadrottin by the people of his lands, far to the south of the equator, nods his full helmed head, then says "Water is well and good, but since it's much lighter, and not as thick, you can't really judge the effectiveness of the device, nor it's range".
"Aye my lord" quietly says Balen as he looks down at what he's holding in his gloved hands, then he looks up at the large, heavily armoured figure infront of him who tells him "Go and get some of the stuff and I'll test it" the lord and ruler of the lands Farque glances around, then dryly adds "We better go up, and head outside, unless you want me to accidentally destroy the crafthall".
"Aye that would probably be best my lord" says the dwarven artificer, who grins as they're finally getting to see what the device he and his assistants found recently, can actually do.
The deathlord of Farque then looks at the other dwarves nearby who have been watching in silence, and he tells them "Come on you lot, let's go and see what this thing can do".
They don't have to be told, they were going to come along even if the human lord from south of the equator didn't invite them along. They all want to see what the ancient device that was recently found deep in the mountainhold, can actually do.
They exit the crafthall with Balen carrying the device as he walks just behind and to the side of the undead warlord from the Southlands. His two assistants and two others from the crafthall, leave a little bit later, as they've gone off to get something.
As he enters one of the larger galleries in the mountainhold, the lord and ruler of the lands Farque looks back at the group following. The heavily armoured deathlord looks at Thane Kraelin and nods his full helmed head for the nephew of the Kraelin clan chieftain to come forward and join him. The Axe Thrower Karne moves forward with his best friend's nephew.
"Well?" quietly asks lord Farque as he glances down at the young dwarven warrior from clan Kraelin as they head to a set of stairs that have been cut into the mountain that they're inside of "What do you think?" quietly adds the lord of the death realm.
Always briefly surprised at how exact, and fluent the human lord speaks their language, Thane Kraelin is quiet for a few moments before he replies with "Well if i think i know what it does, i guess it will be quite deadly" the nephew of Baedin Kraelin then adds "For anyone you use it against, and yourself if you don't use it correctly".
"True" murmurs the lord and ruler of the lands Farque as they head up the stairs to the next gallery, which once they're on, is more populated than the one where they were just on, where the crafthall is located.
There's about fifty dwarves, both male and female, as well as youngsters in the immediate vicinity. There's even a handful of humans about, they're part of the free folk who are staying here in the Omban mountainhold after they abandoned their villages further south of the clanhold when the Justifiers of Belinswae, and their armies invaded the Stone Hills.
"It'll be fine" says Draugadrottin who continues with "Once those who'll use it have a little practice, and they know what they're doing". "I hope so" murmurs Thane Kraelin as they cross the gallery to an opening in the side of the mountain that's the heart of the Omban clan.
The doors are wide open, and they make their way outside. They're on the north facing side of the mountain, here the slope is a little more gentle than the south facing side.
And the hills within a view aren't so stark, there's even high pastures, mountain meadows, where flocks of sheep and goats are under the watchful eyes of dwarven herders, who have them out on this clear day, where the snow from the last couple of days has melted from much of the high pastures.
And out here on the north facing side of the mountainhold, there's one major difference, to around the otherside of the mountain and the rest of the range for that matter. The wind isn't so blustery, oh it's present as it is anywhere in the Stone Hills. Just not as strong as it is on the south facing side of the range.
After glancing around, Lord Farque leads the group away from others who are out and about at the moment. Heading west along the mountainside, eventually going off the tracks and trails.
The heavily armoured deathlord finally stops in a bit of open ground, where it isn't so steep, nor is it that rocky.
He and the others wait for the artificer assistants and the two others from the crafthall to arrive. As they do, the undead warlord asks Balen the artificer "Did you find out what it's called?".
The artificer who is busy contemplating the device he's carrying, looks up and says "Aye my lord i did" the short dwarf in the full leather smock continues with "Found an old parchment in one of the archives describing what it is" he pauses for a moment, before he says "The old mastercrafters called them the dragons".
Faintly smiling behind the visor of his full helm, the heavily armoured deathlord quietly says "Very appropriate" as he looks at the device the artificer is holding. Behind the human lord, the dwarven warrior Thane Kraelin nods in agreement with what was just said.
The artificer's assistants, and the two others from the crafthall eventually make their way to where the group are standing on the side of the mountain.
The four late comers between them are carrying a couple of barrels, with one of them also carrying what looks to be a steel pipe that's been cut in half lengthwise, rounded and smoothed out and tapered at one end.
When the barrels are placed down on the ground, most of the group take a couple of steps back, as they all smell the distinct, not to mention strong smell of naphtha coming from both barrels. Not the ordinary naphtha one finds in pools in caves, but what's called dwarven naphtha. As it's normal naphtha mixed with lampblack, and a soapy wax like substance that makes it much more volatile and dangerous to handle and use than regular naphtha, which is dangerous enough already.
"Pass it over Balen" says lord Farque after a few moments of silence as the dwarves all stare at the barrels of dwarven naphtha and the device Balen is holding, the artificer hands over the device then looks at the two barrels a few paces away.
"I'll do that" says the heavily armoured deathlord with a nod towards the dwarven naphtha "Aye my lord, I'll just open it for you" says the artificer, the lord and ruler of the lands Farque nods for Balen to do so, and the short dwarf takes a wooden mallet from his belt, to tap the bung in one of the barrels.
As the artificer does that, the undead warlord puts the device on the ground and waits. The artificer averts his head as he opens the barrel of dwarven naphtha. Once it's open he takes the steel pipe that's been cut in half down it's length from one of his assistants, and gives it to the large, heavily armoured human lord.
"I see how it works" says the lord of the death realm before the artificer explains how to use it "Very well my lord" says Balen who then adds "I'll just leave my striker and flint rod over here on this rock" he then murmurs "Good luck".
Then he and the other four from the crafthall hurry away, heading uphill, passing by the other dwarves who are watching. The others who include Thane and Karne from clan Kraelin, as well as Famill, who is the acting second for clan Omban, and basically the field commander for the clan as the clan chieftain Polm Omban, who was seriously wounded at the beginning of last week in a battle against the enemy, though now he has been healed by way of spellcraft.
All glance at one another as they see how far the artificer Balen and the other four from the crafthall are going up the mountain. It's almost another fifty yards up the slope before the artificer and the four crafters finally come to a stop, and they crouch down behind some rocks.
The group of dwarven warriors who number eight, quickly look at lord Farque who has put the halfpipe into the hole in the open barrel, and has picked up the device and carried it over to the barrel.
Then they all look uphill again at where Balen and the crafters are, and after a brief pause where they all look at one another, they all hurry up the slope too. Heading up the side of the mountain to where the artificer and the other four from the crafthall are, moving as quickly as possible.
The undead warlord has slid open a section along the top of the device that the ancient dwarven mastercrafters who created it, call a dragon. The deathlord of Farque then lifts the small barrel, and with the halfpipe affixed in the opening, he pours the dwarven naphtha into the device.
The thick, brackish green liquid, that's almost jelly like in substance, slides down the foot and half long pipe that's tapered at one end, so that not a single drop doesn't enter the device.
Draugadrottin, or Des'tier as he's known in the elven language watches carefully as the device fills up, once it does he carefully lifts up the halfpipe and barrel, and places it back down, before he slides close the open section on the top of the device.
Ever seen one of these before Ryn? asks lord Farque as he picks up the device, collects the striker and flint rod from the nearby rock, and walks away to his left, away from the barrels of dwarven naphtha.
I haven't my lord, replies the Sword of Power Ryn, the soul of the Greater Dragon that inhabits the Farque family sword that's strapped to the back of the undead warlord continues with, It seems to be a fairly simple process to have it work.
"Indeed" murmurs the human lord from the Southlands, who when speaking out loud to the large buster sword that's been in his family for well over a thousand years, speaks in the Greater Dragon Language most of time, quietly adds "Let's see how the thing works".
The device is just over four foot long, it's essentially a metal tube. One end is closed, so is the other, which is the front, though with a twist of a collar ring, the front can be open.
The front is oddly shaped, it's worn away, for the metal work there was once more detailed. It vaguely resembles a creature with a gaping mouth. Lord Farque suspects it once resembled a dragon's head. After all that's what the device is named after.
Also at the front, on the underside, sticking slightly forward and up so it's angled up just infront of the opening, is a small metal box. In that is a small reservoir of lamp fuel, and a taper made from wound copper wire.
Also on the underside, towards the back, is a small stock, that folds down, making a hand grip. While at the back end of the black metal tube. There's another collar ring, that's hexagonal in shape, that's a sleeve over that back end.
The undead warlord twists that hexagonal collar ring over and over. From inside the back end of the dragon he can hear clicking, that from his close inspection of the device earlier, he knows is an ingenious looking coil, that's builds up pressure within the dragon.
When the heavily armoured deathlord hears the coil stop clicking, he stops twisting the hexagonal collar. He puts the device down, and opens up the small box at the front on the underside.
The copper wire taper soaked in lamp fuel flicks out, the lord of the death realm uses the striker and flint rod to quickly light it. Then he picks up the device, holding it in both hands, as he folds down the grip handle.
Lord Farque holds the device waist high, and points it downhill. He turns the front collar, opening the front with the dragon like head there. Then not waiting a moment, he pulls back on the handle.
Dwarven naphtha is expelled out of the front of the dragon when the coil inside of the device is released, pushing the naphtha mix forward as the pressure is released.
The flame from the burning taper sets it instantly alight, and a jet of burning naphtha shoots down the mountain side. The stream of liquid fire goes at least fifty feet before it hits the ground. Where it burns everything it touches.
A patch of snow is instantly vaporized, while rocks and stones are set alight when the naphtha fire hits it. It's fire that's almost impossible to put out, due to it's thick jelly like substance that it originally starts of as.
Draugadrottin swings the dragon side to side a couple of times, until the stream of fire peters out. And though some of the burning naphtha falls only a couple of yards infront of him. And the last of it drips out of the front of the dragon just infront of him.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque isn't worried as he twists the ring collar towards the front of the device to close it. The still burning dwarven naphtha is no threat to him, as it can't damage him or the armour he wears.
He turns and looks up slope to the group of dwarves who just watched what happened in stunned silence, lord Farque calls out to the artificer Balen "Make as many as you can" . . . . . .

You Want A War? You've Got One! 31.

The Stone Hills. Winter...

"I wonder if they speak common?" quietly says Helbe the elven thief, who after a slight pause adds "I should think so".
On his right shoulder, Narladene the ground pixie nods her tiny head, and says "They probably do" who after a moment's pause, adds in a slightly dry tone "Though most likely badly".
The young elven noble from the principality of Laerel nods his hooded head in agreement, as they continue to watch what's happening down below them.
The elven masterthief, and the ground pixie attached to him. Are on top of a hill in the Omban clanhold.
The elven magic user who is blurred and shielded, has also put a bubble of air around himself, as the wind howling through this part of the Stone Hills is bitterly cold today. The light snow that's falling at the moment is blowing sideways before it hits the ground.
The elven princeling and the tiny winged creature sitting on his right shoulder, are looking towards the base of the hill directly to the south of them.
There on what looks to be a well trodden trail, walk four large figures, who couldn't care less that it's howling with wind, and snowing today. Because they're trolls.
Helbenthril Raendril rubs his chin, as wild trolls are always an unpredictable lot. Especially in comparison to those trolls who live among other communities.
The four on the hillside below to the south, look to be a family, with two being smaller than what appears to be adults.
Though the two younger ones are the height of Dorc da Orc, but they, like the two larger ones, are no where near as bulky as the ork warleader.
Who if he was here, Helbe the elven thief knows he'd be tearing down the hillside to attack the four trolls. The large ork hates trolls almost as much as he hates dwarves. Almost, because he hates dwarves more than anything else in life. And that includes water, and the sun. Two things he has vowed to destroy in his lifetime.
"Crazy fucker" murmurs prince Helbenthril Raendril in the royal elven language as he thinks about the ork warleader who is somewhere down in Belinswae.
"What was that?" asks Narladene with an eyebrow arched as she looks at the young elven noble she is attached to.
"Oh nothing" says the elven master assassin who then adds "I was just thinking about Dorc and what he would do if he was here".
"He'd be on the otherside, killing just about everyone on our side" dryly says the naturally magical creature who then adds "Stinky isn't exactly enamoured with dwarves, it's why he isn't here".
"No he would be on our side" says the elven masterthief who continues with "Just that he'd be killing everyone on both sides". The ground pixie is silent for a few moments, then she admits "You're probably right".
"But i was thinking about what he would do if he was here, and saw them" says the grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel who gestures down to the trolls who are walking west, at the base of the hill to the south of the one they're up.
"Stinky would attack them too" says Narladene who continues with "He hates trolls almost as much as he hates dwarven kind". The elven magic user nods his hooded head in agreement, then he looks away to the right, and looks at something in that direction, as he does he thinks about something, and the possibilities.
"True" quietly says the young elven noble who is not yet two hundred and fifteen years old, very young for an elven royal, the elven princeling then adds "Then again, even with that pea sized brain in that thick skull of his, he can be devious when he wants to be".
The elven master archer looks carefully at the state of the four trolls below. And sees that they're all wearing ragged looking furs. And though they look large and muscular like all of their kind, Helbenthril Raendril does notice something.
He slightly nods his hooded head after he reads the mind of one of the trolls, which he's always found relatively easy to do. They're almost the complete opposite of orks, whose minds are impossible to read. You do, you'll end up vomiting and passing out when you look into the deranged mind of an ork.
"They're hungry" quietly says the elven princeling, who then looks away to the right, to between a pair of hills, and what lies there.
Narladene sees where the elven masterthief is looking, then she looks down at the four trolls below, and she says "Are you thinking about having them".
"I am" says Helbe the elven thief with a grin on his youthful looking face as he interrupts the tiny winged creature "Imagine the chaos those four can create over there" adds the elven magic user as he waves away to the right, to the northwest.
"And they do speak common" says the elven masterthief, who then tells Narladene "Think I'll go and have a chat with them, and tell them of the abundance of food nearby".
"Oh hell, here we go" murmurs the tiny winged creature, who grabs onto the cloak of the elven magic user who she senses is about to cast, prince Helbenthril Raendril shifts down the hillside, dropping his blur spell as he does so.
"Greetings" says the elven master archer after he suddenly appears out of nowhere a dozen paces infront of the four trolls, who stop in surprise when they see him, and stare at the young elven noble from south of the equator.
"What you want mans?" eventually says the large troll in the front, who stands nearly twelve feet tall, and is holding a club, which happens to be a small tree.
The large troll, who speaks in a rumbling voice and a strong accent, scowls with his thick furrowed brow, then says "Wait you not mans" followed by "What are you?".
The troll may have a thick accent, and his grasp of the common language is poor, he's still a hell of lot easier to understand than Dorc da Orc, when Helbe the elven thief first met the large ork nearly a decade ago.
"Well you're correct, I'm not a man, I'm an elf" says the young elven noble in the white hooded cloak, the troll, who it seems is the father of the family, grunts then says "Oh we know of your type tree hugger, not seen one, but heard of your type" he makes a wide gesture with his free hand and adds "Not many trees in these mountains for you to hug" he follows that up, by making a casual swing of his club, and says "Unless you wanna hug this tree here, me can help you with that if you wants, by hitting you with it".
All four trolls laugh in their deep rumbling voices, while Helbe the elven thief stands there blinking in surprise. As he's never been insulted by a troll before, especially not a wild one, who has a poor grasp of the common language.
"The fuck" sourly mutters prince Helbenthril Raendril in the royal elven language, who then glances sideways at Narladene, who is sitting there on his right shoulder, with her hands over her mouth, smothering her giggles.
"You're no bloody help" mutters the elven masterthief in the royal elven language, who then looks at the trolls and says in the common language "Ah thanks, I'll pass on that".
The elven master assassin who briefly thought about exacting some painful revenge upon the large troll for that insult, instead says "I wonder if you'd be interested in something.
With a distrustful look upon it's face, the large troll who carries a tree as a club, says "What?" Helbe the elven thief tells him and the rest of the troll family "If you're looking for some food, i know where you can find plenty".
There's a few moments of silence as the wind buffets the base of the hill they're on, flicking up the snow on the ground, and swirling it in the air around them. Then the troll, that Helbe the elven thief guesses is the mother, it's hard to tell as female and male trolls look very similar, asks him "Where?".
"Over those hills there" says the elven magic user who points to the northwest, and adds "Not that far away" the young elven noble from the Southlands continues with "There's a whole lot of food there, some mans, i mean men have a camp there with their supplies".
"Lots a mans in the mountains this winter, why they not go home?" mutters the large troll with the club, in what is obviously a rhetorical question, he then grunts, when the female troll just behind him says "We shall go and take a look".
"Go ahead" says the elven princeling, who continues with "Take as much as you want, they won't mind at all". "Mans are good for something i guess" mutters the father troll, who then says "Very well tree hugger, we shall go and have a look, and take some of the foods they got".
"I knew you would for some reason" murmurs Helbenthril Raendril who has been casting compulsion spells on all four trolls as he's been talking to them. He gets quickly out of their way as they're eager to get underway again.
"Have fun" says the elven master archer as he watches the departing trolls, who hurry along the track for a bit, before walking off it, and heading to the hill to the northwest.
"Those hungry trolls are going to make a mess" quietly says Helbe the elven thief in the elven language to Narladene the ground pixie "You think?" dryly says the tiny winged creature, who then grins and says to the young elven noble from Laerel she's attached to "Let's go and watch". The elven magic user blurs himself, and shifts away, heading northwest, the direction the family of trolls are going.
A little while later, the elven princeling is sitting on a large rock on the side of a hillside, in a bubble of warm air. The blurred and shielded elven spellcaster along with the ground pixie sitting on his right shoulder, are looking down at a large camp of the army of the Justifier who has pushed into the Omban clanhold.
The two of them are looking towards the southern end of the camp, where supply wagons are lined up. And outside rows of tents, there's quite a number of fires going, as cooks prepare meals, as they do throughout the day.
"There they are" quietly says Narladene who spots them first, Helbe the elven thief nods his hooded head a few moments later when he spots the four trolls he spoke to a little earlier.
The naturally magical creature softly laughs then says "They're not very good at sneaking are they?". "Not particularly" says the young elven noble with a slight grin upon his face as the four trolls are trying to be as unobtrusive as possible as they approach the Justifier's camp, and are failing to do so.
It's kind of difficult to sneak when you're nearly twelve foot tall and weigh nearly eleven hundred pounds, while holding a small tree you use as a weapon.
The father troll just gives up trying, and stomps his way towards the southern end of the camp, followed by the rest of his family.
"Well they've been spotted" dryly says Narladene the ground pixie as shouts and screams come from some of the camp followers who are at the southern end of the camp, when the four trolls are seen walking straight towards the supply wagons, and cook fires.
Justifier's guards come running, while camp followers flee in the direction they've come from, just as the largest of the four trolls makes his way between a pair of wagons, and walks towards a cook fire, where a bowl of diced meat has been spilt on the ground next to it.
He picks up the meat from the snowy ground, and stuffs it is his mouth, as a couple of guards, who have stopped at seeing him, get over their initial surprise, and run at him with swords drawn.
"Ouch" murmurs Narladene "That hurt" adds Helbenthril Raendril as both Justifier's guards who have run at the large troll, are whacked by the small tree that he uses as a club. They're smashed into the ground, instantly killed by the force of the blow that's hit them.
The elven masterthief sees that one of the younger trolls has gone to a picket line of horses, and is grabbing one as the mounts break their tie lines and run off. While the other young troll has gone into a large tent, that camp followers have just fled from.
The mother troll has got onto a wagon, which noticeably sinks into the ground, even though the ground is fairly hard beneath the fine layer of snow covering it. She's rifling through the supplies in the back of the wagon, total oblivious to the crossbow bolt in her right arm which she didn't even feel hit her.
"They're going to have a hell of a time dealing with those four" quietly says Helbe the elven thief as he looks down at the enemy camp below, the elven magic user then says to Narladene "Come on, let's go and add to the chaos down there". The ground pixie grins in anticipation as the young elven noble she's attached to shifts down into the Justifier's camp below . . . . . .

You Want A War? You've Got One! 30.

The Stone Hills. Winter...

The line of horsemen are trudging along a snow covered track. They're Justifier's guards from Belinswae. And after encountering a band of dwarven warriors earlier in the morning, and all but wiping them out.
They're now heading north, further into the Stone Hills, trying to find more of them. In what the officer in command, from what his maps say anyway, is the Omban clanhold.
The officer in command who is near the front of the line, looks away to the west, where in the distance, he can see the large mountain that stands alone from the rest of the range in this part of the Stone Hills.
He then looks up into the clear cold sky as they come down a hill, when one of the riders further back in the column, spots something, and calls out "Fliers!".
The officer in command and others scan the skies, and he spots a pair of wyverns to the east against the winter sun, that's still in that half of the sky as it's just after mid morning.
"Ours or another army's?" asks the officer in command as he holds a hand up to shade his eyes, as he can see the silhouettes of the wyverns, and notices that there's riders on them, making them tame wyverns from Belinswae. And not wild ones, which have been occasionally spotted in the Stone Hills, though further south from here.
"Can't tell" says the guard riding beside the officer in command, the Justifier's guard continues with "They're riding low on their beasts for sure".
"Can't blame them" says the officer in command of the column of riders, he then adds "If it's windy down here, imagine how bad it is up there". He along with every other guard, has heard the constant complaints of those squads assigned to the wyverns, about the strong winds that they have to fly in.
How perilous it is, not to mention how bitterly cold it is up in the sky on the back of a wyvern, compared to how it is on the ground.
The officer in command who can now see the lead riders of each wyvern, are sitting up, compared to those further back into the saddle, quietly says "Still can't tell whose army they're in". "Nor can i sir" says the guard riding beside him, which is echoed by a few others near them.
"Not to worry" says the officer, who like most of the column, is from the city of Falnic, who like the others have been in the service of their Justifier for quite some time. The officer won't have any pressed guards in his force. They're more trouble than they're worth in his opinion.
The officer in command also isn't worried about whose army the two wyverns approaching from the east are in, whether it's there's, or another Justifier's army.
For though the Justifiers themselves don't exactly work together. When they're not about, and are occupied elsewhere. Guards from different armies are more than willing to cooperate with each other.
True they may not fight side by side that often, or at all. They still share information about the enemy, and swap equipment and supplies between armies if one or the other need it.
Just last week the officer in command of this column traded supplies with an officer from Justifier Kaellin's army which is further east. Which along with the army they serve in, are the two largest armies from Belinswae to invade the dwarven clanholds of the Stone Hills.
"They're either ours or from Justifier Kaellin's" says the officer in command who continues with "If not, then they've blown off course and are lost". The guard riding beside him, nods his head in agreement, then says "Looks like they're circling to the south, most likely coming down to land".
The officer in command nods his head as he sees this too, then he quietly says to the experienced guard riding beside him "They might have some information of the whereabouts of the enemy". "Let's hope so sir" says the rider on the horse beside the officer in command.
They haven't seen any sign of the enemy over the last few days. Their encounter with a small party dwarven warriors early this morning, is the first contact they've had with the enemy in three days.
The officer in command suspects no one else in their army has run into the enemy lately. Ever since a large column of guards were wiped out last week. When they were going through canyons just to the southeast of the large, lonely mountain. Where an avalanche hit them.
They watch as the pair of wyverns turn south, then drop down in altitude as they circle back up, and head to the right of the column of riders. It looks like they're going to land on the snow covered ground to the right of the track that the line of riders are on.
The officer in command flings up an arm, as he feels the wind coming off the wings of the wyvern that lands first. While the second lands right behind it's tail.
He has to squint to see them as there's a glare coming off the snow, as the sun is at an angle on this clear winter's day, that's making visibility in some directions quite difficult.
The wyverns, as wyverns do, have their wings up when they land, and these two keep them up for a little while longer.
As they do, the officer in command spots the lead rider on the first wyvern. He's the only guard on the wyverns he's got a good view of.
The lead rider turns his head, and looks in this direction. The officer sees it's someone slightly taller than average, in a thick cloak that the wyvern riders wear, he's also wearing a thick cloth wrapped around his face, only leaving his eyes and forehead exposed as the hood of his cloak is up on his head at the moment.
The lead rider lifts an arm in greeting, and the officer in command of the column of riders does likewise after he calls a halt. The wyvern rider then drops his raised arm down, in a quick slashing motion.
The two wyverns drop their wings they've been holding up, and crossbow bolts and arrows slam into the column of Justifier's guards, shot by the dwarven warriors on the backs of the pair of wyverns.
The guards in the column are totally unprepared for the attack, and are taken completely by surprise. More than half of them are down from the first volley of shots.
More of them are knocked out of their saddles when the dwarven warriors let fly more bolts and arrows from their crossbows and bows.
Tamric Drubine doesn't even let loose an arrow from his bow, as he's one of only a handful of archers on the two wyverns. As everyone else has crossbows.
The nobleborn youngster from the kingdom of Sarcrin in the Southlands, is the lead rider of the first wyvern. And he's the last one to get down off the large, winged creature once all the enemy horsemen are down, either dead or wounded. Without really knowing what hit them.
Tam looks back at the wyvern behind the one he rides. And sees Lisell Maera is down off the wyvern she's the lead rider of. He nods to her, then takes the hood of his cloak off his head, and undoes the thick wool cloth wrapped around his face. He basically pushes it down around his neck, to keep warm, as it's a cold windy day here in the Omban clanhold, especially up in the skies above.
As a few of the warriors go amongst the fallen enemy to dispatch those who are wounded. Other dwarves gather the horses, and take any equipment and supplies they can use. A handful of the warriors, those who are able to ride horses. Will take the enemy mounts north into the heart of the Omban clanhold.
The two Southlanders, Tamric Drubine and Lisell Maera stand off to one side watching the dwarven warriors. They're joined by Jarka Mard, and the ever present Omick. The two warriors from clan Mard, along with a number of others from that clan further to the west and north. Have remained with Tamric Drubine ever since meeting him in the Kraelin clanhold earlier in the winter.
"Get a shot off Jarka?" asks Tamric Drubine with a grin upon his young face, as he knows the youngest son of the Mard chieftain isn't particularly good with a crossbow. In Jarka's own words, he's shit useless with that damn contraption.
"Aye i did lad" says Jarka Mard who is grinning too, the fairly young dwarf who is in command of the war party from his clan, a clan that hasn't been attacked by the enemy, the Justifiers of Belinswae, then adds in a slightly dry one "If i hit anyone, only our gods know".
Both the nobleborn youngster from the kingdom of Sarcrin, and the orphan teenager from the city-state of Vexil quietly laugh, while Omick as he stands behind his clan chief's youngest son, silently laughs.
"Well that's another lot we've taken by surprise" says the heir to the former knight of castle Drubine "We were lucky here, we had the sun shining in their eyes, and the glare coming off the snow for them to contend with" says Lisell Maera, who then adds "Won't always be so easy".
"True" quietly says Tam who nods his head in agreement with his fellow Southlander, then the nobleborn youngster adds "They got what they deserved, that's all that matters" Lis nods, as does the two warriors from clan Mard.
From the air they saw the site of the skirmish about two and half miles away from here to the south. Where this force of Justifier's guards, attacked a small war party from clan Omban, who were keeping a watch on this track that winds it's way through the hills in the east of their clanhold.
"Clan Omban lost ten warriors this morning" says Jarka Mard, who continues with "And by Thaxel and Dovarn we'll be remembering them, like all the others the clanholds have lost, forever" after a slight pause, he adds "And these bastards from Belinswae have lost nearly forty here today, at least that's something, but never enough for even one warrior lost".
Jarka Mard is silent for a few moments, then he looks at Tam "Still, that was quick thinking lad, i would never of thought to come at them from out of the sun like you did" both Lisell Maera and the mute Omick nod in agreement.
"Then again this be only the third time I've been up on these beasties" says the son of the clan Mard chieftain, who then adds in an extremely wry tone "The first two times i was too busy puking my guts out to think about anything apart from hoping that we'll land in one piece again" and knowing that the nearby wyverns can more or less, understand the common language, Jarka then adds in dwarven "Damn beasties are bloody annoying".
Tamric Drubine laughs, then says "They're not that bad" just then, to make a liar out of him, the wyvern that Tam is the lead rider of, squawks in a foul tempered way, then claws at the snow covered ground in agitation. That sets off the second wyvern, that also squawks in a bad tempered way.
"Well maybe a bit" wryly says the nobleborn youngster from south of the equator, who never thought he'd be a wyvern rider. But after a number of flying lessons from lord Farque, who also taught him what to say in common to command the large, winged creatures. He's found flying most of the time a fairly easy task, not to mention a pleasurable experience.
"They're getting testy again, we probably should get going" says Lisell Maera to her fellow Southlander in the elven language "Bloody temperamental things" adds the orphan teenager from the city-state of Vexil.
The son of the former knight of castle Drubine nods, then calls out in dwarven to the war party "Let's go!". The warriors hurry back to the two wyverns after collecting all that they've taken from the enemy.
As four of the dwarven warriors remain on the ground, and take the surviving twenty five horses back north along the track, to the nearest safe haven in the Omban clanhold.
The rest of the war party are on the backs of the two wyverns, that are quickly back in the air again. With Tam and Lis at the reins of the two large, winged creature.
The nobleborn youngster from south of the equator points to the southeast, and the pair of tame wyverns head that way. It's not long before those on the captured wyverns can see the large camp where the army that's pushing into the Omban clan is based.
They keep well clear of it, at least five miles from it as they continue to the southeast, they even see other wyverns in the morning sky, who they also keep well away from.
After a while, Jarka Mard who is sitting directly behind Tamric Drubine, taps him on the shoulder and points. Tam looks in that direction, and after a few moments he sees what the dwarven warrior with his naturally enhanced eyesight has spotted.
It's an enemy patrol, mixed riders and foot soldiers. Which usually indicates that there's pressed guards in the squad. The nobleborn youngster sees that the squad of Justifier's guards is about thirty strong, and that they're heading east.
He looks back to the trailing wyvern, and lifts up his right arm, and gives a couple of hand signals to Lisell Maera, who he's sure has spotted the enemy patrol too, thanks to the sharp eyesight of the dwarven warriors flying with her.
Lis nods her hooded head in response to Tam's signal, then she calls out a command in the common language to the wyvern "Strike down!". Infront Tamric Drubine's wyvern is already dropping down out of the sky. And her wyvern does too, as they dive attack the enemy patrol from behind, who have yet to spot them . . . . . .

You Want A War? You've Got One! 29.

Nomad's Plains. Winter...

"We fucken gotta enough?" asks Dorc da Orc "Maybe" says Riley Hait the mercenary ranger as they stand just outside the latest nomad's camp they've visited. The large ork rolls his eyes and mutters "Fuck" as he was of the opinion that he could attack the city of Falnic all by himself, and that they didn't particularly need an army.
The ranger Hait rubs his chin as he thinks about something, then he turns and waves to the tribal leader Chanük, and his brother Saladén the far hunter and calls out to them in the hordes dialect of the southern tundra, which is almost identical as their own language "We'll be back in a little while".
The mercenary ranger who is from the elven principality of Envadarlen in the Southlands then gestures to the northwest and says to the ork warleader "That way".
Dorkindle grunts as he has a fair idea where they're going. After all the large ork spent much of the past summer, living in and around this camp of tribal nomads.
As the two of them walk in the crisp, cool air of a clear winter's morning here in the dry, arid plains where the nomad tribes make their home. The ork weaponsmith drinks from a sack made from sheep's hide, lined with sheep's intestines. It's full of fermented sheep's milk, which is quite alcoholic, and of course the large ork grew fond of it when he stayed here during the summertime.
The two of them from south of the equator are fairly quiet as they walk to the north and west. The only thing they really talk about, is when Riley Hait after looking south in the direction of the long sand, asks the warleader of the ork race "Any of those sand dragons about?" and the large ork replies with "Nah cunt, none of them fuckers around at the mo".
They make their way along a dry creek bed, that hasn't seen running water through it in centuries. The two of them climb up out of the creek bed, and head up a rock field that goes up a rise.
"Me home" says Dorc da Orc with a chuckle as they head to the top of the rise, where the entrance to a cave is. Next to the cave entrance, stands the large skull of a sand dragon, which the large ork killed during the summer when he was staying here in the Nomad's Plains.
They enter the cave, and go down the sandy incline, towards the large pool of water that's at the bottom of the cave. The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks scowls at the water supply of the nearby tribe of plain's nomads. And he keeps as far away from it as possible, as the ranger Hait heads to the right, to a hole in an alcove, or grotto in the cave.
Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman ducks down to enter the alcove in the cave, while Dorkindle remains out in the cave propper.
The mercenary ranger who is infact a hordes outrider from the southern tundra, who just happens to inhabit the body of Riley Hait. Takes a hold of something and starts to drag it across the sandy floor of the cave.
"Dorc, pull that out" says the human ranger who was raised and trained by some of the elven warders of his homeland, the principality of Envadarlen.
The large ork grunts and bends down, and reaches into the grotto. And grabs the chest the ranger Hait was pulling along the cave floor.
The son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks, who killed said matriarch, and wears her skull tied to his thick, waist belt, that keeps his grubby, knee length pants up, and not around his ankles.
Says "Loot" with a grin upon his broad, feral looking face as he easily picks up the chest. The ranger Hait nods his head yes when he comes out of the grotto, then he says "It is indeed".
The chest is one of the strongboxes that they, the group as a whole, took from the tower of lord Haldéilv. When they were in the elven principality of Maladimbáh during the summertime.
Now the mercenary ranger has decided to take it back to Maladimbáh, though from a suggestion given by lord Farque in the orders he had sent to them at the beginning of last week.
The Southlander says to the large ork from the southern polar region of the world "We're going to take it back to Maladimbáh" in response to the ork weaponsmith asking him "What we gonna do with this fucken loot?".
"Fucken why?" asks Dorkindle, who then grunts and murmurs "Ah" in understanding, when Riley aka Zubutai Timaginson quietly tells him "Every army needs archers".
Dorc da Orc ties the heavy strongbox to his weapon harness, and it bounces against his rear end as he walks, following the ranger Hait up and out of the cave where the warleader of the ork race spent a fair bit of time during the summer. As it offered him shade from the blistering sunshine that pounds down upon the dry, arid plains where the nomad tribes make their home.
The two of them make their way back to the nearby camp, and after getting a few supplies. Much of which is more fermented ewe's milk for the ork weaponsmith to drink as they travel to the northeast to Maladimbáh.
They head off in the direction of the elven principality. As they walk that way, Dorkindle asks the mercenary ranger "Think any of them fucken pointy ears will wanna fight them justy-friers in belly sway?".
Riley Hait tries to suppress a grin, and fails to after hearing what the ork weaponsmith just called the Justifiers, and the region they rule, Belinswae. And he tells the large ork "They might" the mercenary ranger then adds "Especially that lord Walashàele, especially after what happened during the summer, then his subsequent refusal of the offer by one of the Justifiers" he then adds "Any noble, either elven or human, don't exactly like being second best".
The ork warleader grunts then mutters "Well he fucken better come along, cause Dorc wanna kill some cunts soon" the prospect of waiting even longer to attack the city of Falnic, doesn't sit well with the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks.
For the ranger Hait, he knows that the coastal city of Falnic is probably already getting the war it's residents thought they were far from, and definitely safe from.
From lord Farque's missive, Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy, who is in the largest city of the region of Belinswae, has by Riley's reckoning, probably picked up his attacks against the Justifiers and their supporters.
The elf from the principality of Alínlae in the Southlands is no doubt creating havoc in the coastal city by now. And hopefully creating panic amongst the populace, who thought the war against the dwarven clans of the Stone Hills would never touch them.
Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman also knows that what he and Dorc da Orc plan to do. With a gathering of an army of nomad tribesmen, who after untold centuries, are finally going to do what many of them have thought about doing for years and years. Attack the townsmen of Belinswae, who for generations, have tried to systematically wipe them out.
Along, with hopefully an army of elven house guards from the principality of Maladimbáh, no doubt mostly archers. Will attack the city of Falnic by surprise.
Well that's the plan anyway, Riley Hait thinks to himself as he and the large ork walk across the dry and arid plains, heading north, and slightly east to the elven principality that lies to the north of the Nomad's Plains.
They eat their midday meal on the walk, which is fine by Dorc da Orc, who is used to such things. Not so the ranger Hait, who though is adept at eating on horseback. But eating whilst walking, is a slightly different prospect. And is something he's never been too keen on over the years.
They continue walking through the afternoon, and into the early evening. Until it gets quite cold, and the mercenary ranger has to stop for some well earned rest.
They stop at an empty camp site for one of the nomad tribes. They both hop down into one of the cuttings in the ground. And in the fairly narrow defile, the ranger Hait wraps himself up in his cloak and blanket as it gets bitterly cold overnight in the wintertime here in the Nomad's Plains, and tries to keep some sleep after he has a cold meal for dinner.
Riley aka Zubutai Timaginson wakes in the middle of the night to hear Dorc da Orc grunting, as he picks him up saying "Nuff fucken sleep pretendy Zubu" and he's slug over the right shoulder of the large ork, who also picks up the mercenary ranger's pack.
The ranger from south of the equator, who though half asleep, guesses that the ork warleader hasn't slept at all. And doesn't need to as he sets off again, heading north to Maladimbáh, with the wrapped up ranger Hait over his broad, right shoulder like one of his sacks containing his possessions.
The Southlander doesn't particularly care to be so close to the ork warleader who more than reeks. Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman gives silent thanks to the tundra gods that it's winter at the moment. For during the summertime, Dorkindle does more than reek, he flat out pongs. Smelling like the worst kind of damp dung you can imagine.
The human ranger from the elven principality of Envadarlen in the Southlands, is also glad he's over the shoulder of Dorkindle. And not sitting in the crook of his arm, as Tamric Drubine used to sit when the nobleborn youngster was smaller.
Nor is he tucked up under an arm of the large ork, as Dorc da Orc's pet pig Piggy, used to be carried around. The ranger Hait breathes a sigh of relief as he isn't going to be carried around like Dorkindle's now dead pet pig, was once carted around.
Riley aka Zubutai Timaginson eventually falls back to sleep listening to the large ork murmuring away in his own language, while cackling about something, of what, the mercenary ranger has no idea, and doesn't want any idea of.
Riley Hait wakes when Dorkindle drops him on the ground after sun up, and says "Wake up cunt" followed by "You can fucken walk now". After unwrapping himself from his blanket, and then having something to eat and drink. The mercenary ranger from the elven principality of Envadarlen gets up, and gets underway again, walking beside the large ork who is busy drinking more of the fermented ewe's milk.
They travel like that throughout the day, and through the night, with Dorc da Orc once again carrying the sleeping ranger Hait.
It's the middle of the next morning when Dorkindle tells Riley Hait that he can see the hills and trees of southern Maladimbáh. By early afternoon, the mercenary ranger from the Southlands sees it too.
And by the following morning, they're in the fairly mountainous principality.
"East" says Riley aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman, when they go over a hill, and see a familiar landmark in a heavily forested valley, that's backed on it's north side by a range of mountains. Peaks that are dry in the summertime, but now in winter, they're topped by snow.
"Not north" grunts Dorc da Orc as they look at the tor that sticks up out of the forest floor, a tor on top of which sits the tower of house Haldéilv.
Wondering who is residence there now, and guessing that lord Walashàele has put someone there who is an ally, or more likely a family member. The ranger Hait who gestures further east, says "We'll go into the lands of house Walashàele" he continues with "I'll bet the lord there will definitely listen to what we have to offer" he then silently adds, and that we'll pay him with the gold of his rival that he vanquished, will be pretty fucking ironic.
The two from south of the equator head down into the valley, and head east in the direction of the lands of house Walashàele, where they hope to obtain the service of elven house guards, for the army they're raising to attack the city of Falnic in Belinswae . . . . . .