Send a spelling or grammar correction to: Tracy Johnson
This is a first draft of a story set in the world of Greyhawk.
It is based on a home campaign so some of the people, places and things
may be different. Any helpful comments or suggestions are very welcome.
Thanks
Jason Zavoda
"Let them go." Gentian said as she put her hand on Welf's arm.
The big mercenary was ready to pursue the wolves, but Gentian
stopped him before he could take more than a single step.
The last of the worgs disappeared into the woods beyond the
road. Welf peered up the trail at the line of trees and brush, a
impenetrable blackness lying at the dim edge of the firelight. He
could feel eyes staring back from darkness.
"We should burn them out." he muttered. The torches set at
the top of the rise to light the entrance of the camp were a temptation
to Welf. An urge to rush up and grab one, to set the woods ablaze,
grabbed hold of him, but Gentian held him back again.
"Set the camp afire more likely." she told him. "Is that Kassar?"
she noticed the ragged form of the nomad for the first time.
"He is Were," Welf warned her, "stay back."
"Nonsense." Gentian paid the warning no heed. She started forward
but kept her hold on Welf's arm. The big mercenary could have resisted,
instead he let her drag him a dozen feet across the road.
"Watch him!" Welf stepped back as they neared the body. He lowered
his halberd and motioned with the spike as if to test Kassar for life.
Gentian pushed the weapon aside. "Kassar, you look like you've
been to the Abyss and back."
The old nomad groaned as he tried to push himself to his feet.
He reached out an arm showing old scars, his shirt sleeves hanging
in threads but the flesh sound, without so much as a scratch.
"Give a hand 'ere." he said gruffly. "Me leg's actin' up."
"By Trowbane's sainted ass!" Welf stood back amazed. "Is this
normal for you Were?"
Gentian helped Kassar to his feet. She had to grab him by the
shoulder, then put her own arm under his to keep him standing.
"Shakes," Kassar said through chattering teeth, "get'em after.
Ain't no cursed Were." he hissed. "Shaman stuff."
"You a bone-rattler." Gentian laughed.
"Maybe should'a let worgs have you." Kassar told them.
Welf looked back at the shredded bodies of almost a dozen of the
worgs. "I'm glad you had the worgs to play with, but you're still Were to
me." the big mercenary said firmly.
From the camp there came two large groups. One from the eastern
arm that followed the old road and the other from the north and east. The
old road was lined with wagons and tents on either side. Many of the
traveling merchants kept a stall facing the road and almost anything
could be found. They slept and lived along the road, some left everyday
and more came to replace them.
The other trail that branched off to the north and east led to the
sprawling encampment. There were more merchants spread out across what was
once a field thick with weeds and wild grains. Now it was filled with
tents like a field of mushrooms, with dirt paths forming twisting streets
between them. The brothels and taverns were clustered around the outer
edge of the camp. Further in were tent-shops or merchant wagons where
most things could be bought and anything could be sold.
At the center of the camp there sat a pavilion. A huge tent with
a frame of wood to support it. All the trails led to it, like the
heart of a maze, but few people entered and none of the camp dwellers
would approach it without invitation.
A collection a drunken soldiers, pimps, toughs, thugs and ruffians
came from the north-east. Several score, perhaps a hundred. They were
loud and boisterous. They carried as many bottles and mugs as they did
weapons. Welf was greatful that they had not arrived to face the worgs
in time.
From the eastern road a small squad of mercenary guards approached.
They had made good time but the fight had not lasted long. Welf
called out a greeting as they neared.
* * *
(To Be Continued...)