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Back to Empire on the HPe3000
... and ...
This is a story set in the World of Greyhawk. It is based upon
my own campaign so many of the persons, places and things may be different
from the published version.
I had run, at one time, a campaign where the players took on the
role of Giants and adventured out against others of their kind, Dragons,
puny humans and the dwarves they love to stomp so much.
The G series is so well known that its hard to find players who
do not know what is around every corner. When they take on the role
of Giants defending their homes, its good that they know where every
guard is stationed and every trap located.
I'd like to get a review of the story so any helpful comments
or suggestions are very welcome. The same is true for the other story
I am currently working on "An Unsung Death in Geoff", anyone who would
lke to review a copy of that can email me and I will email it along.
Jason Zavoda
NOTE: I do not want to plague the list with two dailey stories so I will
be posting this to the dnd newsgroup on a regular basis or I can email
it privately to anyone interested.
The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga Part I
He awoke with a start, pushing the heavy fur cover aside, and
sitting up, wiped the beads of sweat from his thick brow with the back of
his hand. Something was not right. He could feel it in the marrow of his
bones. Placing his feet upon the cold wooden floor, worn smooth by years
of use, he cradled his head in his hands and listened.
At first he heard nothing, stray thoughts and the ghosts of dreams
still inhabiting his mind, then, the breathing of his bear, and the
beating of his own heart. The walls were thick, the boles of ancient
trees, trimmed of branches but set in place still bark covered and green.
They had a voice of their own, creaking and groaning, as the wind, the
weather and time, wore at their very hearts.
Outside, beyond the wall of his chamber, a hound bayed, then
a chorus began as the pack joined in. He could hear a yelp of pain and
a shout, loud and commanding, then silence.
All seemed well. No stirrings or misplaced sounds, yet his unease
did not cease. He was bound to this place, born upon this very hill when
this had been his fathers steading, Tofig the Proud, a Thegn of great
renown. Now the steading was his, and he was Chieftain over a dozen
Thegns, and these walls, the stones and the very oerth of this hill itself
were a part of him. There was a presence, a wrongness, it twisted in his
bowls and allowed him no rest.
Nosnra, Chief of Thegns, Master of Nidaros Greatest of all Hill
Giant Steadings (Trondheim in the tongue of the Frost Giants), balanced
on one foot in the cold dark of night. He wavered and nearly fell as his
other foot caught in the leg of his hide trousers. Somewhere nearby he had
his boots. They took some time finding, one was under the bed and the
other was under the bear. Ursoth, his pet bear, was slow to rouse.
* * *
The hall was cold, the great fireplace in the eastern wall had
long since gone out. A cool flow of air came from the passage to the
north, it lead to an outside door opening on the yard where the hounds ran
and played. He had not sat in his hall this past night, there had been
instead a great feast, then a private meeting.
Zervan, the ambassador from the Cloud Giant Confederation, a more
indecisive, stuck-up, self-important bunch, he had never known, had talked
until Nosnra was sure his tongue would fall out. A twisted, lying, weaselly
tongue at that. Those Giants had more than their heads in the clouds, but
some it seemed might be talked down to oerth.
He shook his head. Dealing with Zervan was always unpleasant. Just
thinking about it made his head ache and throb. Ursoth gave a growl of
sympathy, aware of his masters distracted mood and pained expression.
Nosnra reached down and patted the bears back and smiled, but it did
not last. The feeling of unease returned like a recurring movement at the
edge of vision which cannot be discerned no matter how quickly you turn to
catch it.
The mere thought of a fire warmed him, but he felt a tug of worry
that there was some action he should be taking, and was not. No time
for a fire. Warmth from action. He would walk through the corridors of the
Steading himself. That eased him a little.
The wall around the fireplace was festooned with skulls, skins
ad shields of defeated foes. Nosnra ran a hand across them. He tossled
the hair of a fierce rival chieftain, whose body lay among the charnel
pit in the dungeons below, but whose head shouted an eternal scream
of silent defiance. He pinched the nose of a proud Dwarven Lord, the
look of shocked disbelief set forever on his face. And carefully fingered
the razors edge of an enchanted sword belonging to some forgotten Knight.
Why could he not set himself in motion. Some dread foreboding
nagged at him, but the smallest distraction served to pause him in
his course. With a shout he could raise his people from their slumber,
but his pride stayed his voice. What would he have them do, chase the
night-phantoms away like a child in the creche crying in the dark.
Nosnra banished such thoughts. He gathered his will and heeded
the warning which called out from within him. Letting Ursoth lead,
he would follow the bears inclination, at least for the moment. They
left through the western arch heading for the great hall, Ursoth no doubt
would take them to the kitchens and the promise of a midnight snack.
* * *