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Back to Empire on the HPe3000
... and ...
The cave was cold, no matter what that pious, pompous, pholtite
said to the contrary. Harold Goodwine shivered though he was wrapped in
a thick furred blanket of a cape. The halfling was not used to these damp
and freezing climes, he had been born in Geoff but raised in the hub
of the Oerth, the gem of the Flanaess, greatest of cities, Greyhawk. A
hot meal in a warm house was where he would be on such a day as this.
"Watch that cape, and your feet, you'll have them in the fire
next!" A deep bass voice called. Harald Hardhand towered over most men
but he was a true giant in the eyes of the other Harold. The two were
as different as they were fast friends.
The halfing, painfully thin, by his standards, small even according
to his people, no warrior but a sneak thief, an unrecognized master of his
craft. He dressed in the most appalling garish colors, and besides a
desire for wealth, had an overwhelming fondness for jewels and gems of all
sorts.
Harald was broad, almost of dwarven build around shoulders and
chest but on two tree-trunk legs. He was a head taller than the wizard
Talberth, a skinny youth, at least as viewed from the distance that thirty
or so years had put between them, but the young mage was tall and thin as
a sapling. Harald's hair, what was left of it, was brown with thin lines
of silver-grey running through. He had it pulled back in a long tail and
tied it with leather cord. His whiskers and drooping mustache were
streaked with age among the reddish-brown. A long white patch went through
his beard, it followed the course of a scar that ran from edge of jaw to
top of hairless pate. His other scars, a crisscross of old wounds, did
not show. He wore a dark brown-green pair of trews, a brick red stripe
forming the tartan blocks. A wondrous silver-metal shirt of chain,
enchanted with a smith-wizards spell, he hid beneath a much patched tunic,
a grey green cloak thrown over both.
"At least i'd be warm for a change." The halfling grumbled back,
but pulled his feet and cloak away from the smokeless yellow flame.
Across the fire sat another unlikely pair. An ancient gnome, his
long broad nose projecting from a face hidden in a thousand wrinkled lines
of flesh. Bushy brows over deep set eyes, a wave of long white hair
sprouting from beneath a metal cap, Ivo of Pondsend, a magician of great
power. He talked in earnest with a red haired warrior maid, a cleric of
staunch faith who wielded a stout length of wood, her patrons choice and
talisman, Gytha Fireheart, St. Cuthbert's loyal shepherdess.
Beyond them the holy priest of Pholtus, Henri, blinded by his
god's shining light but gifted with a blank faced sun-rayed mask that let
him see among the realms of men. He sat still and silent, communing with
his deity.
To his side, near the far wall, a stable had been improvised, a
line of horses, a small pony, and some hearty mules exhaled steaming
plumes of frigid air and huddled in the cold. Two wizards, cloaked and
robed in black with silver edge, both appearing young, the one from lack
of years upon the Oerth, the other a high elven face that looked both
youthful and ageless, no mark of passing time but a sense of sorrow that
time can bring even to a carefree heart.
Talberth, young but of some renown, a human mage, he rested a
long fingered hand upon a shivering horses flank. With a small, spell
a cantrip of no note, he sent a pulse of warmth from palm and soothed the
wordless plea for heat. Telenstil an elven wizard, pale haired and fair,
he stood at Talberth's side, his head reaching only the shoulder of the
young mage, they talked of the past night's work.
"That was Nosnra, I am sure. We could have killed him there,
Edouard should not have fled." Talberth complained.
"I disagree my friend." The elf began. "Nosnra it might well have
been, but he is no easy one to kill. I have met him before and I will meet
him again, but with all that I have learned, what deadly spells and charms
that I have here, I would not face him alone, not by choice. Our brave
scout would have been slain to no effect, had he summoned our help, so
the giant chief would have summoned his, and it is no pitched battle that
we have come to fight."
"You are my master and I but your apprentice." Talberth humbly
bowed.
"Come now, no need for false humility. I taught you well, but that
was some years ago, you are your own master, and though I lead this
expedition you are a colleague and partner, an equal among our group."
Telenstil waved a graceful arm to sweep across the room.
Talberth could not help but glance, he saw them all, the two
Harry's, Henri, Ivo, fair Gytha, his heart gave a trembled beat, and the
albino twins, their scouts, Edouard and Derues. An angry thought stirred
within him at the sight, he had a strong dislike for the white skinned
pink eyed pair.
"We are nine against a giant brood." Telenstil continued. "We
must stay together to face their strength. It will take our united
skills to accomplish what we must."
"I would see them dead, but I know as well as you that we seek
a cause for their newly well thought out attacks, their gathered strength
and cautious raids. These are not the giants that I was taught of in
school."
"We are far from the grey college halls," Telenstil said smiling,
"There is much that a book or scroll will say that is no more than the
guesswork of some nameless sage. Here we will see what is not and what is
said to be. Prepare yourself, and because I have seen these things before,
please watch where I may lead."
* * *
(To Be Continued)