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Back to Empire on the HPe3000
... and ...
Harold felt a weight upon the rope, someone was climbing up,
but every minute that passed while he sat alone within the giants
kitchen made him anxious. The scout Edouard had disappeared, the body
of a headless orc lay on the ground, Harold had climbed down from the
wooden board that covered the garbage chute and begun to explore. The
bloody corpse, red fluid still leaking out into a spreading pool, made the
halflings knees feel weak. The scent of scorched flesh was very strong in
the air, at first he thought it was the smell of the steading as it burned
but then he caught sight of the orcs smoldering head where it had rolled
against a table leg. The little thief felt sick, his skills were wasted
among such carnage that these sword swingers left behind.
A trail of red footsteps showed where the scout had gone, they
lead off around the corner of the kitchen but faded quick as the gore was
scraped from Edouard's boots. Harold did not follow them, instead he
turned and went back the way he'd come.
The giants kitchen was normally a busy place, but the fire which
still burned within Nosnra's trophy hall had drawn every resident of
the steading that could be spared. Orc slaves were sent as messengers,
the two that had run into the deadly scout were returning from the
dungeons below, where the slave pens were being emptied.
An errant ogre youth, always hungry, took its chance to raid
the kitchen larder. It entered quietly, keeping its eyes peeled for any
giants or ogres who might catch it stealing food, the beating that would
result would be severe enough to pass through even an ogres thick hide.
It crept around the corner, coming from the great hall and stopped before
the fallen body of the orc.
Harold froze. He had just stepped around the body of the orc
on his way back to check the rope and see who was climbing up when the
ogre came into view. It stood no more than two feet from him, the thief
forgot, for a moment, that Ivo's spell of invisibility was still upon him.
The ogre grunted and bent down to touch the orc. "Still warm,"
it said. It put a huge finger across the pool of congealing blood like a
child would through the frosting on a cake. The ogre licked its finger
clean and smacked its lips.
From the garbage chute a banging sound caught its ear. Harold
could hear the creaking of the rope as it sawed back and forth across the
spikes set in the wall and the soft calls of someone coming up from below.
The ogre heard these noises too, it bent over the open wooden lid and
peered down into the dark and noisome chute. "Won't get away." it mumbled
and drew a huge dagger from its belt.
Harold climbed upon the wooden board and drew out a dagger of his
own. As the ogre bent he jumped upon its back and drove his blade up to
the hilt between its shoulder blades. The fine steel bit in and clove the
ogres hide as if it were butter. Harold pulled it out and struck again,
his other hand clenched around the ragged collar of the ogres rough wool
shirt.
The ogre roared, its mouth opened to reveal a set of fierce and
yellowed teeth, it chomped at the air and dropping its knife, reached back
to pluck away the halfling who stabbed the ogre with a desperate fury.
* * *
(To Be Continued)