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Back to Empire on the HPe3000
... and ...
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
A swirl of smoke rose up from the steading, inside the thick,
dark cloud, sparks danced, the fragments of cloth and hide lifted up by
the heat, burning to charred fragments and falling down like a black
snow across the fields. The light rain that fell ran into the gullys and
fed down into the stream below the hill, the waters were stained and
filled with soot washed from the grass and weeds.
At the steading a wall crashed in with a roar, a red eye winked up
at the clouds which hid the stars, but the rain closed it with a lid of
steam and smoke. In the sudden flash of the wooden beams, dried out by the
heat and now burning deep orange-red to the heart of each trunk, the
giants, their allies and their slaves, could be seen fighting to save
their home and kill the fire which consumed it.
Scores of orcs wielded shovels or even lengths of wood, scooping
wet dirt upon the fire. They worked so close to the flames that their skin
was blistered and their bodies painted black with dirt and ash. Beside
them were ogres and, careless of where they trod, the giants went back and
forth, some with shovels of their own throwing heaps of oerth and others
with buckets the size of tubs or kegs big enough to hold a man, filled
with water from the well. Many orcs died that night, lobbed into the
flames by a giant lifting both oerth and orc, or crushed beneath a
careless foot.
The keep itself was half empty, the great hall deserted, the
barracks abandoned now, but nearer to the fire there was a frantic haste
to rescue possessions from the chambers of the chieftainess and lead the
young and babes safely from their rooms.
Only the giants kitchen showed signs of life. A smattering of
orcs, most in ones and twos ran loose. Some fled into the great hall, but
it was thick with smoke and the northern wall was ablaze, dark clouds
billowing through cracks where the logs had split. From here they made
their way down the long hall and out into the entrance way, only to be
swept up into the frenzied retreat.
Ogres and giantesses threw piles of cloth, handfuls of
possessions, or sacks almost as big as the orcs themselves, into their
arms. These orcs who had rebelled against their masters, slain the keeper
and his bestial pets, were made to haul and carry what they could from
the burning rooms. Once outside they threw down their burdens by the
growing heap and unnoticed slipped away.
The kitchen grew quiet again, the frantic haste inside the eastern
most part of the hall still unburnt began to lessen, and finally, from
the stairs inside the giants pantry a small group crept out.
* * *
"I'm not taking that chain." said Harald.
"It might be important." Ivo told him.
The ranger shook his head in disgust, he was tired, perhaps more
than any of his companions. Though he was a man stronger than most any
other, he had done much this night to drain his strength, and now his
muscles burned and ached. He wanted rest, even without sleep he wanted
just to wrap himself in a warm fur and stretch himself out on the ground.
Instead he carried a heavy pack, and his weapon, which he bore
with a loving pride and joy, was a heavy blade as well as cumbersome.
The chain weighed as much as a man, it lay there looking twice as heavy,
its thick black links coiled one on the other in a heap.
They stood within the giants pantry, not so exposed as they had
been in the great chamber below, but a perilous place, where enemies could
rise up from the stairs or come walking through the door.
The little thief expected such. He stood by the half open pantry
door and kept watch, but his ears listened for the tread of feet on the
stairs or a shout from his other companions that enemies had caught
up with them again.
* * *
(To Be Continued)