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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
"You can cease your weaving my friend." Telenstil called out to
Ivo. The mage had bound the ogres with the assistance of the thief, tying
their hands and ankles tight with stout cord and gagging them with rags.
The group had gathered at the door and waited for the word to make
their escape from the steading. Talberth, Gytha and Ghibelline had shaken
the orcs free from the grip of Ivo's spell, and then helped get them
across the floor, keeping their eyes from the tantalizing glow.
Ivo let his arm slow to a stop, the magic died, and he put the
crystal back safely in his vest. His arm ached, to keep the ogres
mesmerized he could not stop or even slow the twisting pattern that
had formed the shimmering hypnotic web. While he had been busy weaving
his spell he had not felt the strain, but now it came rushing along his
arm, it made him gasp.
Suddenly the ogres came alive, they pulled against their bonds,
two had been standing, now they fell, trying to free their feet they'd
lost their balance. One smashed down face first and lay senseless, not
dead, but he would wake with a bruise and a lump the size of a fist atop
his head. The other landed with a painful crash, wrenched his shoulder,
but still rolled back and forth. The cord was stronger than the thick
muscles along the ogres arms and back, they cut into its hoary flesh,
digging bloody grooves deep through its skin.
Harold brought his dagger up and then slammed it down, reversing
it in mid-air so that the pommel cracked against the ogre's skull. The
monster slumped, its writhing ceased, eyes rolled up to show the yellowish
whites, it lay stunned like its companion. The third ogre, the more
thoughtful of the three, dropped back and shut its eyes as well, feigning
death or sleep, it did not struggle against its bonds as the others had,
once it saw their fate.
The little thief shrugged, he'd have cut their throats and have
done with them if he'd had his way. Across from him, Ivo secured his pack
and ran over to where Harold stood.
"All ready?" he asked
"I'm done here." Harold answered him. "Let's go."
"Yes." said Telenstil. "Let us be far from this place and
quickly."
* * *
Dark shapes ran out into the night. They left the steading behind
and followed the foot trail north, but had nowhere to go. The ranger
pushed the gate closed behind them, muttering under his breath at the
weighty chain he carried on his shoulders.
"Cursed wizards toy." he said.
They crossed the hill, there was no cover except for the wild
weeds and grass that grew chest high where they had not been beaten down
by the passage of the giants. To the south were the lowlands and the way
they had come. Nosnra's weary kinsmen were on that path, and the wizard
knew it. Their camp, their horses and their stores were along that
southern route, but they were gone, destroyed by the giants witan, their
shaman priest, whose magic tracked down the camp and contested with the
magic wards that the wizards and the clerics had left behind.
The backlash of those unleashed powers had killed the witan,
wounded Nosnra and many of his warriors, but they were still a fearsome
bunch. Perhaps more than a match for Telenstil and his companions, the
wizard would not risk such a confrontation.
All around them the mountains towered above the hills, the land
became all wild valleys and steep slopes, filled with monsters, home to
the giant clans which owed their allegiance to Nosnra, the Hill Giant
chief.
* * *
(To Be Continued)