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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
Nosnra returned.
His pace did not quicken at the sight of his burning hall, he
had strength enough only to put one foot before the other, his warriors
were twice as weary. Some fell along the way and were left lying in the
dirt. They would make it back on their own feet or die where they had
fallen.
The wolves were scattered, a few had died, their spirits
shriveled at the cave where the witan was destroyed. Only a young wolf
called Harechaser kept up with the staggering line of giants. The canine
was of a simple mind, the chaotic torment of the magical and unholy
backlash had made it cower, its head buried beneath its paws, but
it had passed the ordeal unscathed.
When he saw the fire from the far hill, Nosnra's heart sank, he
misstepped and nearly fell but caught himself and shifted Engenulf's
body in his arms. Behind him he heard a groan, too heartworn and
bone weary to raise a shout or cry, the warriors stumbled to a halt.
Nosnra stopped himself, below him the path lead down, a narrow valley,
a small stream, then the final slope. There was a gasp, a sob, with a
flash of angry strength Nosnra spun around.
"Who are you!" he shouted. A wave of dizziness and nausea swept
through the giant chief, a dark curtain came down across his eyes, but
he fought it back. "I do not know you. You are not my kin. What are you,
those feeble children of the lowlands, human scum? You are too tired,
you moan and cry because the kindred calls us to their arms?" he shouted
at his warriors. "Stay here and die, or run, or swallow your fear and
swear an oath. I will find the ones who have brought this doom on us,
I will have vengeance no matter what the cost!" Nosnra shouted at the
night.
A giant forced himself to walk forward and face the chief.
"I swear, my chief, I swear my life, my blood and my strength. Vengeance."
the giant placed his hand upon Engenulf's brow and swore.
One by one the others came forward as well. A knife was drawn,
each gripped the blade and swore again with blood, then painted their
faces red, first across their brow, then across the cold lifeless witan's
head.
* * *
Dawn came to the giants hill. Smoke still drifted from the embers
buried beneath the fallen beams of the great hall. Giants and ogres poured
water over the splintered wood, others pulled away the charred rubble
and stirred the ashes beneath.
In the sodden field sat Nosnra, he'd had them drag a table from
the ruined hall and benches too. Engenulf's body lay prepared before him,
Nosnra used piled boxes and crates to form a throne, then set the table at
his feet. They lay the witan down, and placed the benches round the
throne for Nosnra's warriors, those who'd sworn the oath of blood.
The giants put down their buckets, their bars of iron, and their
axes. They left the orcs and ogres to drown the fire out, then filed past
the body of their witan and their chief. They had no feast prepared, the
words they spoke were all of vengeance and of blood, the ale they drank,
the final toast to their lifeless kin, was thick and bitter from the
fallen ash.
* * *
(To Be Continued)