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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
The path that the gibberlings had taken led back to a ravine.
Harald looked down into its depths but he could make nothing out. The
sun was past its noon and the light did not reach more than a few feet
between the narrow walls.
Destruction reigned along the eastern edge of the forest. A steep
trail rose from the ravine at that side, the gibberlings had followed it
up, Harald could see the tracks. They had set off straight as the flight
of an arrow once leaving the ravine, only changing direction to follow
the course of the terrain. "Like a river." Harald mumbled to himself.
He thought about turning back, finding Telenstil and the others
but he'd left Harold and the orc only a short time ago, there was time
enough for some exploring before they would become concerned.
The south-west wall was lower than its opposite side. Harald could
see where the oerth had fallen away, the crevice was not old, perhaps
formed during the past spring when the melting ice carved out gullys
and streambeds down the mountainside. Maybe a pocket had opened up beneath
the oerth, or a cavern collapsed and the ground sunk in to fill it.
Whatever had occurred the ground had split and from it the gibberlings
had spewed forth.
Harald closed his eyes and stepped from the sunlit path into the
gloom between the ravines walls. He kept them closed for a few moments
till they became adjusted to the dark. There was a little light, but
soon even that was swallowed by an impenetrable black.
With only his hand to guide him Harald took a small tinder box
from his pack and drew out a short-handled torch, just long enough to keep
his fingers from being scorched by the flame. A piece of goatskin was
wrapped around its head, beneath was an oiled cloth that ran with blue
at the touch of a few sparks of flint and steel. The torch burst into
flame, yellow-orange, illuminating the dark.
The path was steep indeed, a few more steps and it became an
almost vertical drop, like a well, deep and dark, no end in sight.
Harald waved the torch above the shaft, putting his head over the edge and
peering into the depth. The flames showed deeper shadows, grooves cut
along the sides. The gibberlings had used their claws to scratch away the
stone and form a crude ladder to climb the shaft. The beasts were small,
about the size of dwarves, but they had long hands and big feet that ended
in a pair of large toes. They'd cut their ladder deep enough for
Harald to use and he began his climb.
First he smothered the flame with the wrap of hide then put it
within his pack. Now he was blind, the dark was absolute, he used his
sense of touch to feel his way down. There were more grooves set in
the wall than he needed, the gibberlings were small, Harald's reach was
long. The way was easy but the descent took time, a quarter hour passed
before Harald's foot struck the bottom of the shaft.
The air was thick with the smell of the monsters, but there
was something else. Harald breathed slowly though his nose and let his
mind sort through what his senses brought in. A brood smell, the monsters
waste, their sweat and dander. Mold, a slightly damp smell, rotting wood,
the smell of oerth. A breeze, something moving the stale air. He put his
finger to his mouth and wet its tip, then held it up. The cooling skin
let him feel the draw of air up the shaft.
Carefully he drew out torch and tinderbox again, took away the
goatskin wrap and struck the flint. A low whistle escaped from him, a
quick intake of breath over his teeth. The cave was much more than he
expected it to be.
* * *
(To Be Continued)